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“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

It’s a fucking ultrasound appointment. And she didn’t tell me about it.

I don’t know whether to be more angry or fucking crushed that she didn’t ask me to come to this appointment with her. I also need to decide who I need to fire, because how did I not know about this?

I’m supposed to know everything.Everything.

Where she goes, who she sees, and what she needs.

Always.

I sit by her side, holding her hand, watching on the screen as the technician performs the ultrasound—by inserting a wand thing right up inside her. There’s a sheet over her knees so I can’t see it, but I grit my teeth when she squeezes my hand.

Then we actually see the tiny blob on screen, like a little bean.

I watch, mesmerized, as the technician measures the fetus. I try to listen and absorb every word as she confirms the length of time Quinn has been pregnant, and tells us the likely due date.

She shows us the little flicker on the screen that is the baby’s heartbeat, and Quinn’s eyes glisten.

There’s a burning sensation in my throat and chest that feels like a mixture between heartburn and the kind of love that a man would go to war for.

After the technician tells us that the doctor will be in to speak to us in a moment, and leaves us alone, I tell Quinn, “I want to take you home to my place tonight. To stay.”

She blinks at me for a moment. I know she’s emotional right now, and all of this is a lot. And I’ve been trying to let her do things her way.

But no matter how I try to give her space, give her time, and not put pressure on her, I can’t get around the simple fact that I want her with me.

I fucking long for her.

“I’ve already told you,” she says, awkwardly sitting up, “I’m staying at my place. I need to be near Mom. And it’s just… simpler this way.”

“But you don’t even own that house,” I try to argue for the dozenth time. She never listens.

She’s right, that I’ve been using money as a stand-in. She wouldn’t accept anything from me unless I made it about the baby, so I keep focusing on that.

But I’m getting desperate, and wondering, again, if I should buy the house she rents for her, and fix it up. But by the time that could happen, the new place above the bakery will be ready. And she shouldn’t be living in a construction site anyway. That can’t be good for the pregnancy?—

“Harlan. I have medical lube up my cooch and I’d really like to get cleaned up and put my pants back on.”

I get up to get out of her way, but try again. “It’s not a stable enough situation. You and the baby should come live with me.”

She doesn’t even look at me when she says, “How will that work, when your family doesn’t even know about me?”

Someone clears their throat. The doctor has stepped into the room. “Perhaps I’ll give you another moment alone?”

“No, thank you,” Quinn says. “I have some questions for you, please. And Harlan was just clearing out, to give us a minute.”

She just kicked me out of the room.

“I’ll be in the waiting room,” I mutter.

I go sit down next to Lorraine, who takes one look at me and shakes her head. She sets her magazine aside and pats my knee.

“Becoming a parent is terrifying,” she says. “I know.”

I meet her eyes, feeling like an asshole.

“We should’ve told you,” I tell her. “Together. Getting your daughter pregnant… that’s something I should’ve spoken to you about. Even if it wasn’t planned.”