The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

A few months ago, I would have ignored Amanda’s bitching, jumped in my truck, and burned rubber without a fuck to give. In fact, I gave serious thought to doing just that, but sadly, I didn’t want to be that guy. I wasn’t that guy. Not anymore. I changed, and found it mighty damn inconvenient to actually care about Amanda’s feelings.

Being a dick really was way easier.

I met Amanda’s ticked off glare and sighed. “Sorry, Mandy. I'm not trying to be an asshole. I just have…” I waved a hand in the general vicinity of my head, something I’d been doing a lot lately. “A lot of crap to process.”

The judgmental expression slid off Amanda’s face. She took another step closer and touched my arm. Sincere as hell, despite all the shit I put the poor woman through, she felt fucking bad for me, which didn’t make me feel any better. Just hand me the Heel of the Year award and call it a day.

“What’s wrong, Seb? You

're white as a ghost.” Amanda blinked her big green eyes as she looked up at me. “Do you need to talk about it?” I shook my head, but Amanda, tenacious as ever, checked her platinum watch and pushed on. “Seriously, I have time. If you want, we can go get a cup of coffee or something.” She smiled, nothing sexy or seductive about it. “That's what friends do, right?”

My shoulders slumped. On the one hand, I wanted to take Amanda up on her offer. Half of me wanted to dump the entire unholy nightmare into someone else’s lap to deal with. If anything, Evvy should be the one I called to confess that Calloway's pregnant sister was Hot Blonde from the games. I couldn’t wrap my head around it and an outside opinion would be a blessing, but the idea of discussing the swirling toilet bowl that was my personal life with Ev made me nauseous. I trusted the guy and all, I just didn't feel like getting all Steel Magnolias in front of my best friend and teammate.

My other half, the more rational half in my undeniably useless opinion, wanted to jump in the truck and drive until I either ran out of gas or flew off the edge of the earth. Didn't care which so long as I ended up as far as possible from the entire fucked up situation.

Because I’m an idiot, as proven time and time again, I chose to do neither.

“Your offer is really sweet, Mandy. And yeah, that's what friends do.” I shuffled my feet and stared at my shoes. “I won’t make for good company right now. Don’t be mad. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t want to fuck things up with you again.”

The hand on my arm gave a light squeeze and I tore my gaze from my shiny wingtips long enough to catch Amanda’s sympathetic smile. “Okay, but if you need to talk you can always call me.”

Twitch, twitch, twitch.

I slapped a hand over my eye and bit back a scream. I had no fucking clue what to do. Did I find Kylie? Run? Pretend I never saw Calloway’s picture? On top of the crushing indecision, I had a million and a half questions for Kylie. Such as, why didn’t she tell me her brother was Satan? Why did she dump my ass? Besides the obvious—that I’m a raging asshole.

I was losing it, the reactors in my gray matter destabilizing as I cruised toward a nuclear meltdown. My lower lip quivered and I swore to fucking god, if I ended up crying in front of Amanda, I was going to find the nearest overpass and plow my truck into a concrete support.

“Oh, Seb.”

Amanda's voice cracked. I made the mistake of looking at her. Tears welled in her eyes and I nearly lost my shit. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around my waist, an offer comfort in my time of need. Something I never did for her because it never occurred to me to do so. Not once.

With my face buried in the neck of my ex-fuck buddy, I, Sebastien St. Clair, a.k.a. The Sinner, cried like a baby.

13

Kylie

For all the women out there who didn’t already know, it’s revelation time! Everything anyone’s told you about pregnancy is an outright lie.

I couldn’t get the advice from my most recent doctor’s appointment, out of my head. It was like one of those annoying Justin Bieber songs. You don't want to like it, but can't stop thinking about it. I kept repeating the words, and for whatever reason, always did it using the same placating “doctor knows best” voice. “You're only four months along, Kylie, don't worry so much. You’ve hit the second trimester, so it’ll be smooth sailing for at least another two to three months. Relax and enjoy the break. After that, well,” he chuckled, and I remember wanting to kick him in the nuts. “That's when the baby will really start to sap your energy.”

I hustled toward the arena, looking ridiculous. Gasping for breath, I sucked in air as if the short distance from the car to the door were a marathon instead of across a parking lot. Stupid male doctor. He didn’t know what the heck he was talking about… smooth sailing. What a joke! A man does not, and never will, have a single freaking clue what it feels like to be pregnant.

Ugh! My chest ached and with each inhale, the cold air felt like a billion knives in my lungs. Luckily, the staff entrance was in sight, less than fifty yards away. I had no problem getting in. Not only did I know all of the guards by name, I was also the proud owner of my very own official laminated Comets badge, which I kept tucked safely in my pocket. Most family members didn’t get one, only staff. Per his usual MO, Rocco went above and beyond with his helicoptering, and threw a massive hissy fit until Comets’ management folded and gave him whatever he wanted, probably to make him shut up and go away.

Just a little further and I’d be inside, out of the below freezing temperatures. My lungs were on fire from both the exertion and bitter cold. I was seriously regretting having slacked off on cardio in the last few weeks in favor of moping.

Daniel, the guard on duty, saw me coming and smiled. I opened my mouth to say hello but animated voices caught my attention. Glancing to my right I saw the outline of two people having an intense exchange of words. Hands made sweeping gestures and the volume of their voices steadily rose. None of my business. I turned toward Daniel and the beckoning warmth, when the man just about shouted. I stopped so abruptly, my foot slipped on a patch of ice and I almost landed face first on the pavement.

“Miss Calloway?” Daniel asked. He reached for me, brow furrowed in concern.

“Shhh.” I flapped a hand so he would be quiet. I wanted hear what the couple was saying, or more specifically, I needed to hear one of them, because I recognized the voice. When it came to everything Sebastien St. Clair, my response was on par with that of Pavlov's dogs. Seb sent my hormones—and my ability to make smart decisions—spinning out of control. I pressed a hand to my midsection and swallowed.

The only reason I was at the arena was to find Seb and tell him about the pregnancy, but hearing his voice, knowing he was close by, made my resolve falter and my stomach queasy. It felt like my internal organs fell into a blender set to liquefy. I tried to identify who was with Seb, but it was dark and they were several rows away.

Dan said my name again and, without tearing my gaze from the couple, I told him, “I'll be right back.”

Seb spoke and the sound made my heart flap wildly. It knocked against my ribs, determined to break free of its cage and fly away. Despite driving to the arena with every intention of coming face to face with Seb, hoping to catch him after the game, in hindsight I should have chosen a different venue. Someplace other than where Seb—and Rocco—worked to break the news that in a few short months, like it or not, Seb would be a father.