He didn’t. He looked handsome and healthy. I clenched my teeth. “Then why? If you didn’t drink it, then why take it?”
“Because you’re pregnant, Libby,” his voice was still quiet but it felt like he was shouting.
The frustration coming off of him was palpable, and while it made me mad simply because I felt like he didn’t have the right to be mad at me, it also made me happy in a strange, twisted way. Happy that he had noticed. Happy that he would protect my baby from a perceived threat. But still angry that he would come into my house and act like he had the right to do something like that.
His eyes were sad and worried as he continued. “You’re pregnant and you took a bottle of hard liquor to your room with you last night.” The sorrow and concern swirling in his gaze ate away at my fury. “Are you really so consumed by grief that it’s made you that reckless?”
I allowed a deep breath to fill my lungs and cast my eyes to the ceiling as I let it out in a heavy sigh, relieved that he hadn’t fallen back into his bad habits, but also frustrated that I had to explain myself to him. Refusing to explain was an option, sure, but I knew it would make things worse, not better. Apparently it was time for some better communication, so I sucked down my pride and rallied all my composure. I fixed my eyes on him and reached out a hand across the counter, not far enough to reach him, but enough to indicate I was reaching out. “I am pregnant. But I’m not drinking. I haven’t had anything to drink in months.” I swallowed, nearly choking on my honesty. “I pulled out that bottle last night because…” I opened my mouth, searching for the right words as my shoulders shrugged in defeat. “Because I’m really angry. And I wanted to hurt you.” That admission caused my chest to convulse with emotion and I had to swallow it down. “I dumped it in my bathroom sink, Sean.”
I watched as his chest expanded and when he released his breath, it stuttered out and he dropped his head. I could almost feel his relief washing over me as he nodded. “Okay.” He ran a hand down his face. “Okay. Good.”
“Don’t worry,” I said as my bitterness swooped in. “I won’t make you do for me what I had to do for you.” I walked away, my grand exit somewhat foiled by the way my gait had changed now that I carried a baby between my hips.
I showered, then headed to work, pausing at the door only long enough to look back at Sean, who stood with his hands in his pockets, simply watching me.
“You don’t need to stay,” I said, and then I walked out.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Pulling into the driveway that afternoon, I noticed the lack of a mystery car in front of my house. Sean had gone. That was good.
I ate something and then went to take a nap, arranging all my pillows to support my back and my belly. I could imagine Jonas calling it my nest. The fact that my four-month belly needed support was a testament to just how out of whack your lower back can get when it’s trying to expand.
I woke up to see the orange sunlight slanting through my windows. The sun was going down and I hadn’t eaten dinner. I should do that. I’d been functioning that way a lot over the past two months. I would remind myself that this was the time of day that I usually showered, or ate, or checked the mail. And then I would force myself to go through the motions of doing that thing.
So I got up and went out to the kitchen.
Sean was there—cooking.
I wasn’t sure how he had gotten in. Had I not locked the front door? And why was he here now? He’d been gone when I got home from work. I’d assumed he’d be gone for good after the way I’d welcomed him.
He glanced up and gave me a tentative smile, one I didn’t return because I was too busy trying to make sense of this situation.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked.
I tilted my head, examining him for several seconds. “Why are you still here?”
“You didn’t tell me to go.”
“It was implied.”
He shrugged, and stirred. “I try not to rely on implication too much.