She nods. “Of course.”
Brittney's voice, full of babies and futures and what I’m hoping is lies, pulls me back toward that group—toward the heartbreak waiting for me if what she says is true.
“I have to…” I motion and step away without more of an explanation.
My feet carry me across the polished floor before my mind decides it wants to be there. Brittney’s hand rests on Wyatt's arm in an intimate and possessive pose that makes my chest constrict. Her face is tilted up toward his, all vulnerable eyes and trembling lips, like she's delivering the most blessed news to the man she loves.
The sight hits me in the back of the knees and steals the breath from my lungs.
I should walk away, give them space to handle this. But where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do? Fight Brittany for Wyatt's other arm? Stand there and pretend this isn't destroying me?
Instead, I hover behind Sarah and Oscar, just outside their circle, my heart hammering against my ribs. My future is falling apart, and every instinct tells me that staying to hear this conversation won't end well for me.
But I'm miles past rational.
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?”