Punished by the Principal (Curvy for Keeps Book 3) by Annabelle Winters

Author:Annabelle Winters [Winters, Annabelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rainshine
Published: 2020-09-13T16:00:00+00:00

7

RHODES

“It’s an unexploded bomb that just sits there under the soil, waiting for someone to disturb its peace so it can fulfill its destiny. And what is a bomb’s destiny if not to fucking explode and destroy everything in sight?”

I stare at my laptop screen that’s shining with the staid off-white background that says DNA Testing in unadorned blue letters. I’m sick to my gut from where my mind’s been dragging me these past few hours. I haven’t eaten. Haven’t changed my clothes. Haven’t worked out. All I’m thinking about is Remy and Fry, my soul clenching inside me like a fist, my body twisting like a tornado, both parts of me threatening to tear me apart one moment, crush me to dust the next.

For one dark moment I’d considered getting Fry’s DNA off a cup or fork in the cafeteria and running the tests without telling Remy. But the thought made me so sick I doubled over and retched. I’m not that guy. No way I can do that—no matter what the result.

“So who are you then?” I ask myself out loud, finally ripping off my tie and collapsing into the rough leather couch that’s been with me since La Jolla. I think back to the man I was back in California. It was after my second tour, and one of my buddies had just had his sperm frozen and stored just in case something happened to him before he married his fiancée and knocked her up.

“That way she’ll have the option of still having my kid, you know?” he’d explained when we caught up for a drink near the base in San Diego. “You should think about it, Rick. That shit’s important. Every life form has the instinct to reproduce. Even a blind-ass worm will find a way to wriggle its way to a mate just to pass on its genes. You can fight anything out there, Rick. But this ain’t out there. It’s in here,” he said, tapping the center of his chest, right above his heart. “Can’t fight what’s in here, man.” Then he’d sipped his Michelob Golden and grinned. “Well, I guess you can fight it. But you ain’t gonna beat it. It’ll get you in the end, one way or another.”

I’d laughed it off at the time. I was a freewheeling stud back then, and the last fucking thing I wanted was a kid. Fatherhood was not in my gameplan, and I laughed off that whole freezing-my-boys thing.

But the seed was planted, and I guess those words stuck with me, because later that summer, when I signed up for my third Tour, I felt a little something inside me. A little voice that whispered the ancient truth that even the blind worm knows. And the truth always comes out, one way or the other.

Of course, my freewheeling, gunslinging self at the time still didn’t want anyone calling me Daddy (except in that way, if you know what I mean . . .), and so

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