Unbroken Rules (Rules 3)

One specific, unforgettable moment.

“I love you more than anything,” Haze whispered into my neck while I bawled into his shirt.

He’d said that to me once before.

But this time was different.

Because this time…

I believed him.

Epilogue

SIX YEARS LATER

I’ve never pictured myself doing a gender reveal. The whole “pierce a balloon” slash “cut a cake” slash “kill your loved ones with suspense” thing has never really appealed to me. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why people do it. I just always thought when the time came, I’d tell my family up front and get it over with, quick and easy.

But that was until Auntie Allie had a say.

“It’s a girl!” Kass squeals.

“What?” I exclaim, my gaze jumping to Haze as he cuts the cake. We come to the same realization at the exact same time.

The inside is pink.

Pink.

Pink as in not blue.

Pink as in this is the wrong cake.

The sixty-five-dollar gender reveal cake that I had to run all over town to get, almost dropped five times on the way inside our house, had to go above and beyond to make sure my daughter didn’t eat. That cake… is the wrong color.

And this, my friends, is why I didn’t want a gender reveal.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I whine, and a deep, quiet laugh flares on my right. Strong arms—one tattooed, one not—wrap around my body and atop my huge baby bump from behind.

“Picked up the wrong cake, huh?” Haze mocks. “Way to go, babe.”

“I didn’t! There must’ve been a mix-up at the shop or something. I can’t believe it.” I pout and Haze smiles, leaning in to peck my cheek. He releases me from his embrace too soon.

“So… it’s a boy?” Kendrick states the obvious.

“No, it’s an alien, dipstick,” Haze says.

“What’s a dipstick?” a small voice asks.

My eyes jump to my baby girl seated next to her uncle Kendrick.

Shit.

Haze just had to say that in front of Desiree, didn’t he?

Her soft brown hair trickles down her face, concealing parts of her blue eyes—guess who she just got them from. I really need to cut her bangs soon.

I glare at Haze, and he slaps a hand on his mouth overdramatically. I bite back a grin. Idiot. That’s just what Haze does. You’d think teaching our six-year-old all the wrong words is a passion of his.

“It’s hm… something you use to check the oil on your car, honey.” Haze tells her with a shit-eating grin, and Desiree nods, but I know she has no idea what he’s talking about.