Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)

There are pluses and minuses to having a large portion of your family work at the same hospital as you do. Case in point…

“Hi, is Dr. Fritz available?” I ask the receptionist in OB while making a small attempt to keep my face tilted down. I look like shit. Worse than shit.

She glances up at me, and her eyes go wide. I have a Lidoderm patch on my ribs because I refused anything heavier for pain, but my face is a circus, and clearly there is no hiding that right now despite my meager attempt. Good to know. Not to mention my eyes are probably red from all the crying I did downstairs.

“Um.” She blinks at me only to finally remember what I asked her. “Which one?”

Right. Because my uncle Carter and my aunt Grace also work here in OB. Awesome. Or not.

“Keegan Fritz.” I cannot deal with my uncle or aunt, though maybe I should because, as memory serves, they got pregnant with Owen before they were together, and it wasn’t planned. Maybe Grace is the way to go. “Actually, either Keegan or Grace would be fine, please.”

She clears her throat and leans in toward me though we’re separated by a partition. “Are you okay, Dr. Fritz-Reyes? Do you need help immediately? As in, would you like me to notify the police?”

Oh. I smile and shake my head, ignoring the Fritz-Reyes thing. “No, it’s not like that, but thank you for asking because that’s important. A patient down in the ER did this to me.” I point to my face.

Relief strikes her features, and she clicks in her system, only to come back to me with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Grace isn’t here today, and Keegan is fully booked. Would you like to make an appointment?”

I start to tremble, but quickly push that away. “Um. No thanks. It’s nothing urgent. I can talk to them later.” I give her a smile I don’t feel and start to walk out when she stops me.

“Just give me one second.”

More clicking, and the sound is like fingernails on a chalkboard. Click, click, click. They’re playing happy music in here, and all around me are women, many of them at various stages of pregnancy. It’s like another shot to the ribs. What am I going to say to Mason? Hey, it seems I’m pregnant, but I’m not sure you’re the father. I can’t do that. I can’t tell him that.

Hiding it doesn’t sit right either, and I’m not sure what to do.

“I can fit you in with Keegan tomorrow morning at seven. She doesn’t have a patient opening then, but she’s always here that early.”

Oh, thank Christ. “Perfect. Put me in. Thank you.”

I leave the office, and Jack is waiting for me in the hall with his keys in his hand. “Don’t argue,” he starts, noting my shocked expression. “I’m driving you home.”

I start to cry again because I think Jack might be my new favorite superhero. “I’m not going to argue.”

He moves in closely beside me, and we go down the elevator and through the building. I keep my face averted as best I can, hoping and praying I don’t run into anyone I don’t want to. We make it to his car, and he helps me in, starting it up and pulling out. My ribs aren’t that bad. Sore, for sure, but I don’t think I broke any.

“What do I tell Mason?” I ask quietly.

He glances quickly in my direction before turning back to the street as we exit the garage and head in the direction of Mason’s place. “You mean because you don’t know if it’s his?”

I nod, thankful he’s driving, and I don’t have to look him in the eye. “What if I don’t tell him yet?”

He’s quiet for a very long beat. “I don’t know, Sorel. That’s a tough one.”

“I have an appointment with Keegan tomorrow morning at seven.”

He runs his hand along his jaw to the back of his neck where he holds it before returning it to the wheel. Blowing out a breath, he says, “Then tell him after. It doesn’t help Mason or you to tell him you’re pregnant until you know for sure it’s his. Or not. Especially if you’re trying to build something together for real.”

Are we? I think we are. His words last night and the way he’s been with me have shown that’s exactly what he wants. It’s what I want too if I’m being honest with myself. It’s why I said okay. Before all this began. My heart sinks.

“Assuming it’s his, would you be mad if the woman you were trying to date didn’t tell you immediately?”

“You just found out and are allowed time to process and figure things out for yourself, especially given the circumstances. Twenty-four hours, I’d understand. Keeping it from me after that, no.”

