Turns out,Declan had ventured into the locker room because he wanted to take me and Cassidy to dinner. Issa and Jessica had business in town, so Declan decided to tag along, only for them to immediately ditch him for some boring meeting he had zero interest in. And since the man hates to eat alone, he thought it would be fun to surprise us with a night of sushi and club music.
Of course, Cassidy insisted on a steakhouse, and there was no way in hell I was going out to a club at this point in the season. Having taken separate cars this morning, I arrive home before Cassidy, being sure to park far enough over for her to fit her car beside mine.
I walk into the main hallway, stopping to scoop up the mail that had been shoved in the mail slot on the front door. Shuffling through the pile, I stop in front of the small table between the front door and the door to the garage, tossing envelopes, magazines and ads into the basket.
Recognizing the return address and emblem from my insurance company, I grab the letter opener, cut a slit along theedge as Cassidy walks in. She pauses at the coat closet, quickly hanging her coat, and I pause in my letter opening to remove my own coat, handing it to her as she waits patiently, a knowing smile on her lips.
I toss my keys on the table, removing the letter from the envelope, opening it up in preparation for me to read whatever bullshit reason my insurance company likely denied whatever.
But this time it isn’t a denial, it’s an explanation on services paid for.
Services obviously not meant for me.
Flipping back to the first page, I note Cassidy’s name on the label and I cringe because I never would’ve intentionally opened her mail.
But now, it’s too late.
Frowning, I step in front of Cassidy as she moves to walk past me in the hallway. “What is this?” I ask, my words quiet. She glances at the page, her eyes widening slightly before her nonchalant mask slides into place. She lifts a shoulder in dismissal of the question, turns to walk down the hallway toward the stairs without responding.
Shifting over to remain in front of her, I grab her upper arm, force her to stop. “Don’t fucking do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
She doesn’t try to extricate herself from my grip, but when her eyes lift to mine, they’re vacant, cold. Dread washes over me, knowing full well what that look means.
Refusing to give up just yet, I hold the page in front of her face, wait for her to look at it before asking, “What is this insurance explanation?”
Her lips press together, her throat working as she swallows. But she doesn’t answer, just continues to stare vacantly at the page I’m holding in front of her face.
So, I drop the paper, letting it float to the floor as I step close and ask, “You’re pregnant?”
She blinks. Pulls her arm from my grip. Steps back. Nods.
“How long have you known about this?”
Finally, her eyes lift to mine. “What does it matter?”
I’m sure the look I’m giving her is that of a madman, so I do my best to temper my response as I respond, “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
Again, she looks at me blankly, her features twisting slightly as she appears to think over the question with no easy answer. So I go on, “That’s what people do when they get good news they’ve been planning for. They share it with the other person they’ve been planning it with.”
“I would’ve told you,” she whispers. “Eventually.”
“Eventually?” I parrot, completely baffled by what is happening right now. Quickly, my bafflement shifts to anger and I bark, “But why wait? Why allow me to miss out on the very beginning when this outcome is the entire point of us doing any of this?”
A glimmer of regret crosses her features, swiftly masked by anger, obstinance. She lifts her chin, her expression turning stony as she sneers, “Maybe cause it isn’t even yours.”
I freeze, my blood boiling even as it runs cold in my veins. “What did you just say to me?”
Her stony mask flickers, indecision flashes across her features, and for a moment I think she might actually walk back the dumbass fucking shit that just fell out of mouth. But, just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. She lifts her chin again, responds, “It’s not yours.”
Even though I know without a doubt that she’s full of shit, I still feel the flood of jealousy rush over me. I close the short distance between us in a rush, and she backs away until she crashes into the wall. I don’t stop until we’re practicallytouching, and her hands come up, palms pushing against my chest.
Snagging both her wrists in one of my hands, I force her arms over her head then stoop down slightly so she has no choice but to look me in the eyes. “Say that again, I dare you.”
She stares back at me, wide-eyed, jaw clenched. That same stubborn tilt of her chin. But she remains silent.
Taking this as a small win I try again. “Tell me why you kept this from me?”
