“I’m not the bad guy, Mickey,” she says, using the nickname I always hated, even at the beginning when I was so smitten with my beautiful new girlfriend, I was willing to forgive a multitude of sins. “You’re the one who left without saying good-bye, without even a note to explain why you ended a two-year relationship out of the blue.”
“It wasn’t out of the blue. And you know why,” I say. “And you know it wouldn’t have been a two-year relationship if you hadn’t blackmailed me into staying.”
She frowns, seeming genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about threatening to kill yourself if I broke up with you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “What? I never said that, Mick. I might have said it felt like I would die without you because I loved you so much, but I would never—”
“Don’t. Just don’t,” I say, rage that she’s playing dumb on purpose warring with the ugly suspicion that she doesn’t remember things the way I do.
She has a habit of rewriting history. I assumed she did it consciously to make herself feel better about the class she failed or why she didn’t make the varsity cheer squad, but maybe that isn’t the case. Maybe Bridget is even more out of touch with reality than I’ve assumed—which means she’s probably even more of a danger to our unborn baby.
Thoughts of lawyers and custody battles and other assorted ugliness I don’t want to think about whoosh through my head, making my heart beat in my ears. I don’t want to be a dad right now—certainly not a single dad—but I might very well end up fighting for the privilege in order to protect my son or daughter.
“Mick, please,” she says, her fingers twining together on top of the table. “I know this isn’t the way either one of us planned to start a family, but this baby needs you. I need you, and I know we can all be happy together if you’ll give us a chance.”
I shake my head. “We will never be together again, Bridget. I’m with Faith, but even if I weren’t, you and I are over. For good.”
Her forehead wrinkles, but the determination in her gaze doesn’t waver. “You can’t mean that. We’re meant to be, Mick. Deep down, you know that.”
“No, I don’t,” I insist.
“You do,” she counters. “You feel the connection between us, I know you do. And our child is more important than a crush on some girl you barely know. You’re a good man, Mick, and in the end, I know you’ll do what’s right and come back to me.”
I rake a frustrated hand through my hair, wondering what it’s going to take to convince Bridget that what she wants is never going to happen.
I guess I could try the truth again. Explain that it wouldn’t be right for me to be with her when I’m in love with someone else and that seeing his or her father trapped in a loveless marriage wouldn’t be doing our baby any favors.
But before I can sort out how to frame my thoughts in a way that will hopefully penetrate her delusions, Maddie appears with the cup of warm milk.
“I put a little cinnamon and sugar in it,” she says as she places the steaming cup in front of Bridget. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“Thank you so much.” She beams up at Maddie, looking so innocent and lovely I can’t blame my sister for being drawn in.
Bridget brings out the protective instincts in almost everyone—until they get to know her better and learn there’s a will of iron inside that petite frame and the only thing she needs protecting from is her own stubbornness.
Even her parents admit she’s a handful.
The one time I went home with her for a long weekend, the sympathetic glances Mr. and Mrs. Betty shot me across the dinner table as Bridget told me exactly what we’d be doing for the rest of the weekend were…chilling. Going to sleep on the Bettys’ living room couch that night, with pictures of Bridget throughout the years staring down at me from the fireplace mantel, condemning me to a life lived jerking to attention every time she tugged my strings, I felt more like a captive than a boyfriend.
But I’m not a captive or a puppet, and it’s past time to make that abundantly clear.
“I intend to do the right thing by you, Bridget,” I say. “But that doesn’t include us getting back together. I’ll be there to do whatever I can to help with the baby, but—”
“Assuming, of course, that it’s yours,” Maddie cuts in, shocking me.
Shocking Bridget, too, judging from the startled, offended sound that bursts from her chest. “What are you saying?” she demands, her tone harder than it’s been up to this point. “Of course, this is Mick’s baby.”
“And if the paternity test proves that, then I know my brother will be there with financial and parenting support,” Maddie calmly replies. “And Naomi and I will be the best aunts any kid could hope for.”
“We don’t need a paternity test,” Bridget says, anger flashing in her eyes. “I’m due any day, exactly nine months from the night Mick and I last slept together. I haven’t been with anyone else, and he knows I’m telling the truth about the broken condom.”
Maddie smiles, but she doesn’t shift her attention from my ex’s face. “I’m sure he does, and he’s such a good person he probably never stopped to think you might have done something to make it break.”
Bridget pales, not much, but enough to make my stomach go sour.
“But I’m not that nice,” Maddie continues. “And I know how miserable you made my brother last year, and if you think for one second I’m going to stand by and let you wreck his life, you are sadly mistaken. There will be a paternity test or there will be no assistance of any kind from anyone in this family. Is that clear?”
“I can’t believe this, Mick,” Bridget says, her voice breaking. “I came here hoping for a little support and compassion. And all I—”
“Enough,” I say, holding up both hands as Maddie turns to me, a pleading look in her eyes. I know she wants to help, but this isn’t the way. “Thank you, but I can handle this from here.”
“Are you sure?” Maddie asks, her brow still furrowed. “Because I can get Naomi. You know she’s even tougher than I am.”
“I’m a grown man, Mad,” I say gently. “I can stand on my own two feet.”
And I can, I realize.
I’m not going to let Bridget or anyone else control me again. Now that I know what it feels like to be loved—really loved, by a woman who accepts me for who I am—I realize I was never doing Bridget any favors. She’s never going to grow up and change her ways if people keep indulging her, and the kind of relationship she forced on me wasn’t love.
It wasn’t anything remotely close.
“All right.” Maddie squeezes my shoulder on the way to the door. “But call me if you need me.”
“Thanks, will do.” I hold Bridget’s gaze as Maddie starts down the stairs.
Bridget swallows hard, her thin neck visibly working. “Is this what you want, Mick? To make the mother of your baby feel like a slut?”
I pull in a ragged breath. I don’t think Bridget would lie about something like this, and she never even glanced sideways at another guy while we were together—but God, what if Maddie’s right?