“Let me see her,” he demands.
I drop my chin to my chest, shame filling every single tiny crevice in my body. I kept her from him. And I still can’t look him in the eye without remembering how terrible––how selfish––I’ve been. But this isn’t easy. He has no idea what I’ve been through. To protect him. To protect her. To stay out of his life the way he ordered me to.
It isn’t fair.
None of this is.
“Come on,” I mutter, giving him my back and lifting my barcode-printed wristband to the scanner near the NICU doors.
A voice crackles through the speaker. “Hey, Ms. Walker. You both coming in?”
I give the camera located next to the barcode scanner a nod. “Yes. He’s with me. Thank you.”
Buzz.
The door unlocks and swings open. In silence, I step over the threshold, not bothering to see if Milo’s following, though the soft scuff of his black boots against the linoleum floor is enough evidence I’m not alone. He’s here. And it’s obvious he isn’t going anywhere.
Again, I wash my hands at the sink with a little yellow sponge and white scrubber, making sure my hands are germ-free for all the little babies in the unit while praying he doesn’t notice the way they’re still trembling.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Milo follows my lead, towering beside me as he squirts some foamy soap over his inked hands, scrubbing away for a solid two minutes before rinsing them in the water.
Memories of his hands on my body, skimming my bare skin, his voice murmuring in my ear, low and husky assault me. The heat from his chest brushing against mine as he’d push into me. Owning me. Claiming me. Branding me. Over and over again––
A loud rip makes me flinch as he reaches for the paper towel dispenser and rips a section away from the roll, dries his hands, and tosses it in the trash.
I can’t do this.
I fist my hands at my sides. The slight sting of pain from my fingernails biting into my palms grounds me as he stares at me. But he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. His gaze is full of a thick hatred, making me feel like I’m drowning, wrenching me back to the night he broke my heart. The night I promised myself I’d never see him again. Not only for my sake but for his.
“Where is she?” he growls.
Without a word, I turn on my heel, forcing my legs to move and walk the short distance to Peanut’s room.
“Hey, Ms. Walker,” the same nurse greets me.
Sarah, I think?
Honestly, I’ve dealt with so many it’s all a blur.
“Hi,” I return. “This is Milo.”
“Nice to meet you,” she offers carefully, my little bundle pressed to her chest.
He grunts, barely acknowledging her. He’s too busy staring at Peanut in her arms. Like he’s seen a ghost. Or an angel. Or, hell, maybe an alien. Regardless, he’s quiet, and it’s making things awkward.
Sarah’s attention shifts back to me, and she lifts her brows, silently asking if I’m all right.
“We’re good,” I lie when it’s the furthest thing from the truth. I mean, yes, we’re fine physically. Milo would never hurt me, and he sure as hell would never touch an innocent child in anger. But emotionally? A very different story. He wrecked me beyond repair. And now he’s here. Looking at the baby in the nurse’s arms who may or may not belong to him. Though I’m too terrified to find out.
Sarah’s expression softens as she looks back at Milo with a less guarded, more open smile. “Okay. And you both already washed your hands?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Perfect. Let me hand her back to you. I’m going to give a few other babies some lovin’. If you need anything, you know the drill.”
I take Peanut from Sarah, organizing her nasal tube carefully over one arm so it doesn’t tug or pull at an awkward angle and hurt her. We both settle into a small rocking chair in the corner of the room. Machines are littered throughout the small space, but the room feels even tinier with Milo’s massive presence sucking all the energy, all the oxygen, from it.
And I don’t know what to do. What to say. How to act. I’m flying blind here. But I’ve been doing it the same way my whole life.
The pink blanket looks like it’s swallowing Peanut whole, so I fuss with the soft material, trying to appear busy and unaffected by a certain someone when in reality, I’m still freaking out.
I can feel him watching me. Studying me. Analyzing me. Analyzing Peanut. Analyzing the entire situation. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s probably trying to figure out how to get out of this without having to pay child support.
Which isn’t fair. Because even though he said he wanted nothing to do with me when we ended things, Milo’s here.
Why are you here?
My skin feels itchy, and my breathing feels forced as I look up at him, praying he won’t see past the barriers I’ve spent my entire life building around myself. Yet, they’re the same ones he managed to catapult past the first time we met before he ruined me and left me all alone. On my own. With a baby in my belly and a broken heart never to be healed.
“This is her,” I murmur.
His boots scuff against the floor again as he shifts closer to us, looking down at Peanut.
“What’s her name?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
He scoffs. “Of course, you haven’t.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, looking up at him again. The guy’s tall. Around six-foot-two. He always had a way of making me feel small. Delicate. Precious. But right now, I feel like I’m seconds from being squashed under his boot.
“You’ve always been indecisive,” he spits, hinting at one of our last conversations when everything fell apart.
I grit my teeth and glare back at him. “I was decisive, remember?”
“Like when you were sleeping with me and Sonny, ‘cause you couldn’t decide who you wanted more?”
My jaw drops. “You’re the one who wanted me to sleep with you and your best friend in the first place. You approached me––”
“Bullshit. You were flirting with him all night––”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I seethe. Peanut whimpers against me, her little lips pulling into a frown from our rising voices. As I look down at her, the anger burning inside of me is doused almost instantly. I can’t do this. Not in front of her.
With a deep, staggered breath, I rock her softly and drop my voice low. “It doesn’t matter, okay? You made it very clear we’re through, and it’s––”
“I made it clear?” he challenges. A dark laugh escapes him. “Whatever, Em. Or is it Madelyn?” He scratches at his chin, condescension oozing from every pore.
“Can we…not do this?” I ask, ignoring the stares coming from the nurse’s desk. He’s gonna be thrown out of here if he can’t keep his anger in check. We both will.
“You don’t think I deserve an explanation?” he growls.
“Yes, you deserve an explanation. But can’t it wait? Please? When we don’t have an audience standing fifteen feet away from us who looks more than ready to throw us out right now? When I’m not freaking out over the well-being of my baby and the fact she’s in the freaking hospital? Please?”