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“She shouldn’t.” I stop pacing and scrub a hand over my face. “Because I sure as hell am not going to forgive myself.”
How can I? The life I’ve created is a disease, and I’m the weapon of choice. It’s never bothered me before, but since meeting Isabella, I’ve had to look at the decisions I’ve made through a different prism.
Isabella isn’t wrong to worry because even I have no idea how we’re going to bring a baby into this world.
Not my world, at least.
Anita pushes herself off the door and goes into the kitchen. She rummages through a few cupboards till she pulls out a bottle. Wordlessly, she pours us both a generous amount of whiskey and beckons to me. I cross over to her in two strides and toss the drink back, exhaling when it burns a path down my throat.
My aunt eyes me over the rim of her own glass. “Do you want to tell me what you said that upset her so much?”
“Stupid fucked up shit about how she should’ve remembered to have the implant put back in.” I grip the table and lower my head. “I don’t even know why I said that. I know it was out of line. She was on some serious meds and couldn’t possibly have remembered.”
But I still have no idea why I threw it in her face. All I know is that I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel the pain I was feeling at being held accountable.
Anita reaches across the counter and takes my hand in hers. “Carter, I know you love that woman, and I can already tell you’re going to fight for that baby, but this can’t be the way to do it. You need to really think about what it is she said that upset you so much and why you didn’t take it well.”
“I’ve already thought about it.” I withdraw my hand and plunge it through my hair. “She’s absolutely right. We can’t bring a baby into this environment.”
Anita’s gaze stays on me. “Are you saying you don’t want to be a dad?”
I shove my hands into my pockets and begin to pace again as if I can outrun all of this.
When a headache begins to form in the back of my head, I want to shove my hands into my skull and yank it out. Part of me wants to storm over to our house and bang on the door until Tristan lets me in, but given Isabella’s reaction, I know it’s not going to help either of us.
Because no matter how sorry I am, I can’t give Isabella what she wants. Or needs.
I stop when Anita steps in front of me and gives me a pointed look. “What?”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Anita folds her arms over her chest, a frown hovering on the edge of her lips. “If you don’t want to be a father, you need to do right by Isabella and your unborn child, and you better figure it out fast.”
I study Anita’s face. “Do you really think so fucking little of me?”
Anita raises an eyebrow and doesn’t say anything.
“Of course, I want to be a fucking dad,” I reply after averting my gaze. “I’m never going to be half the dad I should be, but I’m not going to abandon my kid.”
Not if I can help it.
“I know it wasn’t planned,” I continue, in the same tone of voice. “But I’m going to love that kid, and I’ll burn the whole world down in order to keep her safe.”
“Good.”
I swing my gaze back to Anita’s, a furrow appearing between my brows. “What do you mean good? How is any of this fucking good? Isabella is in our house next door, and she won’t talk to me because I screwed up. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t talk to me again.”
Because after the stunt I pulled, I deserve worse. Isabella taking the time to nurse her wounds is the least of my problems.
“It’s good because at least you know where you stand with the baby and, by extension, Isabella,” Anita points out with a shake of her head. “You both need time to figure this out, that’s all.”
When the doorbell rings, Anita walks over to it and checks the peephole. With a quick look in my direction, she undoes the latch and throws the door open. Tristan comes in, but he won’t meet my gaze. I’m filled with the urge to slam him against the nearest wall and shake him hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to. What good would that do for me, anyway?
Tristan isn’t the reason I’m in this mess. And blaming him and taking my anger out on him isn’t going to solve my fucking problems.
Anita slams the door shut behind Tristan, and her gaze swings between the two of us. “I’ll leave you two to talk. Do not break any of my things.” She gives me another pointed look before disappearing into her room.
Once the door clicks shut, Tristan stands up straighter and finally looks at me.
