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“Oh. Well, we’re really busy. We’re just stopping by on our way to seeLes Misérablesat the Keller Auditorium. Can it wait? I’ve had this night planned for months.”

Bubble popped, they’re definitely here out of duty, maybe a smudge of concern. As soon as they hear that she’s fine, both expressions quickly shift to annoyed. “And as long as you’re okay, we’ll be on our way.”

Her dad. God damn, he’s a cold bastard.

He presses his hand to his wife’s back, gesturing for them to turn, and I don’t know what it is about that moment, what rushes through Cara’s mind, but as their backs are turned to us, intent on leaving, Cara blurts, “I’m pregnant.”

Oh. Shit. My hand tightens at her waist.

Her parents both freeze and spin on their heels.

“Excuse me, young lady?” her dad says, his voice stern, but not nearly as stuck-up as her mom.

Her mom’s lips are parted, hand at her chest as if Cara’s just delivered a devastating blow. Probably to them, she has, they’ve haven’t concealed their disdain for me since the moment they walked in.

“Braxton and I, well, we’re having a baby.” She tosses her hands up and lamely says, “Surprise.”

“You did this to her?” Her dad’s gaze shoots to me. “You did this to her, you can take care of it.”

Every nerve in my body pulls tight at the venom in his voice. “I am taking care of her, sir.”

“No,” he says, his voice thickening. “I mean, you takecareof it.”

My hands clench into fists. If he wasn’t Cara’s dad, I’d punch him.

His implication isn’t unnoticed by anyone. Next to me, Cara gasps and barks out “No.”

“We’re having this child, sir,” I grit out. Because, damn, I hate him, but I won’t lower myself to his level, the fucking prick. Being respectful is difficult, though. “And Iamtaking care of your daughter.”

“How?” Her mom laughs ridiculously, as if I’m ridiculous, me taking care of Cara is ridiculous. “Living in this hovel? Panhandling for money?”

“Oh my God,” Cara says.

I begin praying for all the self-control in the world. If God hears me, I hope like hell he answers this prayer even though I’ve never asked him for a thing a day in my life. “Get out.”

“Now, Cara, this is silly. Come home, we’ll forget this mistake,” her mom says, brushing her hand out toward Cara’s slightly expanded stomach. “And we’ll get you back to school where you belong. We’ve allowed this silly rebellion to go on long enough but we understand you loved Jimmy and you’re still grieving. Let’s not push this tantrum too far.”

Her mother speaks like she’s having tea with the queen of England. Proper and dismissive and like we’re some tiny, little fun game to play.

“I’ve had enough,” I say. I pull Cara with me until we’re at the door to her apartment, scooting around them. She’s frozen in my arms, her body chilling like they’ve doused her with an ice bath. My only concern is her. “Get the hell out. Don’t call Cara, and never drop yourself at our doorstep until you can apologize. Your daughter is pregnant, giving you a grandchild. That’s what she’s doing and we’re doing it together. If you can’t support her when she needs it, then she doesn’t need you.”

“Please,” her father scoffs. “Like you can handle it.”

I have the enormous urge to explain exactly what I do, the mid-six-figure salary I make, and point him in the direction of my condo. “As a matter of fact,” I sneer but Cara pats my stomach.

Whispering in a voice so hoarse it sounds like she’s been screaming, she says, “Don’t. Just don’t, Braxton.”

“I can make this better.” And, good Lord, why do I give a shit about trying to?

“It’s not worth it.” Tears swim in her eyes and she blinks, looking back at her parents. “They’re not worth it. This is why I haven’t told you, because I knew you’d be cruel, I just didn’t think you’d be this cruel. Jimmy would be disgusted with you and you know it, and I don’t want to look at you.”

“That is highly inappropriate,” her mother says, and I bark out a laugh I can’t contain.

“Are you kidding me? She’s inappropriate? Your entire visit is off the charts.”

“Young man,” her dad says, “I expect respect from you, some…” He waves his hand out toward me, like he can’t even imagine what to call me. “Braxton” would be nice, but I’m certain they don’t remember my name.

“Give respect to your daughter and I’ll show you respect. Until then, get out of her home. She doesn’t need this stress from you.”