countless times, but the only place she had to go was St. Agnes. Two things kept her from escaping to there: her mom would only find her and bring her back and there were too many memories to haunt her.
She turned her thoughts from her mom. The pain of Lucien’s betrayal was staggering. It was on her for not telling him sooner about the baby, she knew that. But he had had her investigated, which was bad enough, but it was unforgivable that he could jump to the conclusion that he had about the baby: that she had abandoned their child. Once again he believed the worst of her. He didn’t question, didn’t argue, but believed so easily that she could do something so horrendous: inflict on their child the type of childhood they both had suffered through. She had loved their baby, would have done anything for their child; in fact, she had already started looking into government aid and housing so she could keep her baby.
All these years she carried the guilt and responsibility of what had happened between her and Lucien, but for the first time her anger wasn’t directed inwardly. Hearing the disgust in his voice, knowing he immediately believed the worst of her, left her with an emotion that felt an awful lot like hate.
Lucien walked out of Trace’s office feeling like he’d just played chicken with an eighteen-wheeler. They had made a baby. He gave himself a moment to indulge in what-ifs. Their child would have been almost fourteen now had he or she lived. Was it a boy or a girl? Would he or she have had his nose and Darcy’s mouth? Maybe her beautiful eyes.
The thought that Darcy had dealt with both the pregnancy and the loss alone while he was off being bitter and self-destructive sickened him. He needed to find her and tell her everything and then do as he told Josh he would, beg her to forgive him. When he reached the living room, he noticed that Darcy wasn’t there, but Ember and Trace were and it looked as if they were waiting for him.
He asked, “Where’s Darcy?”
“She left.” Ember’s voice held a note of pity.
Immediately he knew that Darcy overheard his discussion with Josh. “How long ago?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Goddamn it.”
“You want help finding her?” Trace asked.
Lucien stopped halfway to the door to look back at his friend. “Thanks, but I need to do this alone.”
“Call if you change your mind.”
By the time Darcy returned home it was close to three in the morning and she wasn’t really surprised to see Lucien sitting in the hall outside of her apartment. As soon as he saw her, he stood up and started toward her. She stopped him from pulling her into his arms by stepping back and putting her hand up.
“I’m tired. This is going to have to wait.”
“Damn it, Darcy, I’ve been sitting out here all fucking night.”
She turned on him and all the anger she had been feeling for the past few hours just bubbled right out of her.
“Really, I’m so fucking sorry for that, but, just a thought, maybe if you hadn’t gone behind my back and had me investigated, you wouldn’t have had to sit out here.”
“I was wrong.” How simple and easily given those words were.
“I’m glad we agree on that point.”
“I was wrong, Darcy. I know just how wrong I was, but I love you, damn it.”
And the hits just kept coming—to hear those words from him now broke her heart. They weren’t going to change what she needed to do.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words to me again, but it’s too little, too late, Lucien.”
“What the hell are you saying?”
She was surprised how calm she sounded when her heart was shattering. “I could have forgiven you for invading my privacy, can even understand what fueled your need to do so, but I can’t forgive you for believing that I would have abandoned our child. Every time you are faced with a choice, you always end up believing the worst about me.”
“Darcy, I was wrong.”
“Yeah, you were, and the next time you are faced with believing in me or not, what’s to keep you from doing what you always do? Judging me and finding me wanting.” Angry tears burned her eyes and stained her cheeks. “You don’t get to judge me. You weren’t there”—her voice broke and her shoulders slumped in defeat—“through the devastation of loss