“Twenty-four hours to figure this out,” I murmur. “That’s not nearly enough time.” But he’s right. I couldn’t keep it from Mason longer than that. Whether it’s his or not. Brody lied and withheld things from me, and I’d never return the favor to anyone. “But it’ll have to be.”

“Your face!” Mason drops his heavy gym bag on the floor and sprints over to me, falls to his knees and grabs me.

“Ah!” I scream at the top of my lungs as pain slices through my body like a series of bullets.

He releases me immediately, springing back with fear and horror on his face. “I’m sorry! What did I do and what happened?”

“It’s fine,” I wheeze, trying not to cry. Again. “You didn’t know. My ribs are a little banged up along with my face, but not bad. Well, until your bear grip.” I smirk, trying for light and teasing. He frowns, not interested in that at all. Especially when I’m positive I’m not selling it well.

“You didn’t call me.” He takes in every inch of me, but I don’t miss the hurt on his face.

“You were at practice.”

Adamantly, he shakes his head. “I don’t give a shit, Sorel. I would have come the second you called. Practice isn’t nearly as important as you are.”

He means it. Sincerity is bleeding from him, and my eyes burn with unshed tears. I’ve been sitting on the sofa covered in a blanket with HGTV on because it comforts me to watch other people make something beautiful and happy with their lives and homes. Forget retail therapy or chocolate, HGTV works way better. But I’ve also been thinking about everything, and that was something I had to do alone.

“A patient slammed me into the wall and gave me this”—I point to my face—“as well as a couple of bruised ribs.”

“Baby.” He comes in and kisses the spot beside my cut with so much tenderness I instantly choke up. I don’t know if it’s pregnancy hormones or Mason being this guy to me or the fact that I’m holding this secret back from him and I feel like shit about it. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. “These things happen. I’m fine.”

“But you’re crying. You’re in pain. I need to do something.” He looks so helpless and wrecked, and why couldn’t I have met him before I met Brody? Why couldn’t it have all started and ended with him? “Can I make you a drink?”

“Um, no. Not good with, um, my face and stuff.”

His eyebrows pinch as if that’s not making any sense. Probably because it’s not.

“The swelling,” I tack on, and he moves past it.

“What about dinner? Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“You need to eat though. How about I make us some spaghetti?”

A disgusted noise crawls up my throat, and I scrunch my nose only to immediately relax my face when my cheek stings. “With the plant-based pasta?”

His lips twitch. “It’s not that bad. You get used to it.”

“Bacon cheeseburger?”

He chuckles and kisses the tip of my nose. “You got it. Do you want to take a bath or anything?”

“Nah. I showered when I came home. I’m honestly not in too much pain.” I cup his face in my hand. I think I’m starting to fall for him, which feels wild and too soon given how I was about to marry another man a month ago. Is it a rebound? It feels like it should be, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like that at all.

It feels like he’s the guy I was always meant to be with.

I want this baby to be his. I want it to be his so badly. Because if it’s not… I don’t see how he’ll want to stick around, and I don’t want to lose him.

“Thank you,” I whisper, kissing his lips.

He smiles against me. “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Mason, you’ve done so much. And you didn’t recoil from my face, which I know is no joke.”

“Hey, none of that.” He kisses me again. “You’re beautiful to me. You’re always beautiful to me. No matter what.”

My heart thuds against my bruised ribs. The pain is so acute, I can hardly catch my breath.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” he tells me adamantly. “We both deserve this, so learn to live with it and enjoy it.” He slides in next to me, so fucking gentle I can’t keep my tears at bay. I’ve never wanted something this much and been so afraid to lose it.

Burgers are ordered—mine a bacon cheeseburger with fries and his a chicken burger with no cheese or bread and a salad for a side—and he watches HGTV with me all night without a complaint. He even starts to get into it, asking if he should redo this or that or if he should buy a beach house somewhere.

I’m terrified of what tomorrow will bring, but for tonight, this is perfect, and perfect might equal Mason.