“They are? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I tell you?”
“Because I need to know these things.”
“You’re insane.”
“That’s better than being an ass.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“No.”
“Am I going to like where we’re going?”
He tensed. “Not really certain.”
“Patrick . . .”
He reached around Blake and took my hand in his. “Can you promise me something?”
“What?”
“That no matter how pissed off you get, you will bottle it up, put the lid on tight, and not let it out until we get home.”
“Why did I agree to this?” I asked to the ceiling.
“Because even though you hate me, you can’t help but want to hang out. Admit it. I’m fascinating.”
He was. But I wouldn’t tell him that. Ever.
“Annoying. An attention hog.”
“Insanely attractive. Irresistible.”
“Pompous.”
“Charming.”
“Where are we going?” I lamented, a little scared and a little excited. With Patrick there was no telling.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“Is that supposed to help?”
“You behave and you can take out all that fury on me later.”
“You mean sex.”
He flashed me a cocky grin. “If that’s what you want.” He leaned in close. “You don’t have to deny it.”
“Shut the hell up.”
“This going to be a disaster.” He sighed as the car rolled to a stop.
“Why are we in front of a church?”
“An exorcism. Not sure if it’s me or you that needs it.” He pulled me out of the car while simultaneously holding Blake.
I planted my feet on the sidewalk. “I’m not marrying you.”
His mouth rolled to one side. “I’m flattered you find the idea abhorrent given you thought enough of me to father a child with you.”
“It was a mistake,” I said, my voice rising.
“Then how about once this baby is born, I’ll take her. You never have to see either of us again.” His face was stony.
“Fuck you.”
“That’s how we got here, Wicked.” He spread one arm. “Are you done now?”
“That’s impossible given you’re the father of my child.”
He sucked in a breath. “Get used to it. I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.”
I shivered at the threat in his tone. “I’m giving you an out. You can go back to screwing whoever you want and going out every night of the week.”
“Forgive me if I’m not more grateful.” He took off toward the entrance.
“Give me my son.” I chased after him.
“Don’t rob him of this chance,” he said without turning around.
“Chance for what? You don’t get to dictate his life,” I yelled without thought that we were inside the chapel.
The soft chatter in the room stopped. I recognized the faces near the altar that stared at me. Holt stood at the end of the aisle in a suit.
“You should’ve told me,” I hissed, tugging on Patrick’s arm.
“Would you have come?”
“They didn’t ask me.” I’d lost control on the volume again.
“Pretend like they did. When it’s over and you need a punching bag, have at it.” He continued down the center aisle. “Are we too late?”
I marveled at how he’d flipped the switch from irritated to good-natured in a second.
“Right on time.” Holt strode toward us. “Hurry up and sit down. I want to get married.”
They shook hands. My brother flicked his chin at me. I clamped my mouth shut.
Everyone was on one front pew. Patrick slid into the one behind them, and I followed on auto-pilot. Dad turned around. I stared straight ahead at Jesus.
Patrick exchanged greetings with everyone. I pretended I wasn’t there. The last time I’d been in a church— I swallowed hard, tried to unsee the flag-draped coffin. My palms grew damp. I rubbed them up and down my thighs, barely managed to stand as Baker came down the aisle.
All I saw was the portrait of Jack in his uniform. The priest spoke of grief instead of love.
Balloons. Welcome Home banner. Ugly words. Pain. So much pain.
I’d thought the day I found out he wasn’t coming back was the worst, but the funeral? Putting him in the ground? Nothing could have prepared me for that. There was no hope. No chance it was all a horrible mistake. Final. So very final.
I’d wanted to crawl in the coffin with him.
An arm went around me. Solid warmth enveloped one side.
“Not much longer.” Lips found my hair.
My chest compressed. Air couldn’t reach my lungs. Spots dotted my vision.
As soon as organ music started, I bolted down the aisle and burst out the front doors of the church. I bent over, gulping down fresh air.
Patrick sank down in front of me on the grass and pulled me down with him. “Breathe, Wicked. Breathe for me.”
I panted, unable to take a deep breath. He held me close.
“I’ve got you,” he said against my ear. “I’ve got you.”
“Where’s Blake?” I gasped between breaths.
“He’s fine.” He rubbed my stomach. “Take a deep breath for me.”
“I can’t.”
“Shh. You can. Like this.” He inhaled deeply and released it. “Try it with me. Count to five.”
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
My chest still ached. The air left me in a whoosh.
I flicked my gaze to the steps, where my dad stood rigid, like he wanted to come to me but didn’t know what to do.
“Focus. It’s just you and me. We’re gonna get away from all this. Figure our shit out. Together. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Patrick
I tucked Marlow and Blake into my bed and held them until they fell asleep. Then I slipped downstairs to my study.
We’d come home right away. No way could either of us have sat through the celebratory dinner. None of them knew what to say as I put her and Blake into the back of a taxi, but I’d received a text from her entire family, including Baker, Trish, and Mrs. Quinn to check on her.
When Wicked found out, she’d be surprised . . . or pissed.
I picked up the brass letter opener on my desk and turned it over in my hand. It had once belonged to my grandfather. I’d been scolded more than once by my grandmother for playing
