Wow, so he’s been to the house recently if he knows that Nancy’s daughter Beth is my sitter.
“I told you I don’t want your money,” I remind him. “I would rather Honey grow up without a father than know you’re hers and that you don’t want her.”
“That’s pretty fucked up, don’t you think?” he asks.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then how about this, how fucked up is it that after a year, an entire fucking year, I haven’t been with another woman because I can’t get you out of my goddamn head?”
He’s…what?
“Like I would ever believe that for a second,” I reply. “I saw the half-naked women at your house the day I came by to tell you I was pregnant. Are you really trying to pretend like you didn’t sleep with one or all of them, and then half the female population in Carolina Beach over the last few months?”
“I haven’t,” he grits out, green eyes blazing with the kind of heat that dares me to call him a liar again.
“Even if you’re telling the truth, that-that’s not my fault,” I say. I don’t believe that Malcolm Hyde has been celibate for a second.
“Yeah, Naomi, it is,” he argues. “And I’m sick and tired of missing you and wondering if I was wrong about you. I feel like… like an idiot, because I’m pretty sure I was wrong for thinking the worst about you.”
“Yeah, you were. Took you long enough,” I tell him as my chin trembles and throat burns from trying to fight back tears.
“I’ve just been burnt so many times before when it comes to people screwing me for money. After a while, it becomes harder and harder to trust people.”
“I know,” I reply. “You don’t want to look like a fool again.”
“Right,” he agrees. “And lately, I constantly feel like a fucking fool for letting you go instead of giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
“You are a fool,” I tell him as tears burn my eyes because he’s here, telling me the things I’ve wanted to hear from him for so long, since the night I left his house.
“So, what’s it going to take for you to give me another chance?” he asks.
“Another chance?” I repeat in confusion.
“Yeah, to be with you, to meet my daughter.”
“You want to meet her?” I say in surprise while losing the battle with holding back tears.
“I really do,” he says. “She looks like you.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Yes. Not up close, but...she’s beautiful, and I think she deserves to have a father in her life. Even if he is a fool half the time.”
“Most of the time,” I correct.
“Fine. Most of the time. I think I can be better for her, though.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“Yeah. I think I can be better for you too, Naomi.”
God, I hate the way he says my name, making all of my anger and hate melt away like butter. “Why haven’t you been with anyone else, Malcolm?”
“I dunno,” he says as he leans onto the counter and runs his fingers through the front of his hair that’s even longer than before. “Maybe because I didn’t want to knock anyone else up on accident, but probably because I missed you and knew there wasn’t another woman alive that I would fight my own brother to have.”
“How is Fiasco?” I ask, causing Malcolm to instantly narrow his eyes at me.
“When I told him you were pregnant, he panicked because he thought it might be his,” he admits.
“No, he did not! We never even…”
“I know,” Malcolm mutters.
“So why would he…”
“Believe me, I know!” he says with a hint of a smile curving the corners of his lips. “And I don’t need to hear the reminder of what you did with him that doesn’t make babies.”
“He may not be the brightest, but the man is very well-endowed.”
“Why did you feel the need to go there and tell me that shit?” he grits out.
“Because you deserve it,” I tell him. “You were an asshole, Malcolm. So don’t think that one conversation after months is going to change things after what you put me through…”
Malcolm suddenly stands up and reaches across the counter to grab two handfuls of the hair on either side of my head. Before I know what’s happening, he’s crushing his mouth to mine, cutting off any words I was planning to say abruptly. His tongue invades roughly, demanding entry from my lips and taking what it wants, a swipe of my tongue, without asking, which is the epitome of Malcolm. I really wish I didn’t get turned on by this sort of treatment. But I do, unfortunately.
I don’t even realize that I’m kissing him back until he groans into my mouth. That’s when I finally find the strength to peel his fingers from my hair and take two steps backward, out of his reach.
“You-you need to leave,” I tell him, swiping my knuckles across my damp lips to dry them off. “I have to, um, get everything done so I can go home.”
“I’ll wait here until you’re ready to leave,” Malcolm tells me, taking a seat on the stool again.
“You’re not coming home with me tonight,” I warn him. I’m too off-kilter to have him in my house, especially near a bed. I could end up doing things that I regret tomorrow, if not immediately at the time they happen. Not to mention I’m not supposed to be engaging in any sexual activity before my six-week checkup.
Not that I’m thinking about sleeping with Malcolm.
I won’t do that again.
Probably.
“Fine,” he huffs. “Let me come over tomorrow so I can see the baby?”
“No. I’ll, um, I’ll bring her to your place.”
“My place?” he asks.
“Yeah, your place. Say around four, before you go to work?”
“Fine.” He forces the single word out like the place and time is not of his preference but knows there’s not a lot he can do about it.
He’s such a control freak, and I really do enjoy being able to throw him off balance any way I can. Serves him right for coming in here out of the blue and turning my world upside down.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Malcolm
* * *
I’m up at ten a.m. the next morning, cleaning my house like a maniac in preparation for Naomi and the baby to come over later.
Honey. My daughter’s name is Honey. My daughter.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited about anything in my life. At least, I think this feeling gnawing its way through me is excitement. It could be abject terror, as both emotions are not really in my normal repertoire. Whatever this new sensation is, it’s driving my body into frantic motion, and my hands are so dry the skin is cracking from all the Clorox I’ve been using to wipe down everything, even the ceiling of my bathroom.
Once I’ve moved all the furniture searching for any sort of debris, and wiped down every exposed surface repeatedly, I stop and force myself to calm down. This seemingly inexhaustible energy feels like it might be the precursor to some sort of anxiety attack, and the last thing I need to do before Naomi and Honey come over is collapse.