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My purse falls to the floor with a clatter, and I kick the door shut.
I roll up the sleeves of my shirt and wander into the living room. There, I sink onto the couch, prop my feet up on the coffee table and inhale. On the count of five, I exhale and reach for my phone. It doesn’t take me long to find the article in question.
Still, I hover over the link and wonder if I should wait for Carter.
He hasn’t responded to any of my texts, and he hasn’t called.
Either he hasn’t seen the article yet, or he isn’t worried about the fallback.
Reluctantly, I drum my fingers against my knee and turn the matter over and over in my head. A few moments later, I square my shoulders and set my phone down. After retrieving my laptop from the office, I set it down on the coffee table and open the lid, finding and quickly clicking on the link before I can change my mind.
I see her name first, Lilian McCoy, and it sends little bursts of anger through me.
She wastes no time in introducing Carter in the harshest light possible. I settle back against the couch, set the laptop down on my lap, and continue reading. In the article, she talks about everything from Carter’s suspected mob ties to his connection to the old mayor to the slew of dead bodies he leaves in his wake.
The more I read, the worse I feel.
I drape an arm over my stomach and force myself to continue.
And it only gets worse because Lilian isn’t just attacking Carter on a professional level. She’s also done her homework and has gone above and beyond in securing witness statements detailing Carter’s particular tastes in the bedroom and his preference for curvy brunettes. I taste bile in the back of my throat, but I swallow past it and keep reading.
When I reach the part where she mentions me, I jolt upright and push the laptop away.
I’m bent over the toilet in the guest bathroom before I know what I’m doing.
Everything I’ve eaten that day comes back up, making my eyes water and my lungs burn. When I’m sure there’s nothing left in my stomach, I lean back and rip off a piece of toilet paper. I wipe my mouth, and on shaky legs, I stand up. Using the counter, I hoist myself up and grip the sink as if my life depended on it.
I wonder if it’s the only thing keeping me from collapsing.
Or if it’s the thought of the baby growing inside of me.
All I know is that I manage to splash cold water on my face and pat it dry. Somehow, I make it back into the living room, but rather than going back to the laptop, I go into the kitchen. I fill up the kettle, make myself some chamomile tea, and take it back to the living room.
I ignore the warning voices in my head and tuck my legs underneath me.
Despite my better judgment, I continue to read.
It feels unnerving to learn all this about Carter, to have names and lists of all the people he’s hurt and all the women he’s slept with. Like I have an unfair advantage by getting a peek into his past.
Each word that I read and each name that I see sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me. When I finish reading the article, I’ve bitten through half of my nails. Despite knowing it won’t get better, I read it again, and I begin to give faces to the names.
Suddenly, I can’t stop picturing all the horrible things Carter has done. Or all the women he’s screwed to get Brooke out of his system.
Until a few months ago, I was one of them, and I know I can’t escape that. As much as I want to leave the past behind and forget how Carter and I came to be in the first place, I know I can’t. No amount of wishful thinking or praying is going to change the truth.
Or the reality of what we have to face.
But a part of me can’t hide from the fact that I’ve been in denial. Since meeting Carter, I’ve come up with one excuse after another and jumped from one justification to the next, all to convince myself that he’s a good person. After months of trying to convince myself that Carter isn’t the monster everyone makes him out to be, it’s more than a little unsettling to know that the truth is a lot more complicated.
To be forced to face it sends me reeling.
What if Sam is right? How can I bring a baby into the world, intothisworld, knowing full well the danger the baby will face?
It’s bad enough that Carter’s enemies target me and make kidnapping and torturing me a sport. Horror and revulsion fill me as I realize what they might do to the baby. Toourbaby.
This baby is half-Carter’s, whether he likes it or not, and from the moment the baby is born, he will have a target on his head. Once he’s out in the world, there’ll be very little I can do to protect the baby from the people gunning for him, short of taking him and disappearing altogether.
But I can’t do that to Carter, can I?
