Page 25 of Dirty Legacy

“I’m not kidding either. Our sexy as hell boss got you pregnant with one blast of his massive⁠—“

“Stop it!”

“Okay, okay, but wow, Angie, Connor Maguire?! Holy shit.” She rests her head back against the booth and cradles her drink in both hands. “I can see why you don’t want to tell him.”

“Right?!” I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes. “I can already hear how he’ll react. I bet he’ll try to drive me to the clinic himself.”

“I don’t know. Big Boss is grumpy and mysterious, but he doesn’t come off like an asshole, does he?”

I waggle my hand in the air. “A little bit.”

“Look, okay, I admit it’s a crazy situation, but you still have to tell him. Mr. Maguire’s a grown man. He can handle this. Hell, he can run WashCo, what’s a baby matter? The man has resources that can help you.”

“I do not want his money.”

“But you do want his help and his support. Come on, I know he’s terrifying, but you’re carrying his child. You have to tell him.”

“You make it sound so easy.” I squirm in my seat, recalling the way he fucked me that day, how beautiful I felt, how wanted. The idea of being anywhere near that man again… “He hasn’t spoken to me since it happened.”

Though I think I saw him stalking me.

“Have you tried initiating? And can you blame him? The guy probably thinks you’re going to sue his ass for sexual harassment.”

“I would never!”

“I know that, but he doesn’t.” Nadia hugs me one more time before returning to her side of the booth. She sits with her back straight and gives me a hard look. “You have to tell him. There’s no other option.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Damn it, Angie.” She smacks her hand on the table. “This isn’t the time to be unsure, okay? Tell him the truth. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t.”

We keep talking for a while after that. Nadia has another drink and I sip my soda, intermittently reminded that, yes, there’s a baby growing inside me, which is wild to think about. Before we leave, Nadia gives me an extra-long hug, and promises to help me with anything I need, and I believe her.

The apartment stinks like weed when I get home. I sigh, kicking off my shoes. Is second-hand marijuana bad for unborn children? Probably, and I have no idea what I can do about it, short of telling my mother, which feels even harder than telling Connor. I toss my keys in the tray and find Dawn lying on the couch, that reality show about expensive yachts on TV, a still-burning joint between her limp fingers, the end dangling dangerously.

Her eyes are closed. She clearly passed out. I hurry over and snatch the joint away, stubbing it out in an ashtray. I keep telling her to switch to vapes or gummies but she refuses to change. I step back and take her in, my mother, her messy hair, her chest rising and falling, and that’s me.

Or it could be me. One day, sometime in the future, after years of raising a child all alone. Miserable, with nothing and nobody, broken and confused and failed, all because I screwed up.

How can I be my best self for this baby? If I have nothing, no future, no prospects?

A hard determination floods me. I’ve never been more sure of something in my life, but standing here in our rent-controlled apartment, looking at the mess of my mother, I’m positive about one thing.

I will never become like her.

I won’t be a wreck of a single mother.

I’ll be the best damn mom in the world, even if it kills me.

And that means making some hard choices and having some impossible conversations.

7

CONNOR

“What the heck are you doing here?” Rowan peers into my father’s office where I’ve been hiding for the last hour.

I raise a glass of bourbon. “Fortifying myself.”