Page 50 of His Wounded Heart

Before meeting his wife I had been so sure that he would take me in his arms and pull out the ring he’d been saving for just the right moment. Instead, I was met with a look of horror.

“I’m pregnant and I know you’re married,” I whispered.

“How can you be pregnant? I use a condom every goddamned time I fuck you. This has to be someone else’s brat!”

Brantley swiftly walked those last three paces until he was towering over me. “Tell me, you cunt. You tell me who the fucking father is. Tell me right now.”

“What are you talking about?” I gasped. I reached out and started to trail my hand down his arm to soothe him, like I had hundreds of times before, but he slapped it away. I staggered to the side.

“Tell me. Who have you been fucking, you duplicitous bitch.”

“You know I’ve only ever been with you,” I whispered.

“I might have been your first, but that doesn’t mean shit. I was careful. The last thing I needed was you breeding some kind of backwoods brat.”

“I’m not duplicitous, you are. You’re the one who’s married.” Now I was getting angry.

His hands reached out and grabbed my upper arms, biting into them painfully.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Like I give a rat’s ass. Now listen here, little girl. I’m done with this. Fuck it. I don’t give a flying fuck who you spread your legs for. I want you gone. Pack your things. You’re out of here.”

I tried to break his hold on me as I sucked down a deep breath. Ever since I’d met his wife yesterday I’d been trying to figure out where I could stay so that I could stay in Nashville and finish my classes, but I couldn’t think of anybody. Then I’d peed on a stick.

“Do you hear me?” He shook me hard. “Do you?!” he roared.

“It’s your baby. This is not just my responsibility.” I’d seen too many girls back in Jasper Creek with no support from deadbeat dads. That wasn’t going to be me.

He shoved me away from him and I almost fell, but I kept my balance. He backed up and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

“You’re still trying to convince me that this whelp is mine? Then here.” He grabbed a wad of bills from his wallet. “This is over a thousand dollars. For a hick like you, it’s like winning a jackpot. Get an abortion, a bus ticket, then buy yourself something nice. But I better not see you ever again.”

He held out the cash, and all I could do was stare at it.

“Take it.”

I can’t move.

“Take it!”

I still can’t move. He grabs my hand and shoves the money into it, then wraps my fingers around the cash. As soon as he lets go the bills drop to the floor.

“Look at you, too goddamn stupid to even hold onto your money. Then fine, pick it up off the floor. See if I care.”

He stalked back to the door and picked up his suit jacket from off his chair and slipped it on. He smoothed it down and buttoned it up as he slowly walked back toward me. He looked at the money on the floor and shook his head, and then he stepped so close that we were almost nose to nose.

“Ah, Trenda. We had some good times,” he said as he lightly patted my cheek. Just like his wife had yesterday.

Bam!

I was on the floor. I hadn’t seen the backhand coming. I didn’t make a sound. I’m the daughter of Norville Avery, I’d been trained not to make a sound after a hit.

“Now that you’re on the ground, pick up the cash and leave.”

I watched his shiny black shoes as he walked toward the door. They stopped. “I’ll be back in three hours and one minute. I’ll make you real sorry if you’re still here.” The door closed behind him.

I tasted blood in my mouth. I spit it out and it hit the expensive Persian carpet and some of the hundred-dollar bills.