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“Lincoln, stop playing stupid,” Micah says. “She might not want to hold you accountable, but you were raised better than that. She’s pregnant, and you’re the father, and whether you like it or not, you’re going to man the fuck up.”
“What?” I look at Ellie again. “I don’t understand.” I step over to Ellie, who’s got her arms wrapped around herself and is sobbing softly.
“I’m so sorry,” she cries. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What?” I ask carefully. “Come and sit down.” I take her hand in mine and bring her over to the couch. If what Micah is sayingis true and she’s pregnant—not by me—it can’t be good for her to be this stressed out.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again, covering her face with her hands.
“For what?” I ask gently. “Ellie...” I tip her chin up so she’s forced to look at me. “What happened? You know whatever it is, I’ve got your back.” When she was younger, I was someone she confided in—school, her sister, asshole guys who didn’t deserve her time, her mom—I was even the one who got her out of a shitty situation with her bio dad. But after that day—when she was held captive and almost killed—she started to shut everyone out. I tried to be there for her, but when she moved, and we no longer lived on the same floor in the same hotel, we didn’t really keep in touch.
“I’m pregnant,” she murmurs, liquid emotion filling her lids, “and the baby’s yours.”
I freeze, unsure why the hell she’s saying this. It makes no sense. I’ve never been with this woman before, yet she’s sticking to this claim.
“Ellie, why are you saying this?” I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. Clearly, something is wrong for her to go out of her way to lie about me being the father of her baby, but she must know by saying this she’s causing a shitstorm of issues for me with our family. “Did something happen with the guy you slept with? Did he hurt you?” If he did, Micah and I will no doubt be on the next flight out to kill him.
She shakes her head, and her hand goes to her belly. “The baby is yours. We had sex...on Valentine’s Day.”
The baby is mine.
We had sex.
On Valentine’s Day.
I repeat the words several times in my head, trying to wrap my mind around what she’s saying. But it doesn’t make any sense because on Valentine’s Day I was with...
Green eyes.
Brown hair with caramel highlights.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening.
Her name was Liz, not...Eliza.
My hands clench and sweat dampens my palms.
There’s no way. She wouldn’t...She couldn’t.
I try to think...There’s no way my mystery woman could be her.
And then I remember the tattoo I saw on the camera. I grab Ellie’s left wrist, and on the inside, in script, it reads ‘Survivor.’
A tattoo on her wrist, just like my mystery woman.
Fuck. No. This has to be a coincidence. A sick, twisted joke.
But when I look at her face riddled with guilt and regret, and Micah, who’s standing nearby, glaring daggers my way, it’s clear that neither of them think this is funny.
I stand and back up, needing space. Needing to think. This can’t be right. There’s no way...I would’ve known if I was sleeping with Ellie. Right?
But as I stare at her, assessing her features—features of the woman I’ve been fantasizing about for the past three months—I have no choice but to admit the truth. “I didn’t know,” I say out loud. “I didn’t know it was her.”
Micah’s eyes alight with fury. “How the?—?”
“Stop!” Ellie begs. “He’s telling the truth. He didn’t know. That’s why I didn’t want to come home. I messed up, and it’s not his fault.”
I didn’t know, but she did, which means...“How the fuck did you get into my club?”
