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“Wes,” she replied, keeping a hold of Michael when he tried to release her. No way was he slipping out of an awkward spot. If he wanted to be with her, that started now.
Wesley’s eyes dipped to their connected hands, but he didn’t comment, just smiled and said, “Come in, I’ll make us all a stiff drink.”
It was the first time Bex had been inside Michael’s place, and she wasn’t surprised to see how neat it was. In the kitchen, spices lined the rear of the counter in alphabetical order, and tidy rows of cups were displayed in the cupboard. Wesley poured them each a portion of whiskey and they sat around the small dining table. Bex glanced from one man to the other, wondering who would speak first. It wasn’t going to be her.
Wesley tossed his whiskey back in one motion and shoved the empty glass away. “I assume you know why I’m here.”
She considered downing her own whiskey. She’d need a whole bottle to make it through this conversation unscathed. “You found out about Izzy.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Michael told me.” He leaned toward her, and for the first time, she noticed the shadows under his eyes, and the way they drooped at the corners as if he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever. “I’d like to know whyyoudidn’t.”
Her knee bounced. A nervous habit. She was one of those people who couldn’t sit still when all the anxious energy built within her, and she wanted to get up and pace, or do a few star jumps, but there was no need to let Wesley see how much he’d unbalanced her. Already his gaze had dropped to her knee. She stilled it.
“How far back do you want me to go?” she asked.
“All the way.”
Pressing her lips together, she nodded, and corralled her thoughts. “When I got pregnant, your mother pressured me to have an abortion.”
“I don’t think ‘pressured’ is the right word,” he broke in.
She glared at him, but it was Michael who spoke. “Yes, it is.”
Wesley’s brows shot up, but he zipped his mouth and gestured for her to continue.
“I don’t know if it was the fact we weren’t married, or that I’m biracial, or an artist, or just not good enough for you—whatever the case, she didn’t want me to have your baby, and you agreed with her.” It had hurt when he sided with his mother and suggested they weren’t ready to have a family. She’d known it wasn’t in his plans, but part of her had hoped he’d be thrilled and decide his plans were less important than her and their baby. His rejection had cut worse than any cruel words his mother might have uttered—although not as badly as Michael’s radio silence following her announcement of the pregnancy.
“Hey now, that’s not fair,” Wesley interjected. “Mum isn’t racist.”
Bex waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. As you’ll remember, I stood my ground and said I was having the baby. She offered me a payoff to abort, and I refused. I couldn’t fathom the idea of giving up the sweet little life growing inside me.”
Even though she’d been confused and lonely, protecting Izzy had given her purpose. She’d loved her daughter long before she was born. When Wesley abandoned her to face his parents alone, her first instinct had been to talk to Michael, who’d always been the Briggston who didn’t quite fit. She’d thought he might understand her predicament, but he never answered her calls, and at that point all she had left was her family. She shifted with discomfort at the memory.
“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?” Wesley asked, his tone both hurt and baffled. He reached across the table to take her hand, but she snatched it away.
“I tried, Wes, but I couldn’t explain it well because it didn’t make a lot of sense even to me, and I gave up when it was clear you didn’t get it.” She sighed, and dragged a hand through her hair. His lack of understanding had only made her feel more isolated. “I was young and scared. I didn’t want my baby growing up as part of a family who wanted to get rid of her, so when your mum offered me money again, I took it.”
That was the part she wasn’t so proud of.
“I know it was wrong, but I used some of the money as a down payment for the gym so I’d have a way to support Izzy, and the rest is in a fund for when she finishes school.” She met Wesley’s eyes, and Michael’s hand landed on her thigh under the table, rubbing in a soothing pattern. “I’m not sorry though, because Izzy is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m glad I have her and even more glad I kept toxic influences out of her life. If you’re waiting for an apology, you can go on waiting.”
To her surprise, Wesley reached for her hand again, and this time, held firm. “Thank you for being honest with me. I’m disappointed you weren’t upfront earlier, but I know how difficult it can be to stand against the Briggston family.”
Did he really? Because as far as she knew, he’d never stood against his parents, just like Michael had never stood against him.
“I’m glad you have our daughter—Izzy—in your life.” His blue eyes clouded with emotion. “I’d like to know her and be her father, but how that happens is on your terms.”
The tension in her shoulders lessened.
“Unless,” he continued, “you try to keep me away from her. Because I will fight for the right to see her.”
If only he’d been willing to fight for her all those years ago.
Bex shook off the bitter thought. It would do her no good. She also fought the tremor of fear his words sent through her. He couldn’t take Izzy away. She was Izzy’s mother. She’d raised her alone. Surely no court would favor Wesley if he decided to sue for custody—prominent politician or not. Taking a breath, she reminded herself of the promise Michael had made. He wouldn’t let anyone take Izzy from her, right? Or would he waver against the force of Wesley’s personality and their parents’ influence like he always had in the past?
Steadying herself on the inside, she said, “I’ll need some time to warm Izzy up to the idea of meeting you. How long will you be in town?”
Wesley smiled for the first time since they’d seen each other. “As it happens, I have a couple of weeks of downtime, and after that I’ll ramp up the campaign. This little town is exactly the sort of place my campaign needs right now, so I can stay in the area for perhaps three weeks or a month all up.” He gave her his “Trust me, I’m a politician” expression of sincerity. Her stomach rolled in response.
