Baz’s eyebrows popped as he waited for her to elaborate. “Couldn’t what, Molly? Spit it out.”
“Get it inside me,” she said softly, tears filling her eyes. “I know you wanted to and I tried. I got on top, put on the condom, but it wouldn’t go on, so I tried again and it broke. It didn’t matter though. We didn’t need it. We’re gonna be together forever. We’re having a baby.”
Baz’s heart was pounding, his blood roaring in his ears. They hadn’t…
“I really tried, but … we get a do-over,” she said adamantly. “And the baby … the baby will only make us love each other more.”
He was still hung up on one thing. “We didn’t have sex?”
“We tried,” she repeated. “You weren’t … you know … hard. It was the alcohol. I read that it does things like that. The alcohol made it not work, but it will. Next time it will. You’ll want me like that again, I know you will. And when you do, we’ll try again.”
Baz fought to remember that night just like he had a million times since. No matter how hard he tried, there were only brief flashes of memory. He remembered being on the couch, Molly lying on him, kissing him. He had a vague impression of her rolling on a condom. But the most he remembered was watching as she straddled his hips, riding him. Hadn’t she?
“You wanted me,” Molly stressed. “Not her. Me.”
“Her?” Baz stared at Molly. “What are you talking about?”
“You called me Jessica by accident. But you were drunk, so you were confused.”
Baz felt his stomach churn.
“But you wanted me,” she bit out, her sweet demeanor shifting to furious. “You were there with me.”
Baz took a deep breath. “Molly, tell me the truth. Is that baby mine?”
Her eyes were wide, tears now streaming down her face.
“Is it?”
“She can be.”
“Did we have sex that night?”
“We tried,” she whispered, her eyes darting away.
He noticed she was looking at the chart.
That was where the truth was. That was the reason she wouldn’t let him go to the appointments with her. If he had, he would’ve realized she was further along than she said she was. Granted, it was only by a few weeks, so it could still be his.
Unless, of course, they’d never had sex in the first fucking place.
Baz walked over, flipped open the chart, skimmed the information. She was forty weeks according to this, her due date in two days. It showed her date of conception to be in mid-December. Her first missed period was December twenty-ninth. That was before he’d ever even met her.
And according to the notes, she was having a girl.
Curious, he glanced at Molly’s name to see if that was even her name. It was. Molly Elizabeth Ryan born on November twenty-ninth…
“Oh, my God,” he muttered, lifting his gaze to hers. “You’re”—his heart slammed into his ribs—“nineteen?”
Her eyes were wide.
“You told me you were twenty-one, Molly.”
She was in a fucking bar when they’d met, for fuck’s sake. She lived in her own goddamn apartment.
Nineteen?
Baz was going to be sick.
“Sebastian, please, I can explain everything. I can. Really. You just have to give me a chance. We can work this out. I love you. The baby loves you. Please, Sebastian. Please give us a chance. I know—”
He shook his head, seriously worried he was going to vomit. The past nine months had been a lie. One after another at that. They hadn’t even had sex. The baby couldn’t be his because they hadn’t had sex. He’d lost nine fucking months with JJ because of this shit.
“Jesus, Molly. How the fuck could you do this?”
He headed for the door. It opened before he could reach it, and an older couple appeared, both of them smiling.
The man’s gaze narrowed on Baz, probably wondering who he was.
“You must be Kevin,” the woman greeted, her eyes skeptical as they bounced over to where Molly was still begging him to stay.
“I’m sorry?”
“Kevin? Liz’s boyfriend?”
Liz? She went by Liz?
And she’d told them his name was Kevin?
Holy fuck.
Baz shook his head. “No. I’m … uh … no, I’m not Kevin. If you’ll excuse me.”
The last thing he heard as he headed for the exit was Molly or Liz or whoever the fuck she was calling his name.
He didn’t turn around.
Chapter Nineteen
JJ stared at the open folder in front of her, at the two sheets of ordinary white paper with the black ink on them. Funny how something so common could be so … disturbing. Then again, it wasn’t the paper or the ink but rather the details. That saying … the devil is in the details … well, it was quite literal in this case.
She had tried to call Baz once, but he hadn’t answered and she desperately wanted to talk to him.
Thankfully, the barn was clearing out as the team got on the road for Dallas. She had promised Brantley she would be there in time for the afternoon training when he offered Reese’s truck for her to drive since they would be driving up in Brantley’s. Although she wasn’t keen on the idea of going alone, she would do it just to prove that she was reliable.
But first, she was hoping to talk to Baz.
Not that sharing the particulars was going to change the fact that Baz was having a baby. It didn’t matter that Molly was nineteen years old or that she’d been committed to not one but three different psychiatric facilities in the past eight years, she was obviously pregnant based on what Baz had told them. Despite the fact she had been diagnosed with schizophrenia at a young age, had birthed two other children by two different men—one when she was only fourteen, the other when she was almost eighteen, both put up for adoption—it appeared Molly Ryan was still having babies with unsuspecting men.
She knew without a doubt Baz wasn’t aware of any of this. In fact, he didn’t even know she was a teenager. Although JJ had never cared about the personal details of the woman Baz had made a baby with, she had assumed Molly was at least legal drinking age. Safe assumption since they’d met in a bar.
Granted, that was the least of their worries.
Forty-five minutes later, after she’d attempted to call Baz two more times and the call had been sent directly to voicemail, JJ knew she needed to get on with her day. When she did get ahold of Baz, she could break the news to him then.
No sooner had she stood when she caught a flash of movement on the other monitor on her desk. She no longer simply relied on the screen downstairs to show her the camera angles. These days she was far too paranoid to not have that information at hand, so she kept them streaming on the second monitor on her desk. There, pulling into the driveway, was Baz’s truck.
“You can do this,” she muttered to herself, running her hand down the front of her shirt to smooth it. She could relay this information to Baz in a non-critical way. She could warn him without getting emotional.
A minute later, she heard the faint beep of the keypad outside the door, held her breath as she waited for him to come inside. She listened to his footsteps, fearing what he was there to tell her. Had the baby been born? Would he want to celebrate? Was he here to tell her she would need to find a new place because he needed to set up a nursery in the bedroom she slept in?