Page 65 of Second Draft

“Right. You love her.” He laughs darkly. “Give me a break.”

“Idolove her. And I’m going to make her my wife.”

That gets his attention. His eyes widen and his face drains of color.

“You’re kidding me, right?” There’s panic in his expression now. “You can’t do that. Do you know how messed up that would be?”

“We’ll make it work.”

“Bullshit.” He starts to pace again, fingers clenching and unclenching like he wants to hit something. “This. You. Her. All of it is fucking bullshit.”

“You’re the one who left. Not Layla. Not me. You gave up your rights to come stomping in here on your high horse, and pointing fingers.”

“It’smyfucking kid.”

“You’re right.” Layla stands on the first stair, light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, her fitted t-shirt stretched taut across her rounded stomach. The distress in her voice strikes me hard, and I can feel the pain in her words when she admits, “It is.”

I open my mouth to argue, then clamp it shut.

Mine. Every possessive bone in my body screams.

I narrow my eyes at her, praying she isn’t saying what I think she is.

Travis starts towards her, and I have to hold myself back from tackling him to the ground. I know he won’t lay a hand on her, but it doesn’t stop me from not wanting him anywhere near her.

“Why did you come back?” Layla asks, all her focus on Travis, her expression still stoic.

“To fix things.” He stands a few feet away from her now, his back to me. “I shouldn’t have left. I know that now. I thought…I thought we could try.” He shakes his head fervently. “But this is just insane.”

Layla doesn’t respond, she just watches him, the only indication of distress the small muscle in her jaw twitching.

“So what happens? You two get hitched, and then I’m what? Uncle Travis?” He turns and looks at me with pure hatred in his eyes. “Or are we both going to play Daddy?” He laughs and throws his hands up. “That’ll be fun explaining to people.”

“You think I give two shits what people think?” I say, the truth not as clear cut. Because the fact is I don’t want Travis in this child’s life. I know how fucking selfish that is. But over the past several months I’ve come to think of it as mine.

Having him around would do more than complicate things, it would change things between Layla and me. Because I can see it in her eyes that she’s already pulling away, already thinking about her escape route.

Layla sits down on the step, and even though I can tell she’s trying her best to hold herself together, her hand shakes when she reaches for the railing.

“I need a drink,” Travis says, despite it only being a little past eight in the morning.

He turns on his heels and storms into the kitchen.

Layla flinches when cupboards start to slam.

“Where the hell is all the alcohol?” Travis’ breathing is harsh, his tone desperate.

“There isn’t any,” I say, not tearing my gaze away from Layla, whose arms are wrapped protectively around herself.

“Of course, there isn’t. Saint fucking Carter my ass,” Travis hisses.

“Where are you going?” I bark, when he starts towards the front door.

“What do you care? It’s pretty obvious you’re just itching to get rid of me again. I hope it’s worth it. Choosing a little a tramp over your own brother. Mom and Dad would be so proud–”

My fist slams into his face, silencing him. His head snaps back and he stumbles, blood instantly oozing from his nose.

“Carter, stop,” Layla shrieks behind me.

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