“Because…” she raises her voice, “I’m not okay with that option either.”
“I could send him somewhere – he lives but he doesn’t cause problems because it’s impossible for him to do so. His life won’t be easy there, though.”
Violet frowns and our eyes meet.
“There’s a place that’s jail-like,” I explain, “A sort-of labor camp. It’s a place he won’t be able to leave or communicate with the outside world. A place where there are people worse than me to contend with if he gets outta line.”
“Oh my God.”
“You said you wanted honesty. I don’t want my honesty here with you to bite me in the ass. So, if I’m gonna tell you everything, Violet, I’m a hundred per cent honest and you’ve gotta deal with whatever that means.”
“Deal with it? Meaning what? I can’t make any promises that I won’t get angry at your honesty. That the things you’ve done won’t upset me. The things you’ve done that I know about already upset me. Upset is an understatement.”
“Sandra is already there.”
“Sandra? Ray’s mom?”
“Believe me, she’s better off where she is. She’s a risk otherwise. With a bad track record and a heavy addiction. I won’t take risks with her.”
She huffs. “She’s collateral damage and that’s not cool. She didn’t fuck you over. My God, what else?”
“Baby, I’m not asking for unconditional forgiveness of shit you don’t know yet. I know that’s not realistic. I’m asking you to think things through before you condemn me for my choices. The things I do, I do because I make calculated decisions. And believe me, after losing out on three years with the love of my life in a rigged coin toss, I calculate more carefully now than I did before.”
Her gaze softens briefly, and she moistens her lips.
“So? Honesty,” I start.
She shakes her head. “You calculated decisions? You calculated deception. Against me. What if whatever you tell me makes me decide we can’t ever come back from this? I’m not saying I haven’t already come to that conclusion. I’m also not saying I have. I’m still reeling from everything. It’s a lot. So, I just want you to know that even if you’re honest here, that doesn’t mean everything is suddenly resolved.”
“Well, I’ll level with you and you’ll get input into his fate, but I get final say based on our safety, and I want an agreement from you.”
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat but says nothing, so I continue.
“I’ll be a hundred percent transparent about it all and you agree that no matter how you feel, you stay. You stay with me until after this baby is born at a minimum. For the next eight months, minimum, you let me take care of you. If when the baby comes you still can’t see your way to a future with me, we’ll work to come up with a mutually beneficial alternative.”
“Like what? Like I leave you and we share custody and you promise not to lock me up so I can’t leave?”
“Something like that,” I joke.
Mistake, because she doesn’t think it’s funny.
She scowls at me, then sighs, rubbing her eyes. “Or you send me to wherever you’ve sent Ray and his mom?”
“No baby. Fuck. You’re not in the same league as those people.”
“Even if I don’t wanna be with you?”
I can’t help it, just the words out of her mouth make me seethe with anger. Frustration.
“It feels like you’re talking in circles, Killian. What if I don’t want your transparency? What if I think it’s best that we just end things now?”
“That’s not an option for me,” I admit.
She frowns. “What if I insist?”
“Then I’ll have to work to change your mind. Baby, when I bought this place, I bought it with my future wife in mind. I wanted someone in my bed, in my kitchen, in my life who would fit. I’ve had women here. A couple of them.”
Her eyes narrow. I like that she doesn’t like this.
“But none of them fit. Kenya had Tampax and toothbrushes get thrown out each time she tried to leave them. One look at you in this space, I saw it. You fit in that kitchen. On those counters. In the visions I had of me on the deck grilling with a mystery woman in that kitchen, as soon as you were in this space, I knew it was you. You even said as much when you told me the place was perfect, but I needed a grill on that balcony.”
The wall phone by the alarm system rings. It’s the phone for the front desk in the lobby, which only rings if someone is at that desk requesting entry. And I’m not expecting anyone.
I answer it.
“Yeah?” I clip, thrusting a hand through my hair.
“Mr. Coulter? Jessa Carson is here to see you,” the male voice informs.
“Tell her I’m busy. She can make an appointment.”