Stolen Course (Wrecked and Ruined #2)(54)

I lock up my computer and head for my car. I need to catch a plane to Savannah, but I have to make a phone call first.

Brett answers on the first ring. “Hello.”

“I need Emma’s address in Savannah,” I say shortly.

“Well that took you long enough. I’ll have Jesse text it to you. They exchange funny cards and shit. Why women do that I will never—”

“She’s pregnant,” I announce because I need someone to tell.

“Uhhhh…” He stutters across the line.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Is it yours?” he asks, sounding slightly awkward.

“I really f*cking hope so, or Sarah is going to look like a real ass for calling me to drop this bomb.”

“Oh shit!”

“Yep.”

“You want to talk to Jesse? She’s right here.”

“Nah, I’m good. I just need to get to Savannah. Have her text me the address. I’m going to need you to cover for me for a few days.”

“No problem, brother. Eli and I can fill whatever hours you need. Take your time.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Hey!” He catches my attention before I hang up. “She’s pregnant. Leave the caveman in Chicago. Try some Romeo bullshit or something. If you act like a dick, I have zero qualms about beating your ass.”

I bark out a laugh. “Qualms? Really, Brett?”

“I’m serious. She’s my family. Don’t go down there and show your ass. Just get your woman and bring her home.”

“I gotcha.”

“Keep me in the loop,” he says before cutting the connection.





EIGHT EXCRUCIATING hours after I got the phone call from Sarah, I arrive at Savannah International Airport. I didn’t even bother to swing by my house on the way to the airport. I’ll buy whatever I need here. I’m reasonably sure Savannah has a mall or two.

It’s nine p.m. when my cab pulls up in front of her house. There is not a light in the house on, and for a second, I worry that she’s not home. But just as I walk up to the front door, the porch light flips on.

“Caleb Jones,” he drawls, pulling open the door. The shadow of a giant I know to be Alex lingers behind him.

“Hunter Coy,” I respond taking the final step to the door. “Where is she?”

“Sleeping,” he answers shortly but pushes the door wide as an invitation for me to enter.

“I want to see her,” I demand, stepping into the quaint townhouse.

“We won’t stop you. But I want to know where your head’s at first,” he says, and for the first time since I met the *, I feel something similar to respect for him.

“I honestly have no idea. I’m guessing, by this little show of solidarity, it’s true.”

“Sarah called earlier. I know you talked to her. Emma does not.” He moves to sit down.

“Where is she?” I ask again.

“Upstairs. In my bed,” Hunter says with wicked grin that has me rushing toward him.

“Slow your roll.” Alex throws a hand into my chest. “He sleeps on the couch. He’s just giving you shit. First door on the left.” He nods up the stairs.

I don’t give Hunter a second thought as I fly up the stairs. I gently push open the door, and the light from the hall illuminates the room. I stand for a minute and watch her softly sleeping. Her long hair is cascaded behind her, and her body is completely absent of any blankets, exposing her long, creamy white legs. I can’t take it a moment longer. I have to touch her.

I quickly toe off my boots and climb into bed behind her. Wrapping my arms around her waist and bending my knees into hers, I pull her tight against my body. She hasn’t even opened her eyes, but for the first time in months, my body relaxes. I drag my hand under the camisole she’s sleeping in and press gently against her belly.

“I’m not cuddling with you, Hunter. Take your ass to the couch,” she says, scooting away from me. Her words make me smile and extinguish whatever smoldering jealousy I had about their relationship.

I follow her across the bed holding her tight, and just as she begins to huff and try to move my hand away, I whisper into her ear. “Hey, Emmy.” Her entire body immediately goes stiff.

Very slowly, she rolls over to face me, nervously chewing on her bottom lip in the most unlike-Emmy way.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, but her bright eyes give her away.

“I’m here to take you home.”

“Where’s home exactly?”

“My house.”

Her eyes go wide before suddenly narrowing. “Who told you?”

“Sarah,” I say simply, and surprisingly, it doesn’t even feel like venom on my tongue.

“Fantastic!” she says with enough sarcasm to shut down an entire clown college.

“Were you planning on telling me?” I ask gently.

The entire way here, I thought this was going to be a fight. I’m bitter that I just found out, and it’s even worse that Sarah was the one who told me. But now, staring into Emma’s face, whatever anger I was harboring is completely washed away.

“I just found out yesterday. I was headed back up to Chicago this weekend to visit Sarah, so I figured we’d talk then.”