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I blinked at him, equally confused by his confusion. Then I burst out, “But you said that my being with him in his weakened state would—”
“He died because he had cancer,” he said with certainty, then shook his head. “No other reason.”
“But.”
“No,” he growled, his eyes flashing. “I get your guilt. I do. I was supposed to be the one taking care of him. Keeping him healthy. And I fucking failed. So I understand all your worries.”
When he paused abruptly to rein in his own emotions, I blinked, not sure what to say.
But after a moment of swallowing hard and drawing in a deep breath, he met my gaze with steady eyes. “But neither of us killed him. The cancer did.”
I nodded, bobbing my head like an idiot, no words in my arsenal to help him through this moment, which obviously seemed hard for him.
He didn’t need me to speak, though. A moment later, he frowned and asked, “Were you pregnant at the funeral?”
I blinked, certain I had misheard that one. Then I shook my head and sniffed out my amusement. “Um, not sure how Duke could’ve gotten me pregnant after it.”
“I mean—shit.” His face flushed with color when he realized how idiotic he’d been, and he closed his eyes briefly as if he needed to clear his thoughts. Then he touched his brow, reset his brain, and seemed to be back in working order again as he dropped his hand and opened his lashes. “Did you know then, is what I was asking?”
“Oh.” Okay, that made more sense. “No. I found out a little over a week later.”
“Christ.” Gripping his head, he hissed out a bitter laugh and muttered, “This is just like him. Still making me clean up his damn messes, even from the grave.”
“Um, excuse me.” I lifted an indignant finger. “But there’s no mess here to begin with. I might have done something I wish I hadn’t, and now there are consequences to deal with. But my kid is not a mess. Nor would I expect or want you of all people to clean it up if there was one because it’s none of your business.”
“How could you be so irresponsible?” he boomed as if he hadn’t even heard me. “Have you never heard of damn protection?”
I gasped, unable to believe this guy. I wanted to sock him so hard. Right in the jaw. But he was also right. I had completely forgotten protection that night. I’d been so nervous about being careful and not wanting to inadvertently hurt Duke that the thought of condoms and all other forms of prevention had completely slipped my mind.
Duke obviously hadn’t been concerned—because honestly, why would he need to be—so remembering all that really had been on me. But still…
“Look,” I growled, stepping toward Duke’s jerk-faced brother and glaring. “I only came here for a damn picture, not to be judged and lectured about my questionable life decisions, alright? I’m already beating myself up enough for all of it, as it is. I know I could’ve and should have done so many things differently that night, but I can’t take it back now, can I? So just get off my back. If you decide to be an actual human being with some semblance of a heart someday and want to give me any kind of information that I can share with your future niece or nephew about Duke, then great. Here’s my card.”
I shoved it against his chest and let go so abruptly that he had to scramble to keep it from falling to the ground.
“But if not...” I sniffed at him snidely and shrugged before turning away and stalking off. “Then have a good life, asshole.”
THIRD TIME’S A CHARM
I was pretty certain I’d never see or hear from Vaughn again after that.
So I nearly fell out of my hospital bed from shock the morning after Ava Grace was born, when he appeared in the doorway of my patient room, holding a gift bag down at his side.
My brother and his wife were with me, my first visitors of the day. Bentley had immediately stolen my child and was sitting with her in the rocking chair, cooing happily, and Beau was hovering around my breakfast tray that had just been delivered. Apparently, Bentley had rushed him from home to drop Braiden off with her parents and get here before he could eat breakfast, so he was hungrily eyeing all my food when a tap came on the door.
“Come in,” Beau called over his shoulder as if it were his room, not mine, and he reached for a stalk of celery in my veggie cup.
I smacked his hand and glowered. “Really?”
“What? You don’t even like celery.” And he rebelliously dipped it into my ranch dressing before plugging it into his mouth.
Behind him, the door opened, and a nurse poked her head inside. “You have a visitor. He says he’s the baby’s uncle.”
“Huh?” Beau whirled around with his mouth full. “No, I’m the baby’s uncle.”
He marched toward the door indignantly and yanked it all the way open to reveal part of the man who was standing behind the nurse.
“Who the hell are y
