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She glared at him, totally exasperated by his continued interruptions when she was trying so hard to get through this conversation without crying. Since she’d gotten pregnant, the hormones had her emotions all over the place.
“You know, you’re really beginning to sound like a parrot.”
“And you’re beginning to sound like a lunatic. That baby you’re carrying is as much mine as it is yours and—”
“Really? As much yours as mine? Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Nic, and right now he’s inside my body, so…” She gave a little shrug to underscore her meaning—and to irritate the hell out of him. Judging from the way he was suddenly grinding his teeth together, it was working.
“It’s a he? You know it’s a he already?”
She almost lied, almost told him she didn’t know. From the time she’d found out about the baby, but particularly after she’d called Nic and not gotten a response, she’d begun to think of this baby as exclusively hers. Someone she could take care of, someone she could love. Someone who would never go to sleep wondering where she was or when he would see her again.
And now, Nic was here. Talking about the baby as if he was already invested in hi
m or something. She didn’t trust it…and she didn’t trust Nic.
But lying about it just to hurt him wasn’t right, either. And so she nodded, reluctantly. “Yes, it’s a boy.”
His eyes glazed over at the confirmation and, for long seconds, he seemed dazed. A little out of it.
“Wow. It just got real, you know? We’re having a boy.”
She really didn’t like the sound of that. “I’m having a boy.”
“Are we back to that? Seriously?” He looked so disappointed that it struck a chord deep inside her. Made her squirm a little uncomfortably under his scrutiny—and under the realization that here was a man who seemed to take his responsibilities seriously. A man who wouldn’t just run away from his child at the first sign of trouble.
But how did she know that, really? He’d just found out she was pregnant, so of course he was interested. Of course he wanted to be involved. But that didn’t mean he’d thought it through, didn’t mean he wasn’t going to balk once the truth settled in.
Just the thought had her backing up and cupping a protective hand over the soft swell of her baby. “Back to it? I don’t think we ever left it,” she told him. “This is my son.”
“Our son.”
“My son. He—”
“God.” Nic ran a frustrated hand through his hair in a motion that was becoming familiar to her, even in the short time they’d spent together. “Why are you being so obstinate about this?” he exploded. “I don’t get you. I really don’t. First you don’t answer me when I try to get in touch with you after our night together. Then you write that assassination article and try to ruin my family’s company based on a bunch of lies. And now? Now you’re trying to cut me out of our kid’s life before he’s even born. I don’t get it. What did I ever do to you to make you hate me this much?”
“I don’t hate you,” she told him as guilt spread through her. She tried to cut it out, to nip it in the bud, but it wasn’t so easy to do when he was looking at her as if she’d just ruined Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy all at the same time.
“Really? Because it sure seems like you do from where I’m sitting.” He shook his head, then turned his back on her and started to walk away.
Her heart dropped. He was leaving already, giving up. Which was fine, she told herself. Better now than after the baby was born. Or after she’d come to depend on him.
But it turned out, he wasn’t going far. Just to the fence a few yards away. She watched as he stood there for long seconds, head bowed and hands shoved in his pockets. The guilt burning inside her got a little harder to ignore.
“Look,” she said, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. “Me writing that article has nothing to do with you.”
He looked at her as if she was crazy. “You wrote an exposé about my family. You all but crucified my brother with the vicious lies of a source you won’t stop protecting. It doesn’t get any more ‘about me’ than that.”
“They weren’t lies.”
He snorted. “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that. For a journalist, you sure don’t seem to give a shit about truth.”
Anger flashed through her, replacing the guilt. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“Because you won’t talk to me. Jesus, you’re halfway done with your pregnancy and you didn’t even tell me about it.”
“I told you—”
“In a voice mail? In one lousy voice mail? Who does that?” He turned on her then, stalking toward her like the predator she was sure he was.
