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Swallowing hard, she gathered her courage.
She wouldn’t just blurt out that she was pregnant. No. She would measure how angry he was first and take it slow. Besides . . . who could tell what he would do? And then there was her little lie . . . well, make it a big lie. She licked her lips and almost turned around and ran, abandoning the meeting. Because of his lightning-quick temper . . . maybe this wasn’t the best plan.
Before she could decide, she heard the rumble of a large engine. Too late. Turning toward the access road, she saw the beams of headlights splashing against the trunks of the surrounding trees. Her heart went into overdrive. No, this was a bad idea. A really bad idea. He would go ballistic.
She should never have contacted him.
She wasn’t ready to confess the truth. Reflexively, one hand went to her flat abdomen.
That was the problem; she often reacted before thinking things through. Wasn’t that what Mom was always telling her?
This was wrong. All wrong. Meeting him up here alone with the coming night. No one knowing where they were. And it wasn’t as if she could text or call as her cell needed charging. Stupid! It would have been smarter to risk a public scene, maybe give him the news at a coffee shop, or a park full of people or somewhere that was public, so he wouldn’t . . .
Oh, Destiny, what have you done? Do not tell him. Not tonight. Be nice, don’t cause a fight. Remember, you broke up with him. You’ve got the upper hand. And he’s majorly pissed off.
Maybe she could just take off, before he saw her.
The Jeep rolled to a stop and she was caught in the headlights.
She steeled herself and stepped out of the beams.
He let the Jeep idle, headlights illuminating a conical area in front of the rig as he stepped out. She saw him in the thin glow cast by the interior light, an alarm dinging to remind him that he hadn’t turned out the headlights. No doubt about it. He was a big man. Muscular. Strong. A college athlete.
But he wouldn’t be carrying a weapon, would he? He wouldn’t bring a gun or a knife or . . .
Every muscle in her body tightened as he slammed the door.
“Des?” he called, his voice a harsh whisper.
“Right here.”
He saw her then and approached, dwarfing her. “What did you want?”
She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t tell him. Not about the baby. Not here. Not tonight. “I, um, thought we should talk.”
“About what?” He was still angry, his words clipped.
“You know.”
“About you breaking up with me in a text? About that?” he guessed and yeah, he was pissed.
She shrank inwardly as he went on. “You know what? When it happened? When I got the text? I thought it was a joke, that someone had gotten your phone and fuckin’ pranked me. Like it was real funny. Ha-ha-ha.”
“I know.”
“It was a chicken-shit thing to do, Des,” he charged, his voice a little higher as his anger increased. “By fucking text? Really? Fuck me!”
“I should have talked to you.”
“Hell, yeah, you should have. But you didn’t. Just fired off a chicken-shit text and ended it.” He spat in the ground. “So what’s this about, Des? Tonight? Why did you want to meet up here?”
She heard the derision in his voice, felt his fury radiating from him.
“Are you . . . are you like trying to get back with me or something? Because no way. No damn way. It’s over! Hear me?” He took a step toward her and she stood her ground, even though she was shrinking inside. She wasn’t going to let him see that he frightened her.
“I just want to know why,” she lied, knowing now she couldn’t, wouldn’t, dare tell him about the baby. Not here. Not alone. “Why you cheated, huh? With that girl at college, Veronica bitch or whatever?”
“I told you she meant nothing to me.” But he was a little shocked at the turn in the conversation.
