Page 58 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

I batted his hands away. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to carry you inside to your room."

"I can walk."

"You're supposed to rest. Did they let you walk out of the hospital?" His voice was gruff and irritated.

"The wheelchair is hospital policy. I can walk."

"I'm going to carry you into this house, Miranda. Are you really going to let your anger and pride keep you from doing what's best for this baby?"

"Let him take you inside, Miranda," my father said, making me feel betrayed.

Brett reached in, picking me up.

I put my arms around his shoulders only to steady myself. "I really hate you,” I said into his ear so only he could hear.

His jaw tightened. His eyes remained forward as he carried me up the walk. "I know." He carried me into the house and to my room.

As soon as he set me on my bed, I pushed him away, scrambling to the middle of the bed and away from him. "You can go now."

He stood beside my bed. For a moment, he just watched me. "Look, Miranda, I know you’re pissed off at me, and I don't blame you. My behavior toward you has been beyond vile. It's knowing that that keeps me from being angry that you were going to let me live my life never knowing that I had a child."

I glared up at him. "You can't have it both ways, Brett. You can't tell me to, and I quote,stay the fuck away, unquote, and know about the baby."

His hands settled on his hips and he gave a curt nod. "I know. Like I said, I understand. But now I do know about the baby, and that means you and I are connected from now on."

Tears stung my eyes as I rested my hands over my belly. "I won’t let you take my baby from me."

He frowned. "I don't want to take the baby from you. Why would you think that?"

"That's what you did to Lindsay's mom."

He gave me an exasperated eye roll. "Janine didn't give a fuck about Lindsay. The only reason she fought for custody was to get at me. To get more money from me."

"You called me a gold digger."

His expression turned pained. "I don't believe that. I don't want to take the baby from you, but neither will I let you keep this baby from me." He let out a long sigh. "We don't have to figure this all out now. You get some rest. Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?"

The only thing I needed was for Brett to be gone. I scooted down on my bed, lying on it and turning away from him. "I just want to rest."

He didn't say anything, but the silence told me he hadn't left yet. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Finally, the floorboards creaked, signaling his exit from my room.

His words came back to me.You and I are connected from now on.How was I going to raise my child to respect their father when I hated Brett’s guts?

21

Brett

Janine used to look at me with the same loathing that Miranda did, but it hadn't bothered me. But Miranda's hatred of me was difficult to swallow because I knew it was my fault. I was angry that she hadn't told me about the baby, that she hadn't planned to, but I understood the reasons and couldn't blame her for them.

As I exited the room and headed up the hallway to the kitchen where I heard Peter, I realized I hadn't apologized for my behavior. I had admitted it, but mostly, I had focused on my intent to be in her and the baby's lives. I stopped in the middle of the hallway, cursing myself for being so self-centered and selfish. I wanted to turn around and go back, to let her know how profusely sorry I was and how I wanted to make it up to her. But I couldn't face her looking at me with such revulsion. Especially since she was pale and tired. Once again, the best thing I could do for her would be to leave her alone. That didn't mean I wouldn't look out for her and the baby. Like it or not, I was in her life. The good news about that was perhaps over time, I'd be able to make it up to her for the terrible way I treated her. Maybe she'd even come around to stop hating me.

I continued up the hall and to the small kitchen.

"I'm making grilled cheese and tomato soup, an old staple for Miranda and me. It's probably not frou-frou enough for you." Peter stood at the stove, not bothering to look at me. I wondered how much of my heinous deeds Miranda had shared with her father.

"I didn't grow up rich. I ate a lot of grilled cheese growing up, and it's still one of my favorites." I understood that if I had any chance of changing Miranda's mind about me, I would likely need her father's help. Yes, I'd have to rebuild the relationship, build her trust, but if her father was on my side, that could be a help. She clearly loved her father.

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