Lance
Charlie’s new scent hits me, bowling me over like a tidal wave. I caught it today on the wind when I was following her. It’s changed.
She’s changed. Her breasts are swollen. Her face is stained with tears.
Fuck.
My female’s pregnant, and she doesn’t want it.
Misery washes through me, thick and hot.
I showed up on her doorstep, but words elude me.
“Lance.” She sounds breathless, in a shocked way.
“Hey.”
Hey—really? That’s all I can think to say?
She doesn’t move back to invite me in, even though cold air fills her house, making her n*****s protrude under her long-sleeved t-shirt.
“I don’t want to disturb you, but, ah, I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
She swallows. “Um. No, not really. But it turns out, it wasn’t the stomach flu—I’m pregnant,” she blurts.
I drop my head
