Page 7 of Penn

“This is a disaster,” he mutters. “A complete and total disaster.”

“Stephen, please,” I beg, standing up and reaching for him. “What’s wrong? This is our baby. The one we’ve talked about. The big life we’re going to live, remember? We’re going to buy a big house with a yard, and we’re going to raise a family. Get a dog or two. It’s not the timing we expected, but we’re ready for this.”

“No,” he says. “We’re not ready for this. We can’t make this work.”

All I can do is stare at him. What the hell does he mean, we can’t make this work?

“This is your fault. You should have reminded me you weren’t taking the pill.”

“My fault?” I ask. “It takes two to make a baby, Stephen. And you knew.”

He shakes his head and glares at me. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” I ask. “You’ve been saying you want this for months. Ever since you told me you loved me. That you wanted kids with me. A whole life.”

“That’s just something you say!” he shouts. “I didn’t fucking mean it. I lied. I don’t want to move in with you, and I sure as hell don’t want to have kids with you. Everything I promised was just to keep you willing to fuck me.”

All the air leaves my lungs, and I sink onto the couch as my knees give way. “What are you talking about?”

Taking a deep breath, he runs another hand through his hair, and I notice for the first time how thin it is when it’s not gelled together. He suddenly looks older, which I used to like. Mature men were more stable.

And I desperately need stable.

“I can’t move in with you because I already have a place.”

“Yeah, and you can get out of a lease. You have money to buy it out—”

“I live with my wife in a house, Dixie.”

The words make no sense as I stare at him. It’s almost like he’s just spoken in a foreign language I’m not familiar with, and I try to process it. “What?”

“I’m married. I have a wife, and her name is Caroline. And we have three kids. Two boys and a girl. We live three hours from here, and I’m not always traveling when I’m away. I’m at home with my fucking family.”

My world stops spinning for a moment.

Everything I’ve built my life on—the future I’d dreamed about and planned for—is nothing but a lie. It all shatters and comes crumbling down around my feet like glass bottles breaking in the bar before a fight breaks out. The walls start to close in, and I cannot get air into my lungs.

Stephen’s married.

He’s married. He has a wife and kids. Where he spends his time when he’s not traveling here to sleep in my bed. His travels were just going home.

Oh my God.

I’m the mistress.

I’m the other woman.

I’m no better than the women Daddy would spend his evenings with when he was “working late.” The ones he lied to Mom about being with.

It feels like a slap to the face, and I feel sick. Nauseous with vomit rising in my throat. And all I can see right now are the orange flames in the mistress’s car Mom set on fire.

I swore to myself that I’d never be with a cheater. But I always thought that applied to men who would cheat on me. Not with me.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, that’s not true. You’re lying. You’re just scared to be a father.”

“I’m not lying,” Stephen says, his voice cold and hard. “I’m not scared of being a father. Already am one, and I barely tolerate the brats I have.”

He’s just trying to hurt me. It can’t be true. He’s freaking out, and he’s entitled to, but he’s not married. He can’t be.