Page 72 of Make You Stay

But my apartment was safe and sound. It seems the North Carolina house is the chosen victim.

Glancing around the room, I grab a heavy candlestick. I’m aware it won’t do a damn thing against a gun, but I’ll go down fighting.

False bravado, perhaps, but I need all the help I can get right now.

My mobile phone is upstairs, along with the rest of my stuff. As for Betsey’s landline? In prime working order, not that there’s a phone in this room.

Tiptoeing toward the back room, I heft the candlestick in both hands, prepared to swing this sucker like a baseball bat. I see someone digging through the closet as my heart threatens to pound out of my chest.

I donotwant to die like this.

“What are you doing in my house?” I bellow, raising the candlestick over my head.

“What the hell? Chloe? You scared the shit out of me.” The familiar voice rushes headlong into my brain, and I lower the candlestick as Aidan turns, those green eyes wide. “When did you get back?”

“Earlier today.” Now that I know I’m not about to die, my entire body shakes from the adrenaline rush.

His gaze drops to the candlestick, the corners of his mouth quirking under his once-again bearded face. “What were you going to do with that?”

“Kill you. Possibly maim you. That was the original plan.”

“And now?”

“Still viable options.” As my breathing normalizes, a surge of anger flows through me as I look at the man I love.

The man who doesn’t want me unless I throw away my lifelong dream. The man who wouldn’t even hear me out about wanting a child together.

“What are you doing here?”

He motions to the closet. “I was looking for my drill. Have to repair a neighbor’s window.”

Realizing it’s a valid reason, I relent, holding up my hand. “Have at it.” I turn toward the kitchen, the need for coffee growing by the second.

My coffee addiction is even worse now, likely because I substituted it for food most days.

“How are you?”

“Fine.” It’s a standard reply, one you give to the mail lady or a neighbor you hardly know. Not the answer you give to the man you wanted to spend your life with, the man you hoped would father your child. But it’s all I can manage at the moment. “How are you?”

He follows me to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s been a fucking terrible few weeks.”

Turning on my heel, I catch the brightness in his eyes. Could he be referring to our breakup? Could it be bothering him one iota as much as it’s bothering me? Is that possible?

Best to err on the side of caution. Likely has nothing to do with us. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you pregnant?”

The coffee mug slips from my hands, and I thank God it’s empty. “What?”

Snatching his ball cap off his head, he wrings it between his hands. “You had a doctor’s appointment, right? You were only supposed to be gone a week, but it’s been three weeks. I figured you had gotten… inseminated.”

Tonging my upper lip, I contemplate lying to the bastard, telling him I’m happily knocked up, and he can just fuck all the way off. Sadly, it’s not my style, although I would love to see his face when he heard the news.

It would likely relieve him, knowing he was off the hook.

Picking up the mug, I pour some coffee, not bothering to offer him any. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve decided against having a child.”

I expect a smirk or a blank expression, but his brow furrows at my declaration. “Why?”

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