8. Angie
ANGIE
I’ve never been more nervous in my entire life.
The Third Rail is a fancy coffee place in a good neighborhood.
Ladies in yoga pants walk their fluffy white dogs and linger in the parks in a place like this.
No homeless guys stand on the corner shouting about Jesus and begging for change.
It’s not like home at all, and I feel awkward and out of place when I step foot inside.
It smells like chocolate and flowers, which I like, and I chew on my thumbnail as I look around for Connor.
I physically flinch when I see him sitting alone at a table in the back. I didn’t expect him to be here already.
It takes some effort to keep my jaw from dropping open when he stands to greet me.
He’s wearing a dark designer suit and looks fantastic.
It hugs his impressive frame, emphasizing his athletic, muscular chest and his incredible arms. The man looks like a model and it kills me, seeing him like this, but I have to keep remembering why I’m here.
This isn’t going to be fun.
I awkwardly offer him a hand, trying to treat him like my boss and not like the guy who fucked me into sweet oblivion and left a gift/curse behind, but he leans in to kiss my cheek instead. A tingle runs down my spine at the feeling of him.
“How was getting here?” he asks as I drop down into my seat, already knocked so off-guard I can barely think.
“Uh, no problem, I took an Uber.”
“I’ll reimburse you.”
Panic slides into my core. Am I seriously already taking from him? “No, no, that’s totally fine. Is this for me?” I stupidly grab the cup and drink—only to find my exact normal order. It’s so familiar and helps to ground me, and I smile despite myself. “It’s really good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“How’d you know I took my coffee like this? Actually, never mind, doesn’t matter.” The nerves return and I have to steady myself. “I should just say it, you know? I need to spit it out and get it out in the air before my head explodes.”
“Say what, Angelina?”
His face is blank like he’s already bored of me. What the hell am I doing here? Connor Maguire’s a successful, powerful man. He’s attractive, intelligent, driven, everything I’m not. This man doesn’t want anything to do with me and this baby growing inside of me.
But no, I’m not going to back down. I’m not going to be a coward. Because I’m not here for me. My life isn’t my own anymore.
I’m here for my child.
I fold my hands and straighten my back, lifting my chin.
“We slept together. A few weeks ago. You remember, right?”
His mouth twitches. I think he’s frustrated. “That’s not something I’d forget.”
“Right. Good. And we didn’t… you know… use protection.”
“Not that I recall.”
“I want you to know that I’m not doing this to punish you… and I don’t even know what I want, if anything at all… but I thought you needed to know.”
“Know what, angel?” he whispers, and it’s that nickname again. It sends my stomach into a chaotic mess, twisting and churning, and I have to say it before I lose my nerve.
“Connor, I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”
The words hang in the air, thick like molasses. I take another drink—seriously, how does he know my order—just to give my hands something to do.
His expression doesn’t change. He shifts his weight, leaning closer. “Have you been to a doctor yet?”
I shake my head, looking down at my hands. “No, but I took a few tests. I’m sure.”
“When did you find out?”
“Only a few days ago.”
His face darkens. His hands rub together like he’s working something between them. A low, angry snarl escapes his lips, and I feel like my life’s coming to an end.
He hates me now. And how can I blame him?
I’m blowing up his life, just like he blew up mine. But this baby is happening and he’s the father, and how could I look myself in the mirror if I didn’t at least try to talk to him?
Now’s the part where he screams at me; where he threatens me; or worse, where he offers to pay me off.
He might even ask me to get an abortion.
The idea makes bile roll up the back of my throat.
Connor’s jaw works, and I wish I were anywhere else.
I feel numb and light, floating through the sky.
Only my coffee’s keeping me pinned in place.
He’s going to tell me to get rid of it now, and I’m ready to hear him say it, but I know it’s going to kill me.
“You need to make an appointment with an OB,” he says, taking out his phone. “I’ll reach out to a friend. You’ll see the best.”
Fuck, there it is.
He wants me to see his private doctor to have this baby ripped out.
My shoulders slump. I look down at the table. Tears fill my eyes, and I hate him and hate myself. “I’m keeping the baby, Connor.”
He reaches out. I think he’s going to hit me, but no, that’s insane. Instead he puts his hand on mine, leaning forward, face still dark with anger, but his eyes also shining with something else.
