Fold

She sucks in a breath. “What if I told you I did love you?”

I down my glass and slam it on the counter. “I'd ask you why.”

She takes my hand and places it on her belly. “Because of this. Don't you think you owe it to our son to make this work? To try and love the mother of your child and give him a real family?”

It's like she's swimming in my subconscious and adding more weight to the bricks that have been slowly sinking me over the last three months.

I step back, stopping when my spine hits the wall behind me and there's nowhere else to go. I'm starting to feel like I'm in prison and Becca's the warden.

But I have no choice but to do my time and serve my sentence, because my son deserves that. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

Relief flashes across her face...and then her lips are on mine and she's kissing me frantically.

Part of me wants to tell her to stop, and yet I can't because I know I need to be doing everything I can to make this work.

Tentacles wrap around my lungs; their grip is so tight I'm certain I'm being suffocated.

Oblivious to my body locking up, Becca continues her ambush and wraps her fingers around my dick through my sweatpants.

I tell myself to keep my head in the game and go with it, but it's like telling a deaf person to enjoy a song that's playing on the radio.

When she starts to drop to her knees, I halt her. “You don't...I don't...” I stall, trying to get the words out. I've never turned down sex from her before and that alone is cause for alarm. “This isn't a good idea.”

Her face scrunches. “Why?”

Because nothing feels right between us anymore.

Because you're not the girl I can't get out of my system—the one my thoughts have relentlessly drifted to for the last three months.

But I don't tell her any of that. Instead, I say, “You're over six months pregnant. Letting you kneel down on a cold kitchen floor to give me head isn't great for my conscience.”

Her jaw works as she stands back up. “Since when do you give a shit about that?”

She's right, I rarely do. I don't go out of my way to hurt others, but I don't go out of my way to comfort or help them either.

Apart from my older brother Asher on occasion, I generally don't give a shit about anyone or anything unless it impacts me directly.

I'm well aware of who I inherited that particular quality from.

I open my mouth, but a familiar hunger hits me full force, a compulsion so strong it's almost instinctual.

Cutting the conversation short, I barge past her and head for the bedroom to get dressed.

I didn't intend on placing any bets tonight, but then again, it's never really something that I plan.

It's more like a craving I can't ignore.

I hear her footsteps coming down the hall before she enters the bedroom, looking beyond pissed. “You're wasting your time pining over her, Preston. I highly doubt Kit will ever give you the time of day...let alone know how to please you.”

I reach for my suit jacket and she takes a step forward. “I know you're smart enough to realize anything she does with you, will only be to get back at me, given she's clearly still obsessed with my mere existence. The girl has issues. She's a train-wreck waiting to happen. Trust me on this.”

I stop mid-button and glare at her. “I'm not going to see her.”

When she visibly relaxes I say, “But if I were you, I'd watch your step.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it's one hell of a fall from your ivory tower.”

Her mouth drops open and I elbow past her. “I'll be home later.”

I'm halfway to the door when a ceramic figurine flies by my head before shattering against the wall.

“You know, I've tried to be patient with you, Preston. But now, you give me no choice.”

I turn and face her. “I beg your pardon?”

“This isn't working.”

Relief hits me and I'm glad she realizes it. Until she says, “And so help me God, you're going to regret not trying.”

The hairs on the back of my neck raise. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She doesn't answer me. Instead, she opens the closet and starts tossing clothes into a suitcase. “What it means, is that you won't be allowed to see him.”

My stomach drops, and I can feel the color drain from my face. “Look, you're angry and hormonal—”

She slams the top of her suitcase down. “You don't want to marry me and have a family? Well, congratulations...you no longer have one.”

I knew Becca was manipulative but threatening me with not seeing the baby unless I marry her is a whole other level of fucked up.

She played her cards right though, because she has me right where she wants me. My balls are officially clamped by her metaphorical vise.

I punch the wall out of frustration. “Why are you doing this?”

Her mouth tightens. “You've never looked at me the way you looked at her tonight.” She points to her stomach. “Here I am pregnant and wearing your ring...but you looked at her like she was your entire world.”

My teeth clench. “So because you're jealous of the way I looked at the girl who you cheated on me with...you think it's okay to threaten me with not seeing the baby? Children aren't bartering tools.”

Her lip turns up in a snarl. “Don't you dare make me out to be the bad guy. I've done everything to try and make this relationship work.”

If by everything she means using my credit card and distracting me with sex, then sure, I'll give her that.

“Becca—”

“You won't even tell your parents that I'm pregnant.”

“I'll tell them when I'm ready.”

She zips up her suitcase. “Not good enough. This baby deserves a father who will take care of him. One who will never hurt him.”

The knife she's driven into my chest twists. “You know I'd never hurt him.”

She straightens her spine. “Then prove it. Prove it by believing me when I tell you he's yours. Prove it by marrying me and becoming a family, because that's what our son needs.”

I close my eyes, fighting the panic lodging in my throat, because once I do this, that's it. There's no coming back. “We'll go to the courthouse this week.”

Her entire face lights up. “Really?”

When I nod, she wraps her arms around me and I exhale heavily. “No more bullshit, okay? No more threatening to take him away from me.”

“No more bullshit,” she agrees. “Promise.”

I drop a kiss to her forehead. “You should get some rest.”

“Are you still leaving?”

The impact of what I'm about to do feels like a cinder block on my chest. “No, not anymore.”

Because I'm about to make the ultimate gamble all on my own.

Clutching my third glass of whiskey, I inhale deeply and glance at the clock on the wall.

It's a futile attempt at procrastination, because I know that just like me, the man hardly sleeps.

Demons will do that to a person.

With a heavy heart and just enough liquid courage to see this shit through, I get off the couch and make my way to the balcony out back. It's cold as hell outside, and I remember the weatherman saying something about an impending snow storm as I bring the phone to my ear.

He answers on the third ring. “What?”

My jaw locks as the bitter wind ripples, numbing me just like I wanted. “Is that any way to greet your son?”

“It is when he's a vile, no-good, parasite.”

A laugh escapes me, and it sounds every bit as menacing as I feel. “Well, you know what they say. The apple doesn't fall far, now does it?”