What if Bridget made this happen?
What if she deliberately tampered with the condom?
I wouldn’t put it past her. She wouldn’t have thought about the moral implications of using a baby as a pawn or all the far-reaching consequences of her actions. She would have only thought that having my baby would bind me to her in a way I wouldn’t be able to escape.
“Please, Mick,” she continues. “You know me. There has never been anyone for me but you. Seriously, I don’t know what you want from—”
“I want some time to think,” I cut in, rubbing my temple, which started throbbing the second I spotted her downstairs. “And I want to know why you didn’t tell me sooner. Why keep it a secret until it’s so close to time for the baby to be born?”
She glances down at the warm milk in her hands. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” The more I think about it, the stranger it seems that she waited so long to contact me. Sure, I changed cell phones, but she knows where my family lives. Obviously. It isn’t like her to let months of holding something over my head slip through her fingers.
There has to be some other reason she waited.
“I need an answer,” I press when she continues to stare down at the mug in silence.
“Well, I spotted a lot at first,” she says, her voice soft. “There was blood almost every day. I worried I was going to lose the baby and… Then my mom and dad were being difficult and I just… I had a hard time finding a way to reach you.”
I frown. “How were your mom and dad being difficult? What do they think about all this?”
“They don’t understand me,” she says, reaching up to adjust the ribbon in her hair, though it’s perfectly tied. As usual. “They never have. That’s why I have to stay here. With you.”
She shifts her gaze, meeting mine with a pleading look. “Please, Mick. Let me stay here with you. I don’t have anywhere else to go, and I’m scared of doing this alone.”
If she were anyone else, I would have reached out, taken her hand, and offered what comfort I could.
But she’s Bridget and I don’t want to give her any reason to think I’m reconsidering my position. I feel sorry for her and worried about the baby and afraid for the future, but no matter what happens I’m not going to take her in and take care of her.
It’s time for her to stand on her own two feet if she can manage it, or to find professional help if she can’t.
“You aren’t alone,” I say, my voice firm, but gentle. “I meant what I said. I’m here to help with money and I’m happy to split custody fifty-fifty. I can even take the baby more at first if you need time to work things out with your parents.”
Or log some quality time with a shrink, I add silently.
“We’ll work this out,” I continue. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll make sure the baby never wants for anything.”
She sniffs. “But I don’t want to split custody. I want to be a family.”
I hold her gaze, willing her to look into my eyes and see the truth. “No, Bridget. We will never be a family. I will never live with you, I will never love you, and I will never touch you again. Not ever.”
Her bottom lip starts to tremble again. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I say. “I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it’s the truth. And nothing is going to change that.”
“You’ll change your mind.” Silent tears stream down her face even as she smiles. “I know you will. I’ll make you understand.”
I sigh. This conversation is futile.
I might as well be trying to reason with a rock.
No, a rock would probably be more receptive to logic.
“All right.” I push back from the table. “Leave a number where I can reach you on my desk before you go. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can talk more about what to do over the phone.”
“Where are you going?” she asks, her eyes going wide as I stand.
“I’m going to find Faith and apologize for ruining her Valentine’s Day.”
“What about me?” Her hands tighten around her cup until her fingertips go white. “What about ruining my life?”
I shake my head. “You’re in charge of your life. Not me. If it isn’t going the way you’d like, I suggest you take a look in the mirror and make a few changes in the way you handle yourself.”
Her nostrils flare. “So, this is all my fault? I got pregnant all on my own, is that it? I guess you are going to ask for a paternity test and add insult to the rest of your abuse.”
“As long as the baby’s born in the right time frame, I don’t need a test. I know you were too busy making my life miserable to sleep with anyone else while we were together.” I turn toward the door, ignoring Bridget’s outraged huff.
She was the abusive party in our relationship, but she’ll never admit it. She’s determined to play the victim and keep right on blaming everyone else for her problems.
“Come back here, Mick,” she calls, the words followed by a loud thump I assume is her fist hitting the table, but I don’t turn back to check.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Feel free to let yourself out.” I step onto the landing and start down the stairs, ignoring Bridget’s cry for me to wait.
I’m done waiting, and I’m not about to let Bridget or anyone else keep me from making things right with Faith.
Chapter Twenty
Faith
I haven’t cried in public in years, not since I was fifteen and rolled a four-wheeler on my uncle’s property, breaking my arm in two places when I smashed into a fallen tree.
And even then, I only cried for a few minutes, determined to pull myself together before my cousins came back with help, to prove I was tougher than the other girls and could absolutely hang with the guys for the rest of the summer.
The fact that there are tears in my eyes as I hurry across the street to the firehouse is enough to send a tsunami of shame sweeping through my insides.
Pull yourself together, Miller. Get a grip!
But I can’t seem to pull myself together.
The harder I try, the faster the tears fall. By the time I reach my truck, I’m a soppy, snotty mess and shaking so hard I drop my keys on the concrete not once, but twice, before I finally manage to shove the key in the door.
I’m so miserable, I don’t hear anyone calling my name or even realize someone’s close until a big, warm hand settles on my back.
“Whatthefuck,” I exhale in a rush as I spin around, knocking the hand away and instinctively preparing to defend myself.
“Easy, killer. Just saying hello.” Jamison backs away with his hands raised, his laughter fading as he gets a better look at my face. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I swipe the sleeve of my sweater across my face, mopping up some of the mess, wishing I’d made my escape before anyone saw what a wreck I am.
“Is it Whitehouse? Did he do something?” Jamison’s scowl deepens. “Because if he did, I’m prepared to go teach him some manners. I tried to warn Maddie that the two of you were moving too fast, but she wouldn’t—”