His eyes blazed with affection. "I don’t know what I'd do without you, Molls."

"Well, lucky for us, you don’t have to worry about that, huh?" Stretching up, I pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"Get a fucking room," Mason groaned, tossing his napkin at Daryl. "Y'all are making me nauseous with all this lovey-dovey shit."

Everyone at our table laughed and snickered.

"I'm just getting used to Mr. and Mrs. fucking Smith over there and their deranged version of love," Mase added, pointing to where Rourke and Mercy were sucking face, "without y'all starting up on this side of the table."

Rolling his own napkin up, Daryl threw it back at his friend, smacking him right between the eyes.

"Speaking of nauseous," Mercy interjected, tearing her mouth off Rourke's to turn and grin at me. "How's the stomach, Molls?"

Mason's brows shot up. "What's that now?"

"Oh, nothing," Mercy mused in a teasing tone. "Just that your girl over there threw her guts up in biology earlier."

Concern flooded Daryl's eyes. "You were sick?"

"Only because we were dissecting a cow's heart, you traitor!" I bit out, mortified that my so-called friend brought up the unfortunate incident in front of everyone. "Raw and bloodied body parts should never be assigned when it's this freaking hot outside. The smell alone was enough to –" I slapped a hand over my mouth, gawking at the memory of the smell that, hours later, still seemed to be stuck in my nose. "Ugh, I can't even say it…"

"Uh-huh, you keep on telling yourself that," Mercy cackled, thoroughly amused by my discomfort. "But we both know what you're hiding under those baggy hoodies."

"You bitch," I choked out, as everyone around us gasped and stared.

"So the rumors are true," Mason choked out, wide-eyed. "Holy shit!"

"I knew it," Bear muttered, shaking his head.

"No, the rumors are not true," I shot back, red-faced.

"More sweet lies, darlin'," Reebo offered with a wink.

"I'm not lying!" Beyond mortified, I swung my gaze to Daryl. "Tell them," I snapped. "Tell them that I'm not pregnant!"

Instead of putting the fire out like I had expected, Daryl threw his head back and laughed. "How much longer are you gonna make me lie to our friends, Molls? I mean, why can't we just tell them our happy news?"

"You…" I gasped, pointing a finger at him. "You… fucking fucker!"

"He might be a fucker," Mercy waggled her brows, "but he's a fucker who fucked you good enough to make you pregnant, huh, Molls?"

"For the last time," I narrowed my eyes, "I am not pregnant."

"Sure thing, Peterson," Rourke goaded, jumping in on the action. "But we've all read Hamlet."

"Yeah," Mason snickered. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Assholes," was all I replied, glaring at my so-called friends. "Every last one of y'all is a gigantic asshole."

40 Daryl

"You ready for tomorrow, son?"

"Yes, sir."

"Everything you've worked for, all of the sacrifices you've made, it all comes down to tomorrow night. You've gotta leave it all on the field, son. No regrets."