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I had the weirdest urge to jump off the barstool, gun it out the open doors, and run along the beach, away from Kip. Despite the fact that such an idea was unsustainable—where in the fuck would I run to?—I was in no state to jump off this barstool and run anyway. Even changing position made my stomach lurch.
Plus, this wasmy fucking house—even though he technically owned it, but I didn’t think about that. Kip was not running me out of it.Hewas the one who’d acted like a complete unhinged asshole, not me.
So I sat at the bar, cradling my tea, trying to look unbothered and unafraid.
Each one of his footsteps vibrated in my head.
I knew he was standing in the doorway to the kitchen when they stopped. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, but I wasn’t going to look at him. Maybe I’d just pretend he didn’t exist. Childish and unrealistic but appealing, nonetheless.
He’d been out drinking. That I could smell. I almost gagged at the stench of liquor that was radiating from him.
He’d gone to a bar and drunk himself into a stupor. Not surprising. I wondered if he’d also fucked a twentysomething.
The mere thought made me gag again.
I choked down my tea. A strong cup of English Breakfast with four sugars cured a lot of ailments, but unfortunately not an unplanned pregnancy with your fake husband.
Silence ticked on in the air, thick and loaded.
Fuck if I was going to be the first person to say something. There was nothing for me to say. He was the one who should be doling out the apologies.
“Here’s the new arrangement,” he said finally from his spot across the room. “I’ll be here for you, taking care of doctors’ appointments and shit. I won’t go to them. I’ll pay child support. Make sure the kid has good insurance. But that’s it. I’m not going to be a father.”
I looked at him then. And he looked like shit. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing yesterday, his dirty work clothes. His hair was likely messy underneath the cap he was wearing. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin looked pale and sallow.
I blinked at him in shock. Had I expected this? He wasn’t interested in being a husband on anything but paper and in the bedroom. Why would he decide to play family now just because the pee stick was positive?
Men didn’t have biological clocks. They didn’t get baby fever. Nothing changed for them when a woman got pregnant. They got their orgasm, and then it was out of their mind.
It wasn’t in their body, growing, vulnerable… inescapable.
Yes, I knew this was the most likely outcome, especially considering his initial response to the news, but I was surprised how much it hurt. What I was expecting, I didn’t know.
It turned out I was much more of a romantic than I first realized. It turned out I was expecting him to show up for me.
The truth was a hard fucking pill to swallow. I was mad at myself. Embarrassed.
“So how exactly does that work, Kip?” I asked, surprised and impressed at how even and calm I sounded.
“We’ll continue this marriage for as long as it takes for the Green Card to come through,” he said. “On paper only. Nothing else.”
I wanted to laugh. Yeah, we weren’t going to fuck anymore,afterthe damage had already been done. To be fair, I couldn’t be less interested in fucking him at this current juncture. The overall uncontrollable anger and assholery really turned a girl off. He was hot as the cocky guy who married me on a whim but not as the soon-to-be deadbeat dad.
“Once the paperwork is sorted, we’ll divorce,” Kip continued. “I’ll sign the house over to you. I’ll move out of town and send you a check every month.”
I stared at him. He’d obviously thought this through at some point during his night of revelry. He sounded resolute.
“You’re going to sign over the paperwork, move, and send me a check every month?” I said, my voice small and hurt. I didn’t like that, not at all, but I simply wasn’t strong enough to put on false bravado.
Kip heard the hurt in my voice. I knew he did. But it didn’t make him soften, didn’t make his eyes lighten up or resemble the man I thought I knew. If anything, his expression hardened, his lips curling into something that could only be called a grimace.
“Don’t act all wounded now,” he spat with venom. “You knew exactly what this was from the start. This is not a fucking romance. I haven’t hidden who I am. What I’m capable of. You’re not a victim here, baby.”
The words found their mark. Every fucking one. He’d spoken cruelly and with the intention to wound.
I had experience in that.
Tears prickled the backs of my eyes, but fuck if I’d let them fall.
