Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
ISLA
I leaned against the door, closing my eyes while I exhaled deeply. My hand suddenly drifted down again. This time, I didn’t stop it. My fingers pressed lightly against my stomach, and something shook inside me.
Fear.
But not just any fear.
It was something else.
Something bigger.
Something I didn’t know how to name or describe until a soft knock rumbled through the door behind me.
It was gentle.
Precise.
Causing my eyes to snap open and my hand to instinctively fall at my side, almost like I got caught doing something wrong.
“Go away,” I muttered under my breath, loud enough for him to hear me.
The silence was followed by a stern, “No.”
My body clenched as I yanked the door open with frustration and annoyance, blurting, “What?”
His eyes moved over my face before he revealed, “You haven’t eaten.”
His words caught me off guard. “What?”
“I said…” he emphasized, “you need to eat.”
My stomach churned again. “I’m not hungry.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
Irritation flickered across his handsome face. “Isla—”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
My core tensed up. “I don’t need you to tell me what I am.”
“No,” he remarked, stepping closer. He wasn’t touching me, but he was close enough. “You just need me to ignore it?”
“I need you to leave me alone.”
His gaze dropped lower, and I went still.
“Is that what you’re doing?” he questioned. “Ignoring it?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough.”
“Then keep it to yourself.”
The silence stretched taut.
“Whose is it?”
My chest locked up.
“Don’t.”
“Isla—”
“Don’t ask me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t get to. You don’t get to act like any of this is yours.” I pointed at him. “You don’t get to act like I’m yours or this baby.”
Something in him stilled. “I’m not acting, I’m asking.”
“And I’m not answering.”
“Because you don’t know or because you know it’s mine?”
My silence gave it away, and his jaw constricted. “So you don’t think—”
My hands fisted. On pure instinct, I spewed, “I hate you.”
He didn’t flinch. Instead, he agreed. “Yeah, I know.”
His acquiescence hurt far more than if he had tried to fight me on it. I went to turn away from him, but he caught my wrist. Not a hard grab, but enough to cause my breath to hitch.
“Let go.”
He didn’t, pressing his thumb against my pulse. “You need to eat something.”
“I’m not one of your problems.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like I am.”
“I’m just making sure you don’t make it worse.”
I shook my head. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“Someone has to.”
My body twisted sharply. A wave of nausea hit me with a rush of emotions, and I swayed. His hand caught my elbow. I froze for a second, though I didn’t pull away. Increasing his grip just slightly, he steadied me instead.
He was close.
Too close.
“Don’t,” I whispered, still not moving from his grasp.
His hand slid, slow and deliberate, from my elbow to above my wrist.
“If it’s mine,” he declared, “you don’t get to pretend it’s not.”
“It’s not yours,” I firmly responded.
I was too fast.
Too sharp.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“Stop.”
“Then tell me.”
“I said stop.”
Silence again.
“Six to eight weeks?” he asked, causing my breath to hold. “You think I don’t see it?”
I went stiff.
“You think I didn’t notice?”
My pulse picked up. “Stop.”
“Then say it’s not mine and mean it.”
“It’s…” I couldn’t, and he knew it.
Using this to his advantage, he stated, “I’m not walking away from this.” Gesturing to my stomach, he added, “Or from us.”
I shook my head. “You don’t get a choice.”
His voice dropped. “Neither do you.”
Something snapped inside me, and I shoved him back. “Get out!”
He didn’t move at first, but then, slowly, he finally backed away. The distance was not enough.
It’s never enough.
“Eat something,” he ordered before turning to leave.
As soon as he left, the immediate silence crashed on top of my head. I shut the door behind him, locking it tight. With my back pressed up against the door, my legs gave slightly, and I fell to the floor. Leaning my head back, I let my hand drift down again.
It rested on my stomach, lingering there for a minute.
“I don’t know,” I murmured to myself, but I still didn’t sound convincing.
Somewhere deep down, I knew the truth wasn’t that simple.
The house stayed quiet, but it wasn’t empty.
Not anymore.
Because the silence was watching me.