What the fuck what the fuck what the everloving fuck?

“Julia,” I stammer. Unsure what else to say.

She blinks, looking away. “I thought you should know. Trust me, no one was more shocked than I was when I took those tests. And when the doctor confirmed it…”

Another wave of emotion. The thought of Julia being by herself when she got the news—not once, but twice—makes me irrationally angry.

“You went to the doctor without me?”

“I did,” she says. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. I sure as hell wasn’t ready to deal with your wrath.”

The edge of my cigarette pack pokes into my ass. I’m hit by an acute need for nicotine.

“I would’ve gone with you,” I growl. Proving her point, but whatever. “You shouldn’t have had to do that alone. I’m sorry.”

Her eyebrows pop up. “I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this baby on my own.”

I run my hand across the back of my neck. I’m sweating.

“I know you are. No one is more capable than you, Julia. But I would’ve liked to have gone with you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

I should apologize for more than that. But my tongue feels like stone in my mouth.

I’m totally out of my depth here. Over the past three years I’ve built a stone wall around my heart, as much to keep people out as to keep myself inside. The barrier is there for good reason.

Then this happens.

How the fuck am I supposed to keep boundaries clear—keep Julia at arm’s length, keep from hurting her—if she’s pregnant with my kid?

“I tried as best as I could to be careful,” I say. “I swear I would never, ever be careless with you, Julia.”

“We weren’t planning this. Obviously. But I’m thinking—” She swallows, her expression softening. “I think I’m going to keep it. The baby.”

Sweat breaks out everywhere. Along my scalp and spine.

My heart is beating inside my face, threatening to split it open like the skin of a ripe tomato.

I am not against babies in general. My brother has a three year old daughter who’s got me wrapped around her little finger. But having a baby myself—with Julia—starting a family—

I don’t do those things. Not because I don’t want them. But because they’re not meant for me. I had the fairy tale, and I walked away from it. I’m the bad guy in this story. Not the hero.

Bad guys don’t get happy endings.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” she continues, offering me a tight smile. “I’ll be honest, I still haven’t fully sorted out my reasons. But I just feel this…this tug. This tiny, tiny tug pulling me over to the dark side.”

“The dark side?”

She laughs. “Motherhood.”

I scoff. Her smile loosens ever so slightly.

“Anyway.” She straightens. “I know I just dropped a bomb on you, and I don’t need answers right away. I don’t expect or need you to be involved in the baby’s life. Like I said, I’m totally capable of taking care of him or her on my own.”