The weight of it all presses down—the baby, the fear, the anger, the longing, him.
I want him gone.
I want him close.
I want to run.
And I can’t do any of it.
Because I’m pregnant.
Because he’s here.
And because my heart is doing what I begged it not to—it’s hoping.
13
THE WORST PROPOSAL
DOMINIC
Pregnant.
The word ricochets through me like a bullet.
I can still hear Enya saying it—soft, shaky, furious. I can still see the way her hand drifted toward her belly even while she glared at me like I was the last person on earth she wanted near her.
My baby.
Our baby.
A bright light punches through the fog I’ve been living in.
Finally,finally, the fucking universe is giving me a break.
I can’t stop beaming. “You’re pregnant.” I hug her.
She draws away so she can see my face. “You’re not upset?”
“Upset? Why the hell would I be upset? No. This is…. Enya, we’re going to be parents.”
She licks her lips. Nods.
“Let’s get married?”
Her eyebrows shoot way up. She takes two full steps away from me.
“Yes, let’s get married,” I say again because nothing has felt this right in my life.
Her jaw drops. “Go fuck yourself.”
Okay, so, not the reaction I hoped for. Also, maybe I shouldn’t have just sprung it on her. Maybe I should’ve bought a ring and done the going on one knee thing.
In my defense, I’m a bit shell-shocked to find out I’m going to be a father.
“Enya—”
“No.” She stabs a finger at my torso. “Absolutely not.” Jab. “Not after everything you did.” Jab. “Not because I’m pregnant.” Jab. “Not because you suddenly want to play house.”
