Black sheep. Rebel. Bad boy.
I’ve been called that and worse. Even deserved it a time or two.
I’m not all bad—just misunderstood. Cut from a different cloth. My family doesn’t get what makes me tick and I’m tired of trying to make them see.
So, I’m getting the hell out. Out of this small-town way of life, and out of this family. Bags packed. One way ticket purchased. There’s only one problem.
Or if you want to be specific, the baby she’s carrying.
She swears it’s mine. With any other woman I’d laugh her right out the door.
The trouble is, I think this one is telling the truth.
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Meet Abby Brooks
She loves dancing in the kitchen, laughing with people she loves, and reading way too late into the night.
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