He lets out a growl and spears a hand through his hair. Looks away.

“I work. A lot. In a very stressful environment. You can’t tell me that’s not heavy lifting.”

I just shake my head. “It is. Of course it is. I know you work hard. That’s not the point I’m trying to make. I’m trying to say working like that isn’t the right kind of lifting. Working like that is exactly what’s keeping you from being the partner I need. You’re stressed. Worn out. Buying this place is only going to make that worse. Do you see what I’m saying here, Grey? Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

He shoots me a look. It’s murderous. Angry.

“The money I make won’t just pay for a house like this. It can pay for childcare. College. Whatever this baby needs, I can give them.”

“Except quality time. That, you can’t spare.”

Yeah. Think it’s safe to say he doesn’t see. He’s too angry. Too entrenched in old ways of thinking, maybe.

All I know is I can’t reach him. Which fills me with a crushing sense of loss.

“You don’t want the house,” he grunts. “I get it.”

He turns and stalks out of the kitchen.

Chapter Thirty

Greyson

The space between Julia and I rings with silence on the drive home.

I’m worried I’ll say shit I’ll regret if I open my mouth. I already did enough damage back at that house.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know she’s right. But so am I. I worked really hard to find that house. Time spent on the phone with Vanessa, touring properties, thinking about what my family will need going forward.

I’m too wound up, maybe. It’s not like I didn’t want to go registry shopping with Julia. Hell, I would’ve loved to have spent the morning with her. Way more than I enjoyed dealing with cops and crises and all the other un-fun crap that comes with opening a new bar or restaurant, that’s for damn sure.

But who else was supposed to deal with that stuff? What was I supposed to do? Tell my business partners—my investors—hey, sorry, can’t open the bar we’ve all poured tons of money into because someone stole our stock but I couldn’t handle it because I had to run out to buy some baby bottles we won’t need for another four months?

I’ve been the point person on this project since the bar’s inception. I had to be there. It would’ve been irresponsible to leave. Not to mention stupid.

“Drop me off at my place,” Julia says. Eyes glued to the passenger side window.

I adjust my hand on the steering wheel.

Great. Now she’s going to ice me out.

Goddamn it.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A voice inside my head tells me to pull over and put the car in park and fix this. Apologize. Try to figure out what the fuck’s going on with me together by walking through what just happened.