“Megan Barnes died that night, Drew. Hound’s daughter, Izzy isn’t her. Have you gotten them confused? Do they look alike?”
I look at him, but can’t seem to get my head on straight enough to explain.
No one knows about that night I shared with the woman at the diner, but if what he’s saying is true—if Izzy’s proclamation is true—the girl who died in the crash and the woman I spent time with aren’t the same person.
“I just need some time to work through it all.”
“Did you hurt—”
“Killed Lawson.” My jaw ticks while I glare at him. “I killed that man.”
“Did you do it because you thought it was Izzy?”
“I need some time,” I repeat.
“If you did, that changes things. It—”
“It changes nothing.”
“But—”
“I’m going to bed,” I snap, walking toward the open en suite door.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Different emotions—shame, confusion, disappointment, heartache—hit me in the chest one after the other.
Did I mess up so completely that I killed a man because I thought he hurt someone I imagined finding and making a life with?
Would I have acted the same way, done the same thing for a stranger, if it were clear when I approached that car that it wasn’t Megan—Izzy?
I blamed a bad memory for minor color difference in cars, for the wreckage being a Camry instead of the Corolla I pressed that woman to in the parking lot.
I blamed time for the shade difference and length of her hair, for the tiny tattoo on the girl’s wrist, one I didn’t notice that night in the parking lot.
My mind registered so many differences, but I shoved them all down, seeing what I wanted to see rather than keeping a straight head.
The lies she told that night make more sense now. They weren’t lies at all. The woman in the car and the woman in the diner aren’t the same.
One is still dead and one is across the street, potentially pregnant with my child.
I’m sick to my stomach over the relief I feel that’s accompanying the enlightenment.
Fuck, am I glad that woman didn’t die? Does that mean I’m happy the other one did?
No.
I shake my head to rid it of those thoughts. She didn’t deserve to die, didn’t deserve to use her last breath begging for help from a man that had none to offer.
She’s alive. The woman that infiltrated my thoughts long before that night on the highway is alive.
I have the chance to see her again, talk to her, get to know more about her. This would be my own fairy tale if I hadn’t ruined my entire life.
Pregnant with my baby?
Please, God, let it be someone else’s child. I’m in no position to be a father, in no way good enough to deserve something like that. No child should be raised with a dad in prison.
I have a million questions, half of which I don’t think I want the answers to. In order to prevent myself from running across the street and demanding all the truths from her, I strip down and climb into the shower, first taking the punishment of freezing water over my body before turning it so hot that it scalds my skin. What other ways can I repent for the choices I made?
I don’t even know what will happen next. All I know is staying away from that woman will be the only thing that will keep me sane.
Chapter 5
Isabella
I thought I was ready to handle this situation until the knock hit my door. All night I formulated what parts I would share and which ones I’d keep to myself. Honestly, I’m grown and I don’t owe anyone in this house an explanation, but I know I’m going to give one anyway.
Hiding the facts of this pregnancy wasn’t easy, but it’s impossible now.
“Come in.”
Dressed in his normal jeans and t-shirt, Dad opens the door, choosing to lean against the doorframe rather than coming fully into the room.
He’s closed off, probably mad, and not impressed with the news that came to light last night.
“I can make a lot of assumptions, Iz, but I’d prefer to get the truth.”
“Okay.” I drop my eyes to my hands, doing my best to keep them from clutching my pregnant belly.
“Can you start at the beginning?”
“I stopped at the diner in Cuba, the one with those fluffy pancakes.”
He doesn’t engage, doesn’t smile at the reminder that we stopped there together on the way to get into my dorm at college freshman year.
“It was spring break. I met him there. He was flirty and charming.” I drop my eyes, unable to say the next part while looking at him. “I got pregnant.”
He grunts, an unhappy sound from deep in his chest. “So flirting these days turns into unprotected sex?”
“I didn’t know that he didn’t wear a condom.”
I knew after we were done, but I was so wrapped up in him, I didn’t consider the consequences.
“Didn’t know? How is that even possible? We’ve had more than one conversation about being safe.”
“I hadn’t ever—” I snap my mouth closed.
“Hadn’t ever…” He growls again, this time the sound closer as he pushes away from the doorframe. “Are you telling me that you gave up your virginity to a man you just met?”
If he’s angry now, I can’t imagine how he’d react if he knew exactly how it went down.
“Don’t,” I hiss, somehow finding my backbone. “I’m a grown woman. I make my own choices. If I recall, you knocked Gigi up the first night you met her in a back alley outside of a strip club, so don’t act all high and mighty right now.”
“How did—”
“She likes to overshare, Dad.” I straighten my back and look up at him. “I don’t regret that night. I don’t regret this baby. But if you have a problem with it, then I don’t have to stick around.”
“That’s not my intention, Izzy.”
He holds his hand out to me, but I refuse to take it. Pain flashes in his eyes as he lowers it back down to his side.
“It’s not a perfect situation.”
“You kept all of this to yourself. I asked more than once who the father was. I nearly put Apollo in the ground for it.”
“And I told you I don’t lie to you. When you asked if Apollo was the father, I told you the truth. That night with him was wild, a whirlwind of chaos. I’m not proud to say I never got his first name. His last name was on his uniform, but I never put two and two together. I didn’t know that this baby’s father was Lawson’s brother until he walked into the clubhouse last night.”
“And he didn’t know about the baby?”
“Wasn’t it obvious?”
Dad takes a step back, a stumbling sort of shuffle as if he’d been hit in the chest with a bullet. “You weren’t going to tell him.”
It’s not a question, but I feel obligated to answer, anyway. This is where most of my guilt comes from.
“I wasn’t. I didn’t figure a man who… I didn’t think he’d want to be a dad.”
“That’s not your decision to make. How could you do that, take that choice away from him after you know what I went through with your mother, how much time I lost with you?”