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“I don’t know if I feel like it,” I admit without meeting Anita’s gaze.
While I appreciate everything they’re trying to do for me, I’m not in a celebratory mood. Not even close.
Outside of my baby, Carter is the only family I have.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself as Sam helps me finish the rest of my soup and then marches me to the guest room downstairs. She selects a long-sleeved, ankle-length dress, a jean jacket, and ballet flats. With a smile, she pulls the door shut behind her, and I can hear her outside. Tristan’s voice joins hers, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
A short while later, I hear footsteps climbing up the stairs.
With a great deal of reluctance, I get dressed and step out of the room, only to run straight into Anita. She places both arms around my shoulders and leads me into the kitchen. There, she opens the refrigerator and takes out a pitcher of iced tea. I sit on the stool while she pours a generous amount into two glasses. She touches her glass to mine and waits till I take a few sips.
“Anita is a strong name for a baby.”
I swallow back a few more sips and offer her a weak smile. “Oh, I haven’t decided on a name yet. I’m sure Carter will want to suggest a few names.”
If he ever speaks to me again.
Anita finishes her drink and takes my empty glass. She washes them both and sets them out to dry. “Carter isn’t going to care. As long as you’re both healthy and happy. Anita works as a middle name, too, you know.”
I smile as Anita loops her arm through mine, and we wait for Sam and Tristan by the door. “It is a great name.”
And I want to honor the Blackthorne family matriarch. Even if Carter and I are over, it doesn’t mean Anita and I can’t still be a part of each other’s lives.
As I’m led outside to a car that Tristan drives, with Sam taking the passenger seat and Anita sliding into the back, I wonder if it’s still possible for me to have a family. Or is Carter going to expect blind loyalty from his family when it comes to me? Am I going to be cast out into the rain?
Waiting for Carter is hard, but not knowing which version of him is coming back to me is harder. I press my head against the glass and try not to dwell on it as the world outside rushes past in a blur of shapes and colors. In the distance, the mall complex shimmers, set against a backdrop of clear blue skies. Tristan drops us off in front of the door and ambles off to find a parking spot. Sam and Anita stand on either side of me while we wait.
And I wonder if this is going to be the life I’m expected to lead from now on.
Chapter Fourteen
Carter
I take another swig of my beer and give the burly man with tattoos up and down both arms a dismissive look. “You’re not worth my fucking time, princess. Now, get the fuck out of my face.”
A few curious looks are thrown our way from the other patrons.
The bald-headed bartender stands up straighter and removes a few empty glasses. “I don’t think you want to do that.”
The burly man spins around to face me and covers the distance between us. “What did you just say to me?”
I take a long sip of my beer and size him up.
In spite of his size and bulging muscles, I know I can take this man on with one hand tied behind my back. Not only is he favoring one foot over the other, but it’s clear by the flaring of his nostrils and the confident set of his shoulders that he’s used to ruling unopposed.
This bar is his domain, and I’m the intruder. But I can’t bring myself to give a fuck.
Especially when he places a hand on my arm and sneers at me. “You want to run that by me again?”
In one quick move, I shove the man back, and he staggers. Then I throw a punch to his stomach, which has him doubling over in pain. It doesn’t keep him down for long as he draws himself back up and lunges at me. I’m knocked off my feet and thrown against the counter, the breath leaving my body with a whooshing sound.
Some of my earlier buzz is already vanishing.
I link my fingers over the guy’s neck and hoist myself up.
Startled, his grip loosens, and I climb over his shoulders and land on the other side. When I tap him on the shoulder, he’s slow to react, and I throw another punch, this time connecting with the side of his face. I relish the sickening sound of muscle connecting with flesh, especially when the man scowls and spits.
He lunges at me again, but this time, I’m prepared, and I jump out of his way, holding my leg out as I do. Although he tries to skid to a halt, he can’t avoid my leg and ends up tripping over it and crashing against an empty table in the back, sending a few plates and glasses to the floor with a loud crash. I have time for a quick sip of my drink before he spins back around and eyes me like I’m his prey.
