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When he was finally dressed, he turned to face her again.
“I know I’m not good at—” He stopped in midsentence, looking frustrated with himself as he shook his head impatiently. “I wish I could . . . I—”
She waited, intrigued, as he shook his head again, a confused frown marring his brow.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he finally said, and she was tempted to push him about whatever it was he’d really wanted to say. But she nodded and watched, her arms crossed over the slipping comforter, as he grabbed his leather messenger bag and left.
Greyson spotted Olivia the following morning as he was leaving the gym. It was a clear morning—no rain for a change—and she was across the road, pushing Clara’s stroller.
Greyson was confused by their appearance. It was nearly ten on a Friday morning, and Olivia was usually at MJ’s by now and Clara in day care.
“Olivia,” he called, dashing across the road to intercept them. She seemed surprised to see him, and her pretty amber eyes were wide with curiosity as she watched him approach.
“Greyson? What are you doing here?”
“I was at the gym,” he said. He eyed Clara, who was crying as if her heart were breaking. “Oh no, what’s this, angel? Why are you crying?”
He leaned over the stroller, and her adorable face screwed up further as she cried even harder.
“She’s been crying since we left Dr. Ngozi’s office,” Olivia said.
“Dr. Ngozi?” Greyson’s blood turned to ice at her words, and he felt genuine fear as his gaze flew up to meet hers. But Olivia didn’t look frightened, merely a little impatient. “Why were you at the doctor’s? Is Clara sick? Why didn’t you call me?”
“No, she’s not sick. She had her vaccination. But she didn’t take it very well this time.”
“Her vaccination,” Greyson repeated, his voice flat. She had mentioned that Clara would be going for her second dose this week, and he had meant to ask her if he could join them. But with everything that had happened between them this week, he had hoped that she would at least mention it to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It never occurred to me,” she said, sounding distracted. Her eyes were on the crying baby as she moved the stroller back and forth in an attempt to soothe Clara.
“It never occurred to you that I might be interested? That I might have wanted to come as well?” The cold fury in his voice finally snagged her attention, and she gaped at him incredulously.
“It wasn’t necessary for you to be there,” she said, her voice going as cold as his.
“It would have been nice to be given a choice.”
“You’re her babysitter, Greyson. Not her dad, not yet.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” he yelled. He couldn’t help himself, and he sensed more than saw several heads turning in their direction. Greyson wasn’t one to make scenes; he hated drawing attention to himself with vulgar public displays, and raising one’s voice was the absolute worst way of drawing attention to oneself. But for fuck’s sake, how the hell was it okay for Olivia to state that he wasn’t Clara’s dad?
“It means exactly what it sounds like,” Olivia replied, the level of her voice rising to match his. “You’ve changed a few nappies, bathed her once, looked after her a few times—you haven’t earned the right to be her father yet. Just because you’ve graciously decided to acknowledge your biological contribution to her conception doesn’t inherently give you more rights. Not after what you did to us.”
“This again? How many fucking times are we going to come back to this? Why can’t we move on from it?”
“Move on? Are you being serious right now? You waltz into town with your smug, superior attitude, thinking you can fix everything in my life, when my relationship with you—our marriage—is what’s broken. Fixing a tap or a door, changing a nappy . . . none of that will repair what you destroyed.”
“I thought . . . you and I . . .” His words failed him again. Greyson hated how he always seemed to turn into an ineloquent, bumbling, stuttering mess around her. Because he had no defense against anything she had just said. She was right . . . but at the same time, she was so damned wrong. How the hell couldn’t she see how much he was changing? Every day, every minute he spent with her and Clara, he was changing. He was adapting, he was trying to be a better man. For her. For them. But she was blind to that.
Clara was screeching by now, and Greyson felt like howling along with her.
“I have to get Clara to day care,” Olivia said, the heat gone from her voice. “And I’m late for work.”
“I . . .” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “I can take her. Why don’t you get to MJ’s? Do you have all her things with you?”
