His nostrils flare as he looks down at me, the intensity rolling off him in waves.
“Please?” I repeat, my tone softer this time.
The same heated look, the one I fell for all those months ago, warms me from the outside in as he scrubs his hand over his face and rocks back on his heels. “Fine.”
A weighted silence settles around us, along with the occasional squeak from Peanut and the constant machines pulsing around the NICU as I fuss with her blanket again. But I’m afraid if I break the quiet with my voice, it’ll only cause another fight. And I’m so sick of fighting. But this weighted silence? Well, it’s no picnic either.
My hands––hell, my entire body––shake as I peek up at him again and extend the proverbial olive branch. “Do you…want to hold her?”
Indecision paints his handsome features before he tears his gaze from mine and looks at Peanut. As if in slow motion, his big, burly hand rises from his side. He runs his calloused finger along her soft, silky cheek, barely grazing the tube attached to her button nose and brushing against her strawberry-blonde peach fuzz.
And just like that, my frustration, my anger––all of it––vanishes into thin air, like wisps of smoke swirling with fresh, clean oxygen. Yeah, our past still taints this moment, but maybe it’s still manageable. Maybe he’ll accept her as his own. Maybe she won’t be a burden to him, no matter how clear he’s made it I am one.
“You can hold her,” I offer again.
He drops his hand back to his side. “I don’t want to hold her.”
“You sure?” I ask. “I can show you how––”
“You’re moving in with me.”
“What?” I shake my head, convinced I heard him wrong while trying to process how the hell we got from do you want to hold her to you’re moving in with me.
“Milo, you can’t be serious––”
“Will you…”–– his fists tighten at his sides––“listen to me? For once in your damn life?”
A lump the size of Texas catches in my throat, but I swallow it back. “I don’t need you––”
“Not true anymore,” he growls, his gaze dropping to the bundled baby in my arms. “Where are your keys?”
Panicked, I stutter, “W-what? Why?”
“I’ll get your shit packed at your place while you stay here with her.”
I blink slowly, convinced I’m in the Twilight Zone and have no idea how to escape it.
“Keys,” he barks. “Now.”
“Milo, I’m not moving in with you.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
He shakes his head, a low chuckle vibrating up his throat, sending chills down my spine. “Wanna talk bullshit? We had a good thing going, and you left. Now, you have a damn kid who I’m supposed to take care of––”
“You’re not supposed to do anything. I don’t want your help––”
“But you need it, don’t you? How the hell do you expect to take care of a kid on your own?”
“I’ll figure it out––”
He scoffs. “Since it worked so well for you in the past. Reese and Riv are filming. Sonny and Dove are going on another tour. We have the room––”
“I’m not going to play house with you,” I argue.
“And I don’t give a shit. If she’s not Sonny’s, she’s my kid. Unless there was a third asshole you were screwing while we were together?” He folds his arms across his broad chest, waiting for me to deny it.
My stomach tightens into a knot of regret and disgust. For the things I went through to protect the man in front of me, though I have no doubt he’d throw it all back in my face if he knew about any of it.
Which is why he can never find out. Not simply for my protection, but for Peanut’s too.
I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head. “No. There wasn’t a third asshole I was screwing while we were together.”
“Then, I guess I’m the father, huh? It’s not exactly hard math.” He lifts his hand, palm facing up. “Now, give me your keys.”
2
Maddie
“What the hell did you say to him?” I seethe, trying to keep my voice steady. The tears gather in my eyes, threatening to fall as I blink them away, feeling like I’ve been stabbed in the back by the one person who promised to always have it.
“He overheard us talking, Mads. I swear we didn’t tell him on purpose,” my sister defends through my cell. She’s the only one who could’ve told Milo about the baby or where he could find me. She’s also the only one who knows Milo may or may not be the father. But I’m not sure she really cares anymore. Once she found out the love of her life––who also happens to be my ex and Milo’s best friend, Gibson––wasn’t the father, she’s never been happier.
And I’m glad she’s found happiness. She deserves it. Especially with how supportive she was throughout the entire pregnancy. Even when she found out Gibson and I had slept together before they fell in love. Even when I treated her like shit because I hate being pitied. She still supported me, helped take care of me, and was my sounding board and biggest cheerleader, making this conversation even harder.
Chewing on my lower lip, I stay quiet. Unsure what to say. Or what to do.
This is a mess.
A giant clusterfuck of regret.
And it’s all my fault.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, taking my silence for frustration.
But I’m not mad at her.
I’m mad at myself.
I should’ve told him. About the baby. About how I felt in the first place. Before everything blew up. Before we broke each other’s hearts. Before I agreed to have a threesome with my sister’s now-boyfriend and his best friend.
I never meant for everything to get so out of control. It just…happened. Like a wave in the ocean, slowly building energy and power in the distance. You can see it coming, but it’s so beautiful, so mesmerizing, you think you can handle its strength. Until it crashes over you, leaving you thrashing in its depths and your world upside down and drowning.
Yeah, it’s exactly what happened with Milo and me. I thought I could ride the wave. Instead, it swept me away, leaving me more alone than I could’ve ever imagined.
“Mads?” Dove murmurs. “You still there?”
“He wants me…” I look down at my Peanut in my arms. “He wants us to move in with him.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“Milo wants you to move in with him?” she screeches.
“Demanding we move in with him is probably the more accurate depiction for what went down,” I mutter, blinking away my tears. I haven’t cried since we broke up. Not really. I’ve been too numb to acknowledge I’m a single mom and my sister’s in an up-and-coming band who will be touring across the country with her boyfriend. I’m going to be all alone. With a baby. Whom I have no idea how to raise.