It had been tense—all four of them and the two of us, half of us knowing that Hudson was definitely not the baby daddy, the other half ecstatic. My mother and his had immediately begun planning the wedding even though we’d made it perfectly clear we were not getting married. Then, while the others were talking about baby names, there’d been the moment between Jack and Hudson, a moment no one else saw but me. An eyebrow raise from the older, a terse statement from his son. This baby is mine now. I’m doing this, and it’s mine.
That had hurt in its own way. I’d believed Hudson had volunteered to be dad because he’d felt responsible for the position I was in. He also hadn’t wanted his mother to find out what his father had done, cheating on his wife with a woman half his age. But his words to Jack felt like they were only protecting my baby, his little brother or sister. Where did I belong in all of it?
“Why did he do that?”
I furrowed my brow, and since Edward couldn’t know what I’d been thinking, I didn’t know exactly what he was asking.
“Why did he choose to tie his whole life to yours?” His expression was as accusatory as his tone. “He didn’t even want to date you for a summer and now he wanted to be linked to you forever?”
“Uh...kind of harsh, don’t you think?” It was actually a valid question, though. One I hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about when it had happened. I’d been too relieved and grateful to have him step up and save me.
And maybe I’d hoped it would turn into more. Eventually. If I was honest with myself.
Maybe letting Hudson pretend it was his wasn’t one of my finer moments.
“I only meant that it was a fast turnaround. He went from not caring about you to caring enough to make a terrible situation better for you. Why would he do that?” Edward had backed down, but his critical gaze continued to drill into me.
Why would he do that? “He didn’t want me ruining his parents’ marriage, that’s for sure. Though, honestly, I was not the reason there were problems in their marriage.”
“That’s a hell of a sacrifice to save a parents’ marriage.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together. “He didn’t think it was his? You didn’t tell him the baby was his?”
“No. I didn’t sleep with him, remember?”
“There could have been a part of the story you’d left out.” He ignored the way I bristled at the accusation. “Was he in love with you after all?”
I could feel a muscle in my neck tick. “Were you listening last time? He knew sleeping with my friend would hurt me, and he didn’t care. He most certainly didn’t secretly love me.”
“Did you have something over him? Was it blackmail? Did you trick him?”
A cold chill ran down my spine. I hadn’t done any of those things, and the accusations had me seeing red.
But they were too close to things I had done to other people, and that made me feel guilt along with the rage. But how did he know? How could he possibly know?
I swallowed hard before responding. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but no to all of that. He felt responsible, I think. Because he was responsible, in a way, and maybe I was the asshole because I let him do it, because I thought he owed me, but I didn’t trick him into it. It was all his own choice.”
We held each other’s stare for several breaths. Finally, he sat back into the sofa. “He stepped up. That’s admirable, I suppose.” There was no trace of apology on his features, but he was calm again. “I can’t imagine Hagen ever doing something like that.”
“I can’t imagine you getting in the position where he’d have to, especially after you assured me that you knocking up a mistress would never happen.” I frowned because now I was remembering that conversation, the same one where he’d declared he would sleep with whomever he wanted, when he wanted.
“You’re right. It wouldn’t. You may continue.”
He was so bossy, so arrogant. It infuriated me. I was opening myself up for him and he could still remain so closed off. I was half tempted to stand up and stomp my foot and demand that he share too, that he open up and become vulnerable, that he give me something. Anything.
But I didn’t have the power in the room. Throwing a tantrum would gain me nothing. My only play was submission.
“Thank you, Edward,” I said, as politely as I could manage. I’d intended to go on after that, but I’d lost the momentum and couldn’t figure out where to pick up the thread.
“You decided to keep it then.” He was gentler now. Encouraging. “How did you feel about that decision? About bringing a child into the world.”
The prompting helped. All I had to do was answer honestly, and I did. “I was excited, actually. For lots of reasons that weren’t just about having a baby. I’d struggled with an identity for so long, and this felt like such a good identity to have—mother. Respected. Loved. I think it was the time in my life I was truly happiest.”
It was too honest, too raw of a thing to say, not just to Edward but to myself, so I rushed past it as if it hadn’t been said at all. “But I was worried too. I hadn’t spent much time dwelling on it when I figured I’d probably end up having an abortion, but now that I was going to keep it, I had to face the fact that I’d partied hard. Drugs. Alcohol. In the earliest times of development. There was a good chance I’d already fucked it up, and I spent the next month fretting over every terrible thing I’d done. I was truthful with my doctor, who wasn’t helpful. She just said we’ll have to watch and see. I was so anxious all the time, my nails were bitten to stubs.”
Edward’s shoulders sagged then, ever so slightly, but it was enough to tell me he knew where this was going, and that he found it disappointing. “How far along were you?”
“Eighteen weeks. It happened just before Christmas.” I hadn’t told anyone this, not anyone. Every person important enough had lived through it, and there’d been no one to talk to about it after. And I hadn’t wanted to, until now.
I wasn’t even sure I wanted to talk about it now, but the story poured out as thick as the blood had gushed out from between my legs. “It was more blood than I’d ever had during a period. And the cramps were the worst. The absolute worst. Like something was trying to tear its way out of me. They had to give me morphine because I was screaming in the emergency room.
“And then I went into shock. I was so cold. The nurses brought three microwaved blankets to wrap around me, and I couldn’t stop shivering. The cramps kept on and on while my body pushed out this thing inside me, this dead thing that I’d centered my identity around. This thing that I’d killed with my irresponsibility.” My throat was tight, and I had to pause to swallow. “It hurt, it fucking hurt physically. It was basically labor, and labor has a bad rep for a reason, but the actual pain eclipsed what it should have been. Every part of my body ached. For days. My muscles, my skin. My face. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to live. I didn’t know what there was to live for.”
It was there in my hospital room that I’d begged Hudson to teach me how to be like him, how to bury emotions, how to become cool and aloof and heartless like he was.