Page 44 of Secret Baby for Mr. Grump

The statement sent pain shooting straight through my heart. “You thought I would hurt my own son?” I shook my head, unable to believe it. “You fucking think that of me?”

She met my angry gaze then, and I saw emotion well in her eyes.

Then, she burst into tears.

SEVENTEEN

ALLIE

I tried to fight back the sobs tearing out of my throat, but it was impossible.

Too much emotion was running through me, and I was overwhelmed.

It was likely the combination of everything today—the stress from work, Caleb going missing and then reappearing in front of Marcus and me. And then I’d had to explain to Marcus that Caleb was his son.

He’d known the minute he set eyes on Caleb. I could tell from the shocked expression on his face as it was like someone had hit him with a cannon. At that moment, I felt instant regret.

This wasn’t the way I meant for him to find out.

Then again, I wasn’t sure exactly how I meant for him to find out.

I hadn’t figured out the details and wasn’t even sure if I was going to tell him either.

Ideally, it would have been after I made sure Marcus was the right man to be Caleb’s father and that he was still the man I remembered. And after I found out what caused Caleb’s trauma too. Then I would invite Marcus to a nice peaceful dinner and finally tell him that we’d conceived a son together, and his name was Caleb. I’d explain why I didn’t tell him earlier too. The Marcus I knew wouldn’t hold it against me. He would understand that I was just a mother trying to protect her son.

But he wasn’t my Marcus anymore.

The enraged man in front of me was a stranger, and perhaps that was one of the things that made me cry even harder.

It didn’t stop when he came forward and pulled me down the last step, dragging me against his chest with a muttered, “Fuck.”

The tears continued even as his hands went to my head, running his fingers through my hair as he whispered, “Shit, stop crying. I can’t fucking stand it when you cry.”

Then why did you make me sad?I wanted to say, but it came out in hiccups instead. I brought my fist to his chest, intending to push him away, but I just didn’t have the strength. I was so tired, so sick of holding it together even though everything was falling apart. I was tired of being strong.

Plus, the feeling of his fingers running through my hair was kind of relaxing, and it was melting all my bones to mush, stealing whatever was left of my strength.

I felt Marcus pick me up in his arms and carry me over to the living room, his steps heavy on the hardwood floor as we walked. Then, he settled on the couch, arranging me on his lap, and he calmly shushed me when I tried to move. His voice was now soothing, a complete contrast to how he’d been a few minutes ago, his large palm shifting to run down my back in long comforting strokes.

The tears continued, and I let the sadness take me, weeping with one hand curled into his chest.

I had no clue how long we sat there, but it was sometime after the sobs dissipated.

But the longer we sat there, the more surreal it appeared.

It was like the outside world was slowly disappearing, his aura shielding me from it. Pretty soon, there was nothing in my mind but the strong beat of his chest, the woodsy scent of his jacket, and his steady breath against my hair.

And, of course, his heavy hand on my back, still continuing its soothing rhythm.

It reminded me of the night we spent together all those years ago.

For days after, I’d felt humiliated at how I clumsily made a move on him. I wasn’t drunk enough for the shame not to impact me. But I never regretted it. Not once.

I’d reached out to touch his thigh, and he’d held my hand and said, “Stop.”

His eyes were serious, his lips set in a stern line.

Shame instantly filled me. I was never a forward kind of girl, but right at that moment, I felt like the biggest hussy.

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