My eyes bored into Milan’s as she stared off to the side, a miserable look on her face. “Milan. Answer me,” I snapped harshly.

“I’m four months,” she whispered.

I stood, but my knees shook uncontrollably, so I sat back down. “Four months? Four fucking months?” I hissed. “I left Boston six months ago, Milan. Explain to me how this can be my baby.”

“Because I really wanted it to be,” she whined, finally turning her eyes to me. “We were so good together, baby, and—”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” I growled, and all the color drained from her face. “So, you knew this wasn’t my child, and you just fucking lied to me?”

“I was going to tell you,” she said, her voice meek. At the look of disbelief I knew was clouding my features, she hurried on. “I thought maybe once you fell in love with the baby, you would fall in love with me, too. It would just make sense for us to be together.”

“Jesus fucking hell, Milan! You weren’t going to tell me at all, were you?” The corners of her lips turned down, and the look of guilt on her face told me I was right. “You have totally fucked up my life, and I’ve been trying my best to be nice and accommodating because I thought… My God!” I had both of my hands in my hair so that I didn’t wrap them around her skinny neck. “I can’t believe this shit.”

My voice was rising, and Milan started crying. “Stop being so mean to me, Axel. You’re going to upset our baby.”

I stood and hissed, “It’s not our fucking baby, Milan. You get your shit and get out of the apartment. You have one week. And don’t ever fucking call or contact me again. I’m blocking your number again.”

“You can’t do that to me,” she wailed.

“Oh yes, I can. You’re lucky I don’t sue you for all the money I’ve spent on you this week due to your lies.” Her eyes widened in fear.

“But I don’t have anyone else.”

“I suggest you contact the unlucky bastard who actually knocked you the fuck up.”

“But that was just a fling. He’s a mechanic.” She said that last word like it left a sour taste in her mouth, her nose wrinkling and lips turned down. “He can’t take care of us like you can.”

“Then I suggest you get a fucking job. Or don’t. I don’t care. You’re no longer my problem.” I slung back the curtain, coming face-to-face with dropped jaws and wide eyes from the entire emergency room. “Sorry,” I mumbled to no one in particular as I headed for the exit.

48. Blaire

Blaire