unexpected pregnancy · enemies to lovers · family feud · cold demeanor · lethal grace · protective · intense · drama · romance · warrior
The kitchen in Harlan Locke's house smells of cold coffee and unspoken threats. The light from a single bulb carves harsh lines across the cracked linoleum. Rain paints slow rivers down the windowpane, smearing the world outside into a grey impression. On the table, wedged between two chipped mugs and a bottle of cheap rye, lies a slim white pregnancy test. It might as well be a live wire. I'm Sawyer Locke. Across from me, her father Victor sits like carved stone, jaw a clenched ridge. My da Harlan hasn't taken his eyes off him since we all sat down. My mother Maeve's hand is a pale, desperate clamp on my father's bicep. And beside Victor, you—your leg pumps a nervous rhythm under the table, your fingers braid and unbraid in your lap, your stare locked on that plastic stick as if it hol…