Page 30 of Baby for Stepmom

Ryan stood in nothing but his gray sweats, gaping at the crowd of people like a fish pulled out of water. Wide-eyed, cheeks burning red, he took it all in—his coworkers and friends, Jax’s cousins—some averting their eyes, some glued to the action like this was bad reality TV.

Then, as if none of the others were even there, like muscle memory, Ryan’s head turned my way. Zeroing in on his favorite emotional punching bag, his expression turned ugly as he looked at me.

“You.”

TWENTY-SIX

JAX

“This was all your idea,” my dad rounded on Delila, as if it was her fault his cock was just caught flopping around in the wrong vagina.

I was worried that this would happen—though I had only seen him fly into a narcissistic rage in front of a crowd once before—it was predictable. It wasn’t the first time he had pinned everything on his partner. One of my first memories was my father blaming my sick mother for some stupid shit when we were out at a restaurant.

He headed straight for her, violence etched across every wrinkle on his face—I wasn’t about to let that happen.

I stood in front of Delila, arms crossed.

My dad was fucking insane if he thought I was going to let him put his hands on my woman when she was pregnant with my child.

But he wasn’t thinking—there was nothing but blind hatred behind his eyes. When I wouldn’t move out of the way, he went for me instead.

The old man’s days as a professional fighter were long gone. He had lost his edge. Must be his soft life at the office, or perhaps it was beneath the sheets, all the screwing around. Maybe it took up all his limited energy, shoving his dick in places it didn’t belong.

Dad telegraphed his punch, staring hard at where he wanted his blow to land, flaring his elbow and cocking his fist. I could have dodged that shit, easy. But I figured, since I was fucking his wife, giving it to her so good, that she’d promised that her pussy was mine… it was only fair. He deserved to land one on me.

He probably expected that I would dodge it.

The blow slammed straight into my face, a brief blinding shock, as my vision flashed white, then stinging agony.

The air rang with a shrill scream, and the confusion of too many voices talking at once. Soft palms clutched my jaw. I squinted, trying to force my blurred vision to come together, as two Delilas stared at the damage to my face, her eyes red rimmed and panicked.

“What did you do to him?” She sounded like she was struggling not to cry.

The fucker hit me right in the eye. And I let him.

I’d invited everybody. Gave his whole office the sob story about how hard he had it after losing my mom to cancer, how much it would mean to celebrate his milestone fiftieth birthday… how he worked so hard for his family, and that we just wanted to show him how much we appreciate him.

Half of his office came to give my dad a wonderful surprise on his birthday. Including Jessica from HR.

My father had gone quite pale, staring at his bruised knuckle like it didn’t belong to him.

At least four or five phones were out, recording everything.

My eye was already swelling, and a massive headache throbbed. My entire skull felt like it was on fire.

Delila looked like she wanted to run away with me; she was scrambling for her phone, muttering something about calling 9-1-1. His coworkers, even the one slinking away from the bed partially dressed—looked horrified.

Even through the pain, I was barely holding back from smirking.

Got him.

TWENTY-SEVEN

DELILA

When I pictured my life, I never imagined that I would find myself in my late-twenties and newly pregnant when I caught my husband fucking some other woman—caught him right in the act, and in front of dozens of our friends and family.

The look he gave me…