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TWENTY-ONE

DAYNA

I don’t know how I get through the rest of the day. My brain is on autopilot, my soul dragging through broken glass as I continue to weigh every decision I’m facing.

Everything feels too big, too much, and over my head, that clock ticks away.

Time is not something I have the luxury of with this, and the only decision I’ve stuck with is that I have to tell Dash.

No matter the outcome.

I’ll survive whatever happens. I’ve survived worse.

Or so I think, until I step out of the stairwell and see my mother standing outside my flat. She looks out of place, as she always does. She’s dressed like she’s going to war in designer clothes and pearls.

My stomach sinks. I do not have the strength to battle Evelyn tonight. I’m already exhausted and the information the doctor gave me this morning is burning a hole in my bag.

But my mother has some kind of radar when it comes to me, so the moment the door moves her head snaps up. Her smile is wide, like the kind a wolf gives you before it eats you.

“Darling, thought you were never going to appear.” Her gaze scans my face as I approach. “You look ghastly. Are you taking those supplements I told you about?”

Those supplements cost more than I pay for food every week. I slide my key into the lock, opening the door and stepping inside.

Dash is due soon, and my stomach is in knots. I’m going to tell him tonight, even though all I want to do is sleep.

If I survive Evelyn.

She follows me inside, not waiting to be invited. She never does. This is Evelyn Harrington’s world and we’re all just living in it.

I shrug my bag off, letting it fall to the carpet near the door. My shoes follow a second later, then I head to the kitchen.

My mother is talking behind me, but I’m not listening. I’m running through what I’m going to say to Dash.

I grip the edge of the kitchen counter, not sure if the dizziness that comes over me is crushing panic or pregnancy related.

“Sweetheart, you really do look pale. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Her hand on my arm almost feels like concern, but I don’t trust it. I don’t trust her. Which really sucks, because right now I could use my mother.

“I’m just tired.” I square my shoulders, blinking my vision clear. I probably need to eat. I barely grabbed anything today between appointments and shift changes and both my bosses breathing down my neck.

“You should sleep more. You’ll end up with lines. They don’t go away, you know. Anyway, darling, there was a reason for this visit.”

Of course there was. There always is.

“I’m very distressed by your choice of partner .” She says that last word like it tastes dirty on her tongue. “I understand you wanting to try something different, but don’t ruin your future with someone like that.”

I blow out a breath, as if it can release the valve inside me before the tension destroys me. “Or how about we just don’t judge people by how they look? Dash is a good man.”

He is. Deep down I know that.

She scoffs. “I highly doubt it. I pulled some strings, and I managed to get you an hour with James. He’ll take care of you in the way you’re meant to be taken care of.” Her eyes roll around my kitchen, judging every little corner of it.

I bristle. “I don’t need a man’s name on a mortgage to validate my life.”

“You’re young, Dayna. Idealistic. You don’t know what it is to struggle, to feel the panic of responsibility breathing down your neck.” She clutches her throat as if she can feel invisible hands around it. “All I want is for your life to be easier than mine was.”

Before she can dive into a rant about my father, I interrupt.

“I’m not meeting James, who, by the way, sounds like a dick.

He gave me a time slot to decide whether he wants to fucking marry me?

What a champ.” I slam the mug on to the counter harder than I intend, frustration and tiredness making my movements sloppy.

“And I sure as hell don’t need you to play matchmaker for me.

I’m more than capable of finding my own boyfriend. ”

“I would believe that, darling, except you have terrible choice in partners.”

“Well at least none of mine have gone to fucking jail .” It’s a low blow to use my father to hurt her, even if it’s true.

She doesn’t hesitate. She cracks her palm off my face hard enough to rattle my teeth. My head snaps to the side so violently, my neck pops.

Fuck my life.

My face burns, the skin tight over the bone.

“Your father destroyed me, and you know that,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare throw him at me like that again.”

I turn slowly to face her and she flinches at my expression. Good. Be fucking scared.

