Wasn’t it?
He set down the can of soup. “Meg,” he protested, starting to wonder exactly what kind of nut-case he’d brought home that night.
Whatever she read in his tone made her stiffen. “I didn’t think it could really happen like that either, but I haven’t been with anyone else.”
He searched her expression, seeing mostly anxiety. He shook his head, refusing to believe this because it was too far out there. “Are you serious right now? You think I got you pregnant?”
“I know I’m pregnant, Linc. There’s no think about it.” She was really white, her freckles standing out like little brown dots.
“Well, it’s not mine,” he blurted, furious that this was even happening. Panicking. “I wore condoms. They didn’t break. Were you poking holes in them when I wasn’t looking?” he demanded.
“No!”
“’Cause I wear them for a reason. I don’t want kids,” he railed, hearing himself sounding like the biggest asshole on the planet, but fuck. Did she know what she was saying? “I am not interested, Meg. I told you that night that I wasn’t ever going to marry and have kids.”
“Okay!” She held up a hand. It shook and her lips were white. Her blue eyes were wide and dark and shiny. Deeply wounded. “I hear you.” Her voice was so jagged with emotion it sent a preternatural chill over him. “If you don’t believe me, fine. I didn’t come here for anything except to tell you. I have to tell Blake that I’m moving back here, and he’s going to ask who the father is. I’ll tell him and everyone else it was someone in Chicago. Have a nice life, Linc.”
She turned and was slamming the door behind her before he’d properly absorbed what she’d said.
Fine? His brain was having a nuclear meltdown with how not fine he was with any of this. He’d been a golden boy of crisis management on the rigs, never letting emotion get the best of him, always taking stock and forming a plan of action faster than anyone else.
He stared at the door, trying to grasp what had just happened.
Meg was pregnant. She wasn’t standing here insisting he claim it as his though. She didn’t care if he believed he was the father. But it sounded like she’d come here directly from the airport. Like that was the only thing on her mind from her door across the country to his.
Now she was planning to tell her brother she was moving back here. But she was going to tell him the father was back in Chicago.
While, at some point in the future, a kid might start running around town wearing something like Linc’s face.
Linc didn’t care much what people thought of him, but he knew what he thought of men who didn’t care for their own children.
He’d worn a condom, he tried reminding himself, but that argument was falling away as he saw again her rigid body language, like they’d been throwing punches and all she’d wanted was to get away in one piece to nurse her injuries. She’d retreated with the speed of the combatant who’d taken a swift one-two and lost.
Hell, she hadn’t even put up a fight. He was the one who’d started swinging without even considering what he was saying.
“Meg,” he called, far too late because he could hear the sound of her engine receding. He swore. Self-contempt bubbled up inside him. He reached for his keys, wondering if he was being a fool, but he had to talk to her. Had to know.
Was she really pregnant with his kid?
The teeth on the keys bit into his palm.
If she was, what the hell was he going to do?
*
Meg hadn’t expected a warm embrace into delighted arms, but she had hoped for civility. She had anticipated his disbelief, but not such unequivocal rejection.
She would not turn into a hormonal mess, though. Even though her worst nightmare was being pregnant unexpectedly and having the father not only send her packing, but showing zero interest in his child.
How could he?
Thank God her driveway was so close. She could barely see, her eyes were welling so full. Sobs were backing up in her throat, suffocating her with pressure from belly to behind her eyes. Her breaths were starting to clog with the tears she was swallowing back, making each gasp a choke of anguish.
Bastard.
Not you, baby, she thought, having too much trouble staying in the ruts of the drive to take her hand off the wheel and pat her tummy. She tried not to project hatred at stupid, freaking Linc Brady. It was the worst sort of atmosphere for a growing fetus, but she hated him so much.
She managed to jerk to a stop next to Liz’s car, then felt her shoulders shake and buckle. Sobs started pushing themselves out. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.
Through the blur, she saw the door opening on the spa and Liz stepping out. She wore something like bib overalls and maybe some yellow rubber gloves on her hands, but Meg could hardly see her through the blur.