“Of course you’re keeping our baby, angel. I’d never fucking ask you to do anything else.”
My mouth opens. Again, I can barely find the words. “You… you want me to keep the baby?”
“Our baby.” The way he says it makes my heart skitter and jump.
The possessiveness, the anger and fierceness.
Like he’s a lion. “You need to start going to regular visits, taking vitamins, I don’t know, doing all the pregnant woman shit.
And there will be diapers, changing tables, an entire world of baby-related stuff we’ll need?—“
“Slow down, Connor. Nobody said anything about we.”
His grip tightens on my fingers. “That’s my baby, Angelina. You think I’m letting you walk out of here as a single mother?”
“No, I mean, I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m only telling you?—“
“I want this. I want you. I want that baby.”
I’m shocked by the obsession in his voice.
He looks manic, almost psychotic, and it’s scaring me.
“We’re not together… I mean, I don’t need you to step up and do the right thing.
If you want to be in the baby’s life, that would be amazing.
We can co-parent together. I know this is a lot…
it’s complicated and we barely know each other…
but I’m really not here to hurt you, Connor. ”
“You don’t understand.” His voice is low and menacing. He reaches one hand into his jacket pocket and I think he’s going for a gun or a knife, but that’s irrational. Why am I so afraid right now?
But what he brings out is so much worse.
He lays a diamond ring on the table between us.
I yank back from him, stunned. “What the hell is that?”
“We’re getting married today. I’ll make some calls. By this evening, you will be my wife.”
I shake my head wildly, waving my hands in the air. “No, no, no, no, that’s not happening. There’s no way we’re getting married! And why the hell are you carrying around a ring like that?!”
He ignores my question. “I’m not giving you an option, angel. You don’t understand what you just walked in to and I don’t have time to explain everything. We need to get married today, right now, or I can’t guarantee your safety.”
Safety?! What the hell?
“You’re really freaking me out.”
“There’s no other way. Fuck, I wish I could explain without making this worse, but please, you have to understand.
I’m under constraints… constraints I don’t want…
and there’s a clock ticking. I should be there right now, but…
” He slams a hand palm-down against the table.
I flinch, wrapping my arms around myself in terror.
“Fuck. This is the worst timing possible.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shrinking down, losing my internal battle.
I knew he’d hate me.
I knew I wasn’t good enough.
“You have nothing to apologize for, damn it, but we have to get married.”
I shove back from the table. “I can’t do that.”
“Angie—“
“No, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Angie!”
I turn away, shaking as I hurry off. I almost run to the door, heart pounding, brain looping in a nasty refrain. Ugly, failure, not good enough, never good enough, doomed to be just like your mother. I breathe desperate gulps of fresh air but that doesn’t help?—
Connor catches my wrist. I turn, pulling to get away, but he holds on like iron.
“Listen to me, angel.” He sounds desperate, but I don’t want to hear it.
“You’re only doing this because you feel bad. You think I’m some loser idiot who’s going to ruin your kid, and honestly, I don’t even blame you. But please, Connor, let me go.” Tears stream down my face. “You’re hurting me.”
He looks down at his hand like he’s only now realizing he’s holding onto me hard enough to leave bruises. He releases me and I stagger a couple steps, bumping my hip into a parking sign.
“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t mean?—“
“I don’t care, okay? God, this was so bad…”
“Angie, please.”
“We’re not getting married. I don’t even want anything from you. I just want you to be in the baby’s life, that’s all, okay? I want to be a better mother than I ever had. Please, we can talk more later, when we’ve both calmed down, okay?”
His hands ball into angry fists. His shoulders tighten as his eyes bore into me and the rage comes back. Fear slides down my spine as I back away from him.
“There is no later,” he says quietly. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what I have to do.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re not making sense. This was too much. We’ll talk later.”
I turn and run.
It’s not dignified. I’m not proud of myself. But I’m sure he’s going to beat me into a rotten pulp if I stand there for a second longer.
I cry as I go. I can’t believe that happened. The way he looked at me… his insane marriage proposal…
It’s like I broke him.
Like the idea of raising a baby with me destroyed his mind.
What a nightmare.
That was mortifying. So much worse than I ever pictured.
And I still have to make this work with him… somehow.