Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
THE BABY'S COMING WHETHER YOU'RE READY OR NOT.
WYATT
I catch Kinsley's eye over Dad's shoulder, and the look on her face about knocks me flat. Raw hurt, confusion, and something that looks like betrayal—she thinks this is real.
She thinks I got another woman pregnant.
I move to go to her, to pull her close and reassure her that this is some big mistake and we’ll work it out together.
Dad shifts into my line of sight, his expression hard. "Explain this." He swirls his finger around indicating Brittney and the Martinezes.
Brittney puts her hand on her father’s arm and moves between him and me. He didn’t like me jerking away but he hasn’t touched me again. Maxwell’s fainting spell was a bit of a distraction—one I desperately needed to catch my breath and calm down.
"We're having a baby," Brittney tells Dad.
Dad goes white, Mom's hand shoots to her chest, and I can see everyone trying to wrap their heads around what they just heard.
"Now, we don't mean to cause waves here," Senator Martinez says with smooth confidence. "Kids will be kids. Love makes them lose their minds and do stupid things. We all remember being young and in love."
I choke. Love? With Brittney? Never.
Dad's grip on my shoulder tightens, his fingers digging in like talons. Disappointment radiates off him in waves.
"As long as your young man steps up and takes responsibility," Martinez continues, "I'm sure this will all work out just fine." He smiles all friendly like and I want to punch him in the face. He doesn't like me, and I don't like him so we're even there.
I grab Brittney's hand. "We need to talk. Right now."
I pull her toward a quiet corner by a tall potted plant, away from my family's shocked faces and the senator watching my every move.
She stumbles along behind me, using every chance in the crowd to press herself against me.
Makes my stomach turn. My brain's working overtime, trying to piece together every conversation we've had, looking for some way to prove she's lying through her teeth.
I stop and fold my arms so she can’t grab onto them. I’m so tired of her touching me. "Are you crazy? I mean, seriously, are you out of your ever-loving mind? We are not a couple. We are not having a baby. Why would you tell your father that?"
She smiles—calm, certain, like I've just asked her what color the sky is. "Because it's true."
I stare at her stomach, flat as it's always been under that dress. "You don't even look pregnant."
She blushes, her hand moving to her belly. "That's so sweet of you to say. See, you’re good to me.”
Sweet? There's nothing sweet about any of this.
“Brittney,” I growl. “Are you really pregnant?”
“Yes.”
My mind's racing, trying to find solid ground in a conversation that makes no sense. She's not lying—at least, she doesn't think she is.
"What exactly did you tell your father?"
"I told him you're my baby's daddy." She looks up at me with those big eyes, the picture of wounded innocence.
"I wanted to tell you in Jackson Hole, but you wouldn't talk to me.
You kept avoiding me." She pouts. "Every time I tried, you were either with someone, or you'd walk away the second I got close. I've been trying for weeks, Wyatt."
"There's no way this baby is mine." The words come out hard and fast. I'm past caring about her feelings. My entire future is hanging in the balance because of whatever game she's playing.
She shrugs, like I've just pointed out something mildly inconvenient instead of life-altering.
"I understand it's hard finding out this way, but you left me no choice.
" Her voice carries a practiced gentleness that makes my skin crawl.
"I couldn't keep waiting. The baby's coming whether you're ready or not. "
"When?" I ask through gritted teeth. "When is this supposed to have happened?"
She giggles—actually giggles—like this is some kind of romantic comedy instead of a nightmare.
"It was that night when you hurt your shoulder.
" She puts her hand on my shoulder and massages it.
I shrug her off. "You were so sweet, even though you were hurting.
You slurred your words a little and your kisses were sloppy, but it was so sweet.
" Her hand moves to her belly again, and her smile turns dreamy.
"I'm so excited to have this baby with you. "
The bottom drops out of my world.
The night I got thrown and landed wrong, when Doc gave me enough pain medication to knock out a horse. I remember bits and pieces—being helped to my room, someone bringing me ice, voices in the hallway. But I don't remember her. I don't remember anything that could have led to this.
I wouldn't have. Even drugged out of my mind, even half-conscious, I wouldn't have done that with her.
It's not in me to use someone that way, not in me to blur those lines when I can barely stand.
But there's this tiny sliver of doubt working its way under my skin—what if I don't remember because I was that far gone? What if the meds stripped away the part of me that wouldn’t have done this? Who am I under that?
"I was medicated," I say, my voice shaking. "I don't remember that night, but I wouldn't have—I couldn't have. I was barely conscious."
"It's okay," she says softly, reaching up to touch my face with gentle fingers.
I flinch back but she follows, persistent.
"I know it's scary, finding out you're going to be a father. I was scared too.” She drops her hand.
“This is a good thing, Wyatt. We're going to have a family.
" Her eyes shine with something that might be tears or might be excitement—I can't tell anymore. "We're good together. You'll see."
"Brittney—"
"Daddy's already talking about the wedding," she continues, her voice taking on a soothing, almost sing-song quality. "We can make this work. I know we can. You just need time to get used to the idea."
My face goes cold. Wedding?