His streets, Not Mine Preview
The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and bad decisions.
Peaches sat on the edge of the stiff paper-covered bed, discharge papers folded in her trembling hands. The ultrasound image rested face down beside her purse like it was something shameful. Something heavy.
Her phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.
PRIEST
📞 Missed Call (7)
📱 Where you at?
📱 Answer the phone.
📱 Peaches stop playing with me.
📱 You good?
📱 Why you not answering?
📞 Missed Call (12)
Her eyes blurred.
She wasn’t ignoring him to be petty.
She was ignoring him because the words felt too big to say.
Pregnant.
The doctor had said it gently. Too gently.
“You’re about six weeks.”
Six weeks.
Six weeks ago she was in his office, back against the desk, his hands gripping her hips like she belonged there. Like the world outside didn’t exist. Like consequences didn’t either.
Her phone buzzed again.
📱 You scaring me now.
📱 If you in trouble say that.
📱 I’m pulling up wherever you at.
She wiped her face quickly, mascara staining the back of her hand. A nurse passed by the open door, glancing in with soft sympathy. Peaches hated that look.
Another call.
She finally looked at the screen instead of avoiding it.
PRIEST CALLING…
Her thumb hovered over “Decline.”
She couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think right.
How do you tell a man like Priest that you’re carrying something that could either soften him… or make him dangerous?
Her phone buzzed again — this time a text that made her stomach twist.
📱 Don’t make me send somebody to find you.
Her head snapped up.
That wasn’t concern anymore.
That was control.
Tears spilled harder now.
Because she knew him.
If he felt shut out, he’d react.
And if he reacted while emotional? People got hurt.
The phone rang again.
This time, she answered.
Silence on both ends for a split second.
His voice came low. Tight.
“Where are you.”
Not a question.
A demand.
She swallowed, voice cracking.
“At the hospital.”
Dead silence.
Then — sharper.
“Why.”
Her fingers gripped the edge of the bed.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words dropped like a gunshot.
The line went so quiet she thought it disconnected.
Then she heard him inhale slowly.
Not shock.
Not joy.
Calculation.
“Don’t move,” he said finally.
Her heart stuttered.
“Priest—”
“I’m on my way.”
Click.
The call ended.
Peaches stared at the ultrasound photo.
Outside her room window, she didn’t notice the black sedan idling across the street.
Engine running.
Watching.
And whoever sat inside already knew before Priest did.













































