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The shower’s hot water stings my cuts and abrasions, but it’s not enough. I need to scrub every inch of my body free of that bastard’s disgusting touch. Only when my skin is red and raw do I feel a little more like myself. I know it will take more than a single shower to cleanse my soul clean of the man, but I’m alive, and he’s not, so that’s a good starting point, in my opinion. Knowing he is no longer out there capable of hurting any more women is enough for now.
I’m no stranger to pain or misery at all. Waking up to the sight of your dead brother’s small hand stretched out to you and your mom’s blood-covered face is enough to haunt a girl for life. The memories never go away completely, but in time, they fade enough to a point where you can lock them inside a little box tucked away in the very back corner of your mind.
Even with the door open, the bathroom is clouded in steam, covering the giant mirror, much to my delight. I apply the cream the doctor left, then dress in a pair of Michael’s sweatpants and shirt. He even left a pair of socks that swallow my feet, forcing me to roll the top several times, and I chuckle at the sight.
Michael waits for me outside the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees as he rests his chin on his clasped hands. He looks lost in thought, and it takes a moment for him to realize I’m standing in the doorway. He runs his eyes over my outfit, making me blush. I know he’s just checking me over for signs of more injury, but his eyes leave a trail of heat behind as well.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Better,” I answer honestly. “Thank you for the shower and the clothes.”
Michael nods before he stands, taking a deep breath as he looks at me with conflicted emotions in eyes that resemble our son’s so much. “I need to know something, Rose. Who is Liam?”
18
Michael
“I need to know something, Rose. Who is Liam?”
The name’s been bothering me all night, ever since she said it in the car. I’ve invented a dozen different possibilities of his identity. Maybe he’s her brother or her cousin. I hope he is because the idea that he could be her lover sends a rush of furious jealousy down my spine. He can cut himself right out for all I care. And if she has a problem with that, then too bad because I won’t let her slip through my fingers again. If that means locking her away in my dark castle forever, then so be it. She can be the beauty to my beast.
Rose stares at me like a deer caught in headlights. “How do you know that name?”
“You said it when we rescued you.” She looks like she doesn’t believe me, so I add, “You were unconscious.”
Rose visibly swallows hard, and I prepare myself for her answer. It’s clear by her hesitancy that I won’t like it.
“Liam,” she starts, her voice soft but clear. “Liam is my son.”
She has a kid? “How old is he?”
“He’s six weeks old now.”
Wait. What? “You were pregnant when we met?”
She looks at me puzzled, like she doesn’t understand my question. “No. I got pregnant that night. You’re his father.”
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been surprised into silence, shocked to the point where my mind blanks in response. Of all the possibilities, this was not one of them. In fact, the thought never even crossed my mind as an option. Because it’s impossible.
“What?” A lame question, I know, because I heard her correctly the first time. It’s just the only word that forms.
“Liam. He’s your son,” she explains before dropping her eyes to her clasped hands. She wrings her fingers together, a nervous habit I’m familiar with, and continues, “I’m sorry I didn’t come find you to tell you about him before. I didn’t know myself until it was too late, and I couldn’t come back to tell you at that point because—”
“It’s not possible.” I cut off her rambling. My tone isn’t harsh, but it isn’t affectionate either.
She looks up and meets my hard eyes. She frowns when she registers what I said. “It very much is possible, Michael. We didn’t use a condom, remember?”
“No, you don’t understand. I can’t be the father because—” I take a deep breath and scrub a hand down my face. I know I have to say it, but once I do, I can never take the words back. She’s so certain that I’m the father of her child, and here I am about to shatter her belief and become the worst person in the world. Steadying my nerves, I admit my dark secret. “Because I’m sterile, Rose. I can’t have kids.”
“Sterile?”
“I was told it a few months before we met. It’s why I said not to worry about the condom that night. I was going to tell you, but we didn’t have time, and then you were gone.”
Red creeps up her neck until her face is flushed. She levels me with a glare so hot even my demons flinch at the heat. “Then you were told wrong because you are the father.”
“Rose, are you sure there wasn’t someone—”
“Michael, if you are about to suggest that I spread my legs for another man the day after we had sex—”
