Saint

He and Laurel had done some digging. I told him about James and the fire, but that was only hours ago. I hadn’t spoken a word about the baby. My baby. My baby that I’d barely had time to come to terms with before he was lost.

I tear my gaze from Saint to look at Dylan, and he’s still staring at me. He doesn’t look satisfied or vindicated. Doesn’t look furious or hateful.

He looks cold.

Emotionless.

As if nothing fazes him anymore.

I suppose I can’t blame him for hating me. After all, James wasn’t the only person I took from him.

That’s my worst secret. The one no one knows. Not even Carley.

She always assumed the baby was James’, but it wasn’t.

No, the baby that I lost, the baby that I dreaded even having, was Dylan’s.