Page 27 of Toxic Salvation
I take a sip of juice, buying myself time. “There’s nothing to discuss. This is my baby, and I’m keeping it.”
“I assumed as much. I’m telling you I want to be involved. For you and our son.”
I peer at him, searching his face for deception. “You don’t want children.”
“Neither did you.”
“I don’t have a choice anymore. You still do.”
Something hardens in his eyes. The playful man who was teasing me about Texas disappears, replaced by the cold-blooded killer I know far too well. “I don’t walk away from my responsibilities, Vesper. I’ll make sure you and the baby have everything you need.”
“That’s generous, but unnecessary. I can handle this alone.”
He straightens to his full height, and suddenly, the expanse of granite countertop between us feels like both too much distance and not nearly enough.
“What exactly are you saying, Vesper? You don’t want me in my son’s life?”
The rational part of my brain knows I should back down. Accept his offer and be grateful for it. But the wounded part—the part that remembers him calling me nothing, telling me I wasn’t family—that part wants to hurt him back. It wants to hurt himbadly.
“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I brace myself for the explosion. For shouting and accusations. For those green eyes to turn molten with rage.
Instead, he just nods once. “So be it. I’m going to take care of both of you whether you want me to or not. If you decide you don’t want me around when he’s born, we’ll discuss it then. Until that time, we work together.”
I gape at him. “Do you even know how to do that? Work together?”
“Do you?” he shoots back.
The unfairness of that stings. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How long have you known you were pregnant?”
I flinch. “A month.”
“And you never said a word.”
“Are you seriously trying to make this my fault?” My temper spikes so fast it surprises me. “You’re the one who ended things! You told me we were over and forbade me from seeing Luka! Why would I think you’d want to hear from me?”
“You made an assumption.”
“It wasn’t an assumption, asshole! You made it crystal clear that you didn’t want me in your life. You don’t get to be angry now because I decided I didn’t want you in mine.”
The hashbrowns are definitely burning, but he doesn’t seem to care. His jaw thrums with tension and he’s white-knuckling the spatula like he wishes it was a sword instead.
Before either of us can escalate further, shouting erupts from the front of the house.
“What the—” Then it hits me. “Oh, God. Waylen. Ahead of schedule.”
“Stay here,” Kovan orders, abandoning the stove and striding toward the foyer.
Like hell I will.
I follow him into the entryway where Waylen is arguing with one of the security guards—a mountain of a man who looks like he bench presses small cars for fun.
“Get out of my way, Grisha. You know exactly who I am.”
“You haven’t been cleared for entry today, Mr. Waylen,” the guard rumbles. “I can’t just?—”
