Page 81 of When Sinners Fear
“I threw a chair at the fucking wall. Not you.”
“Well, I don’t want chairs being thrown around, so if you’re having anything to do with it, we’re discussing your temper first.”
“My temper?”
“Yes. That. I know you, Knox, and I know your family. This baby might be part of you, but it doesn’t have to be.”
“What does that mean?”
She looks around the bar again, as if she didn’t mean to say that, and it dawns on me that we’re standing in the middle of a very public place having a discussion about something private. I grab her hand and our coats and lead her from the bar, refusing to let go when she tries tugging it from me. She manages to get it from me the moment we’re outside, though, and both hands go to her stomach again.
“You don’t want me involved?”
“I didn’t say that. I just … there’s a lot to think about, and I’m still working it out myself.”
“What is there to think about?”
“Well, I don’t want this baby being part of something that I can’t protect it from. I’d rather be alone and dealing with it on my own than having the kind of problems your family might bring. And I don’t want you to be here because you think you have to be, either.”
“Jesus, Peyton. Give me a fucking second. I’m in shock.”
“Oh. Right.” She smiles a little and looks at the floor. “You don’t mind then?”
“Mind?” A laugh peels out of me. “Why the hell would I mind?”
“Well, you don’t seem the fatherly type.”
I blow out a breath at that, nodding to some degree. “No, I suppose not.”
Silence. I look back at her stomach again, attempting to wrap my head around the fact that I’m going to be a father. That wasn’t in the plan. Not that there ever was a plan as far as she’s concerned. I don’t even think I knew what I was doing coming here, other than following my feet where they led because that’s about the only sensible thing Michael came up with.
A father.
“What do you want to do?” she asks. I look up at her, confused. “Now? We could go back to mine maybe and discuss it some more?”
“No. That’ll end up in fucking and I need to talk this through first.”
Her eyes widen. “You think?”
“I know.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”
I always am once I’m invested in something, and, regardless of the shock, I’m already running through every possibility as far as us, a future, and a family goes. “What time is it?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” she asks.
“We need a realtor.”
“What? Why?”
“You live in a college-assigned studio apartment barely habitable for one let alone two, and you’re about broke. I need to deal with that.”
“Wait, what? How do you even know about my finances? I have choices here.” I put her coat on her shoulders and usher her through the parking lot, heading for my car. “Knox?”
“We’ll talk when we get there.”
She stops before we get to my car and turns her stare on me, stern and potentially pissed about something. “We’ll talk now.”