Page 124 of The Wrong Brother
I nod. The words come slowly, carefully: “I’m surprised by how much I want it.” Saying it aloud makes my throat tighten unexpectedly. “I mean…we don’t really know each other.”
It’s been a month, just over, since we met. What I’m not saying is,Weshouldn’treally know each other, and it freaks me out how okay I feel about sharing a child with you.
When I first saw those positive tests, fear had drowned out everything else. Since then, another feeling has begun surfacing beneath the panic.
Hope.
A cautious, fragile sort of hope.
Beside me, Rus says nothing. He’s just listening, which I’ve found to be a rare trait in a man, let alone a crime boss.
“I’m scared,” I admit.
That earns a glance.
“Of what?”
I laugh softly. “Seriously?” When his expression remains stubbornly patient, I just shake my head and say, “Everything.I’m scared of becoming someone’s mother. I’m scared of making mistakes. I’m scared of bringing a child into a situation like this.” My hand gestures vaguely between us. “And my family—they think I have a job in California. They have no idea I’m here, let alone pregnant.”
Then I force myself to say the hardest part.
“And I’m scared of tying myself to you.”
The truck is now silent. I immediately regret the honesty. Not because it isn’t true, but because I don’t want to hurt him—which feels insane. Not once in my career with the FBI did I consider the feelings of a criminal, yet here I am.
After several seconds, Rus nods.
“I understand.”
The simple acceptance surprises me. I had expected irritation, maybe anger, especially after how second-hand he was treated in the clinic. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the road and tells me in a steady tone, “You should be.”
“What?”
“You should be cautious.” The words sound almost reluctant. “Having a child with someone is permanent.”
“I know.”
I look over. His expression has gone distant, thoughtful again, though a little sad.
“If you decide not to continue the pregnancy, I will respect that.”
My chest tightens.
“And if I do?”
This time his answer comes immediately.
“I will do everything I can to be a good father.”
Emotion catches me off guard. Something about the certainty in his voice, the complete lack of hesitation. Even now.
Even after everything.
“What if I don’t want you?”
The question slips out before I can stop it, a product of my logical mind trying to parse through a problem that’s more emotion than reason.
The answer takes longer, but it comes eventually: “Then I will still do everything I can for the child.” He finally looks over, meeting my eyes. “No matter what happens between us.”