“You’ll never hit me like that again,” I say my voice low. “And I’m not marrying James. Trust me when I tell you he wouldn’t want me, anyway.”

“Of course, he wants you, darling. You’re a Harrington.”

“I’m also pregnant.” The words snap out of me before I can stop them. “So, stop trying to sell me off like a used fucking car. Because somebody already got in there and took it for a fucking test drive.”

I can feel the moment the air changes between us, see the way she recoils as I detonate those words between us.

She pales, clutching her throat. “You’re lying.”

I move away, putting enough distance between us in case she slaps me again. “I’m not. Though I’m sure you wish I was.”

“To that… man?”

“To Dash, yes.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose as if she’s getting a headache. “I trust you’re having it taken care of.”

Even though I was considering termination, hearing somebody else say it so casually hits me like a blow.

“I’m keeping it.”

I lay my hands over my stomach, protective. Mine.

Disgust ripples over Evelyn’s face. “You can’t be serious. That thing it’s going to ruin your life.” She reaches for me, but I step back.

“Touch me again and see what happens.”

Her eyes narrow, scanning me as if she doesn’t recognise me anymore. She probably doesn’t. I’ve had a full evolution personality-wise in the last twenty-four hours.

“Do you really think a man like him is going to stick around? If you’re expecting him to play the perfect father, you are off base, darling.

Men like him, they’re good for a short time, not a long time.

” She huffs. “I’ve indulged your reckless behaviour this year, but now it’s time to grow up. The Harrington name?—”

“I don’t give a shit about the fucking Harrington name!” I yell. “If you want to cling to something long gone by your fingernails, that’s up to you, but I’m gonna be over here trying to build something for myself.”

Probably living on stale bread.

“You’re upset and saying things you don’t mean. Now, before either of us says something we can’t take back, I’m going to leave. But Dayna, if you have that baby, you and I are done. I already bore the shame of your father’s actions. I won’t bear yours too.”

She might as well have hit me for how much that blow lands. She might be a nightmare to deal with, but she is still my mother. And she’s the only parent I have. I hoped she might support me for once.

“Then I guess we’re done.” The words wobble, and I turn my back until she’s gone, needing that distance between us so I can breathe.

Then I rebuild my walls brick by brick. I closed the shutters around my heart, put my mother’s words into the boxes I keep in the back of my mind so I don’t have to let those wounds bleed openly. And by the time Dash arrives, my smile is in place, and my tongue sharp in the best ways.

As soon as he’s inside the flat, he’s kissing me like I’m the only thing he needs, and I let myself get lost in his mouth, in his touch, in his kindness. When he pulls back, touching his forehead to mine, he asks if I’m okay.

I do the only thing I can. I lie. Because I’m so tired that I don’t have another round of conflict in me tonight.

When he asks what the faint red mark on my face is, I lie.

When he asks if I got up to anything interesting at work, I lie.

When he asks if I’m feeling okay, I lie.

He makes us dinner, moving around my kitchen like he’s on the rent agreement.

I barely eat, nauseous as hell, and when we’ve finished, I go to wash up.

He stops me with his hands spanning my waist and that panic settles around my hips.

He can’t know.

He doesn’t.

He drags his nose along my neck like he’s fusing our cells together through scent and eventually orders me to get ready for bed.

As I’m leaving the room, he grabs my hand. “You okay?”

I force a smile. “Just tired. Work was a drag.”

He says nothing, but I’m not stupid. Dash thinks something has shifted between us, even if he doesn’t know what. He wants to ask, tries to in his way, but the question remains unanswered.

So I let him clean my dishes. I let him take me to bed, and slip between my thighs, his thick length inside me.

I even let him hold me after, his arms wrapped around my belly, unaware of the life we created growing beneath his hands.

I let him have that moment, even if he doesn’t know about the baby I’m carrying.

I let myself imagine how it would feel to have his hands there if he knew I’m pregnant.

And as I close my eyes, exhaustion pulling me under, I promise myself I’ll tell him tomorrow.

Because I’m more tired of keeping secrets than I am carrying his baby.