No denial. Only her hand lying protectively over her lower abdomen. Which was really the only answer needed.
Oh, hell.
Darby was pregnant.
His legs trembled at the implications of those three little words. Darby was pregnant.
His hands shook.
His stomach twisted.
His brain throbbed.
His heart squeezed.
Darby was pregnant.
Unsure if his legs would work, he pushed out from his desk, held on to the corner for support as he stood.
He was going to be a father.
Him.
He’d always
thought that someday he’d marry, have children, pass on his grandfather’s name—but now? Never had he had those thoughts in correlation with anytime soon.
“Darby?”
She shook her head, held up her hand to ward him off, almost as if she couldn’t catch her breath. Her eyes had widened to tumultuous deep blue seas.
Did she think he’d be angry at her?
Never.
If anything, he was angry at himself. Clearly he’d been the one with the experience. He had no one to blame except himself for their mistake. His eyes dropped to her belly and he winced.
Mistake.
The idea that he’d thought of his child, his baby, as a mistake sucker-punched him.
His grandfather would roll with shame. Nothing was more precious than family.
If Darby was pregnant, he’d accept that fate and embrace the future, embrace the baby they’d made together, and somehow they’d make it work.
“We need to talk.”
Her vocal cords apparently not working, she silently nodded, stepped into his office.
Blake shut the door behind her, not wanting their conversation to be overheard by any of their staff.
“You’re pregnant.” He didn’t ask it as a question. Not when he could so clearly read the truth on her face.
Her eyes searching his, she nodded again.
He didn’t ask if the baby was his. Didn’t ask how far along. He didn’t need to.
His thoughts reeling, he sank onto the corner of his desk. “How do you feel about that?”