Page 3 of Priest

Of course she did.

“I just don’t want this to complicate things,” she adds after a moment. “Especially with Blue.”

My name slices through me.

“What if she gets upset?” Sadie continues. “What if she thinks this changes things between you and her?” A pause, then softer, sharper. “What if she were to get pregnant too?”

Priest doesn’t hesitate. “That’s not a concern. She knows what this is.”

The floor tilts.

“We keep it light,” he says. “She knows that.”

I don’t remember agreeing to that version. I remember his mouth on my shoulder at three in the morning. His hand wrapped around mine in sleep. His thumb brushing my cheek when he thought I was too tired to notice. I remember him breaking his own rules, then acting like the pieces didn’t make a shape.

I agreed to no labels. I agreed to no promises. I agreed because my life was full and his was dangerous, and neither of us pretended we had room for forever. But I never agreed to be second. I never agreed to watch another woman carry his child while I carried his secrets.

Sadie’s voice drops lower. “So she won’t have a problem with me being here?”

“She isn’t my Old Lady,” Priest says. “She does not get a say in who I protect.”

There it is. It isn’t cruel. It’s worse than that because it’s simple.

I don’t remember moving. One second I’m pressed against the wall, lungs burning, and the next I’m halfway down the hallway, the sound of the party rushing back in like I’ve surfaced from underwater. I don’t stop walking. I don’t look back.

I reach the front door just as Priest and Sadie return to the common room behind me.

“Hey,” Priest calls out. “Listen up, assholes!”

The room hushes. I freeze, hand on the door, heart hammering so hard I’m surprised no one can hear it.

“I’ve got an announcement,” he says easily. “Sadie’s pregnant.”

Cheers erupt. Someone whoops. A palm slaps the bar hard enough to rattle glass.

“We’re gonna have a little prince or princess around here,” Priest adds.

The words blur together. Prince. Princess.

I finally understand the rule I missed. I was allowed in his bed. Not his life.

I step outside into the night, the door thudding shut behind me as the cheers swell inside. The air is cool and sharp, slicing through the heat clinging to my skin. My hands shake as I fumble for my phone to check on my rideshare. I don’t cry. Not yet. Crying feels like something I’ll do later, somewhere quiet, when it won’t break me in public.

My phone buzzes.

Priest.

I don’t answer.

A car pulls up a minute later. I slide into the back seat and give the driver my address in a voice that sounds steadier than I feel. The clubhouse fades behind us, lights shrinking until they’re just another blur in the dark.

I don’t look back.

I already know what I’d see.

2

Priest