I recoil, stunned. Who is this man? “Lawrence,” I whisper, stung on James’s behalf.
“And why are you so quiet?” My uncle swings toward Dexter. “We agreed. Beau needs to come home.”
“And maybe there’s a better way to make that happen,” Dexter says, reaching for his brow and rubbing into the creases. “Force obviously isn’t it.”
“Force?” James mimics, almost laughing. I can sense his body tensing beside me, his back straightening. “I’ve had enough of this shit. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”
I fold in on myself, defeated, and yet I can’t blame James for being at the end of his rope. Lawrence has walked into his home, thrown insults, and shown absolutely no willingness to reason. No acceptance. Only ignorance. He’s more like my father than I thought.
“You’re going to let him speak to me like that?” Lawrence asks me. I remain silent, so he turns to Dexter. “And you? You’re happy about this? We need to get her away before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” I ask, completely exasperated. It’s the most ironic situation. They know nothing, thank God. Their issues aren’t even issues. And all I can think is, if only they did know . . .
“She’s pregnant,” James says, his voice quiet, but the words echo around the apartment loudly, banging off all the glass. My jaw falls open, and I look at him disbelievingly. “So it’s already too late. Would be with or without my baby inside her.”
Lawrence very nearly falls over, and Dexter looks like he’s gone into shock, standing there, silent, staring. I can’t believe he’s done this. We agreed.
“Oh my Christ, this is a disaster,” Lawrence wails, virtually staggering to a stool and collapsing onto it. He starts to hyperventilate. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
I roll my eyes and unscrew the cap of my bottle, passing him the water. “Stop being so fucking dramatic.”
I see James out the corner of my eye looking all too smug with himself, and I knee him, narrowing displeased eyes onto him when he turns my way. He’s taking far too much pleasure from my uncle’s shock.
“I’m done,” he says, showing absolutely no remorse for throwing me under the bus.
“Pregnant?” Dexter finally splutters, blinking his way out of his trance. “You’re pregnant?”
“I’m pregnant,” I confirm, hearing myself say it for the first time. Odd doesn’t cover it.
“But you’re not fit to be a mother,” Dexter blurts, and then quickly looks very sorry.
“Excuse me?” James’s back straightens.
“I didn’t mean that.” He, too, staggers toward a stool and collapses onto it.
“Dexter?” I ask, deeply hurt, even if I can’t really blame him for blurting something so unkind. But is that what they think? That I’m not fit? I feel myself shrinking on my stool, feeling so small. Unfit. Unstable. Unprepared. It’s all true. Look at me. Look at my history. And the father?
I peek across to James, my eyes welling with unstoppable tears, but I still see the unbridled fury brewing. “Enough,” he snaps, standing from the stool. “Get out.”
I will Lawrence and Dexter to leave before James really loses it. This has all been so very unpleasant. I’m done. They won’t support me. It hurts so deeply, but I refuse to let their contempt add any more weight to my shoulders. “You should go,” I say, standing and walking away. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”
I feel so heavy as I climb the stairs, needing the handrail to help pull me up each step. I make it to James’s bedroom and collapse on the bed, defeated. Tearful. Absolutely gutted. It feels eerily similar to when Mom died. That desolate, heart-wrenching pain, with nothing tethering me to life. Although, I guess this time, that’s not quite true. But I am losing my biological family, one by one. Lawrence is more like my father than I ever thought possible. Judgmental. Stubborn.
I roll over and snuggle into the sheets, at the same time listening for any signs that James has been forced to get physical. I just want this day to be over. The men in my life, Lawrence, Dexter, Ollie, Nath—especially Nath, if what James says is true—have annihilated any trust I had for them. Ripped the love for them from my chest.
“That went well.” James’s voice comes from the doorway, and I roll onto my back and find him filling it with his big body. His temper looks like it’s been stowed away.
“You shouldn’t have told them. We agreed.”
“It wasn’t exactly going swimmingly before my little bombshell.”
“It’s my bombshell too. I should have broken the news.”
“You’re right.” He wanders over and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I was pissed off. But it was that or kill them both for being so narrow-fucking-minded.”
I look away, tears pinching the backs of my eyes. You’re not fit to be a mother.