Chapter 28
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, Oliver’s calculating stare piercing through me like a knife. My mind races with dozens of explanations for why he’s here, but deep down I know they all lead back to me and the daughter I’ve tried to keep from him for the past four years.
“I was just about to leave.” I attempt to stand, to escape from his unsettling gaze, but he wraps his hand around my arm, his punishing grip keeping me in place.
“If you want to keep custody of my daughter, you’ll sit and not leave until I say you can.”
Panic surges through me as I peer into his gray eyes that are nearly identical to Maggie’s. The gray eyes I once thought were so kind, so compassionate.
Until I told him I was pregnant.
The last thing I want is to give in to his demands. To let him have this kind of power over me. But it’s not just me anymore. I need to think about Maggie, too.
Keeping my head held high, I force myself to return to my seat, determined to maintain my composure, despite the nerves threatening to consume me.
“After unexpectedly seeing you yesterday, I asked around about you,” he remarks as he unbuttons his crisp suit jacket and casually lowers himself into the chair across from me. “Got to love small towns. Everyone is so friendly. Especially a group of older women I met at the diner, who were more than happy to tell me all about Haley McBride and how she came to town just a little over four years ago with a brand new baby.” He leans toward me. “Roughly nine months after our last…meeting. Based on the uncanny resemblance, I can only conclude she’s mine.”
This is why I wanted to leave as quickly as possible yesterday. Maggie may have my hair, but that’s where our similarities end. She has her father’s steel-gray eyes, slanted nose, high cheekbones, and brilliant smile.
“Does she have your DNA?” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Yes. But she’s not yours. You gave up that right the second you told me to get rid of the problem.”
“And we decided that’s exactly what you would do.”
“We?” I shoot back, incredulous.
Is he really this delusional? Or has he just convinced himself of this version of events so he wouldn’t have to carry the guilt all these years?
“We didn’t decide anything.” I gesture between us. “You decided. You made it quite clear you didn’t want to be a part of my life. Or the baby’s. I made sure you weren’t.” I hastily collect my things and shove them into my bag. “I took care of the problem for you. Made her mine and mine alone. I’m more than happy to keep it that way. In fact, I’d prefer to keep it that way.” I shoot to my feet and pin him with a glare. “Good bye, Oliver.”
Spinning, I hurry down the street, but before I can get more than a few feet, a hand wraps around my wrist, forcing me to stop.
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” Oliver seethes.
I bark out a laugh.
I should have known something like this would happen. It’s the story of my life. Just when things are finally looking up, something happens to remind me that I’ll never have it all.
That I’ll never be truly happy.
“This may sound like a radical idea to someone as egotistical as you. My body, my fucking choice. If you’ll excuse me…”
I attempt to pull myself free from his grip, but he tightens his hold, causing pain to shoot up my arm. I wince as I struggle against him, venom and disgust swirling in his eyes.
“You don’t get to walk away from me, Haley. Not about this. I told you to?—”
“If you don’t want to end up with every bone in your body broken,” a voice thunders in the distance as the sound of heavy footsteps grow close, “you’ll take your hand off my wife.”
I look away from Oliver to see Beckham storming toward us, fury radiating off him as he clenches and unclenches his fists.
“Now!” he bellows when Oliver doesn’t immediately comply, as if urging Beckham to make the first move.
Based on the wild look in his eyes, I have no doubt he will, if necessary. And will most certainly carry through on his promise to break every bone in Oliver’s body.
While Oliver is tall and somewhat built, he’s no match for Beckham. I doubt he’s ever done a single day of manual labor. Not like Beckham.
After several protracted moments, Oliver releases his hold on me. Beckham wastes no time in wrapping me in a protective hug, keeping me glued to his body.
“She’s your wife?” Oliver spits.
“She is.” Beckham stands in front of me like a protective shield. “So if I were you, I’d get in that shiny car of yours and not stop until you’re far away from Sycamore Falls. If I hear you’ve so much as looked at Haley or her little girl again, I’ll make you regret the day you ever stepped foot in this town. Got it?”
Oliver glowers at Beckham, the tension growing with each passing second. Beckham puffs out his chest, the distaste in his expression almost lethal. I certainly wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his glare.
Finally, Oliver relaxes his posture, purposefully shoving into me as he pushes past.
“She’s nothing but a cheap whore anyway,” he mutters under his breath, always needing to have the last word.
A dangerous fire flickers in Beckham’s eyes, and before I can stop him, he storms after Oliver, slamming him into the exterior brick wall of the coffee shop and wrapping his hands around his throat.
“Say it again,” he challenges.
But Oliver can’t say anything. Instead, all he can do is claw at Beckham’s hands as he struggles for air.
“Beckham,” I warn, nervously looking up and down the street as several people watch, some of them reaching for their cell phones.
But like all those years ago, he doesn’t hear me, his grip on Oliver’s throat growing tighter by the second, despite his best efforts to free himself. I fear if I don’t intervene, the past may repeat itself. I’ll never be able to live with myself if Beckham is arrested because of me.
Again.
It will only add to the guilt I still struggle with.
“Beckham,” I repeat, this time louder and more urgent.
When I touch my hand to his shoulder, he snaps his wild eyes toward mine. I jump back on instinct, then school my nerves.
“He’s not worth it. Please. Let him go.”
I can see his indecision as he looks between Oliver and me.
Finally, he pushes out a long sigh and releases Oliver. Relief floods my body, and I grab his hand, pulling him away.
But before we can make our escape, Beckham shakes free and storms back toward Oliver. In one swift motion, he delivers a harsh right hook to his nose. The crack of his nose breaking is deafening above the typical background noise of our quaint Main Street.
Oliver’s expression contorts in pain as he covers his face, blood staining his hands. “What the hell was that for?”
“Nobody calls my wife names and gets away with it.” Beckham grips his shoulders then gives a quick knee to his groin, causing Oliver to bend over and grab his crotch.
Then Beckham wraps an arm around my shoulder and ushers me away. “Let’s get you home.”