Conception (The Wellingtons #4) - Tessa Teevan Page 0,108
mattered. Trust me. It fucking mattered.”
“I know that now. God, I’ve imagined this moment going so many ways, but I don’t think I ever actually thought it would happen. It felt like roadblock after roadblock when it came to finding you.”
I frown. “I thought you said your grandmother figured it out.”
She rests her head against her pillow, yawning. I should let her get some rest. But should went out the window the second I stepped into this room.
“She did. Or, well, she thought she did anyways. Grams knew of your family. Of course she did. But she couldn’t find any listing information for your home, so we assumed your family was unlisted. She eventually found the mailing address for your dad’s company. It didn’t even cross my mind that there were two of you, even though she had told me. Pregnancy brain or something. Anyway, I was about six months along when I finally wrote to you….” She trails off, and if it weren’t for the bundle in my arms, I’d reach across and take her hand.
“I never got get a letter from you,” I repeat. “I swear it. I would’ve been here in a heartbeat if I’d known. I never would have left you to go through this alone.”
I never should have left in the first place. Not that I tell her that. Not yet.
She exhales, sending a loose tendril flying up. Then it settles onto her cheek. “Well. That’s a bummer. I kind of poured my heart out in that letter. When I never heard from you, I figured…”
“You figured I didn’t care. That I wanted nothing to do with either of you.” The words are a knife to my gut. How could she think that? After everything we shared last summer, even if it was supposed to be purely physical, I thought she knew me. How could she think I’d be the guy to abandon her, to not accept responsibility?
Her eyes fill with pain. That same pain burns deep at the thought of her doing this on her own. That she thought I’d gotten her pregnant then abandoned her when she needed me the most. I’m fucking sick to my stomach thinking about it. The acid burning in my belly seeps into my blood, and that sickness twists into fury. For about the tenth time tonight, I want to slam my fists into something until they bleed, hurting on the outside as much as I do in my core.
“We had a plan and we stuck to it. Leave it up to fate.”
I scoff. “It was a dumb plan and you know it. We both do. We were more than friends when I left here last summer, Amelia.”
She turns her watery attention to Branson. “I know. It was a stupid plan. But it doesn’t matter anymore. This little guy just had different plans for us. It’s not your fault, Knox, any more than it’s mine.”
Not my fault? Of course it’s not my fucking fault. I want to rail, yet I know I can’t. If we’re going to get past this (which I really fucking want to) and move on (again, really fucking want to), then I have to maintain my composure and deal with the fact that I wasn’t here, but I also have to make sure I’m never away from either of them again.
Instead of following that train of thought, I wonder what the hell happened with her mysterious letter. If she sent it to the company, there’s no way it should’ve gotten lost. I mean, sure, the interns in the mailroom might be slow at their jobs, but missing mail has never been a thing. If it’s addressed to Knox Wellington, it comes across one of two desks. Mine or…
Oh. Shit.
When it dawns on me, I nearly burst into laughter. Confusion crosses Amelia’s face though. I don’t know how this story turned into a mix of both Shakespearean tragedy and comedy, but I hope beyond measure we haven’t screwed up the possibility of happily ever after.
“You said three months ago, right?”
She nods, and I trace back, doing the math in my head.
“God fucking dammit.”
Her lips quirk up into a smile. “What was that you said about watching that mouth?”
The fact that she’s joking with me is a damn good sign. I glance down at my son then look back to her with a grin. “Hey, it’s not like he can repeat the words any time soon. I have some time to tame my tongue.”