Page 64 of Second Draft

“Watch yourself,” I growl, grabbing my pants from the floor, then shoving my legs into them as quickly as I can, needing to get him the hell away from her.

Already, I can see her shutting down. Her shoulders sag, and resignation fills her expression.

Travis’ hands ball into fists at his side, but his anger is only directed at Layla. “How long did it take before you were screwing him? One week? Two?”

“Shut the fuck up before you say something that makes me want to hit you more than I already do.”

Travis looks at me then, his anger fixed at me, where it should be. “You’re seriously fucking her?”

“Downstairs,” I growl out, pointing to the open door. “Now.”

“Unfucking believable.” He shakes his head, still scowling, but thankfully he listens to me, turning and walking out of the bedroom with a series of curses.

I wince at the sound of his heavy footsteps as they clomp down the stairs.

Layla’s face is pale, her eyes vacant. There are no tears, just a hollowness that scares the shit out of me.

“It’s going to be okay,” I say, leaning over the bed and placing my hand under her chin, forcing her to look at me.

No reaction.

I press my lips against hers, but she doesn’t return my kiss.

“Let me deal with him. Just stay here.”

Again, nothing. Just a blank a stare that makes my blood go cold.

I’ve never wanted to hurt someone more in my life than I do Travis, right now.

I shut my bedroom door behind me when I leave, hoping it’ll muffle the words that I’m about to have with my brother.

Layla doesn’t need or deserve this shit right now. Especially not when she’s so close to her due date. Any stress could cause her to go into labor at any moment.

Travis is in the living room, and when he sees me, he stops his pacing and points his finger at me. “Do you have any idea how fucked up this is?”

“Just shut your mouth and listen. It’s not what you think.”

“So you’re not screwing her? You were what? Having a little slumber party butt ass naked?” The sarcasm drips from his words.

“I’m in love with her.”

That shuts him up. At least for a few seconds, then he growls out, “Bullshit. I come back here, wanting to make things better. To do what you said and take responsibility, and you’re what? Playing house with the mother of my child.”

“Youwalked away.”

“I came back,” he shouts, fire blazing in his eyes. “And you knew I would. I just needed time to think. To get my head straight.”

His words are like a punch to the gut. He’s right, there was always a part of me that knew he’d come back eventually. Because as selfish and egotistical as he is, he’s not a complete asshole. I knew that his sense of obligation would eventually click in.

But that doesn’t mean he loves Layla, or even that he wants the kid.

I do. More than anything else in the world.

“You don’t want this.” I try to keep my tone even, my temper in check. “You told me yourself that you aren’t mature enough to have a kid–”

“So you thought it was your obligation to step in and take my place?”

“It wasn’t like that–”

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