talk was about? You knew you were pregnant before we broke up and didn’t tell me?’
‘Of course not!’ A faint pink put some colour back in her pale cheeks, accentuating the gold flecks in her eyes, those same flecks that had used to glow with emotion, with passion.
‘Then when? When did you find out?’
Her hand crept up to her mouth, the nervous gesture annoying him when years ago he’d found it endearing.
‘After we’d broken up. I’d already returned to Melbourne and started work here when I realised.’
‘Realised what? Realised you were about to bring a child into this world without a father? Realised you made a decision that affected the both of us without consulting me?’
‘But it didn’t affect you. You weren’t around. You were never going to be around!’
Her chest heaved, her eyes flashed and she slammed her hand onto the table, rattling the cups in their saucers. ‘You have no right to question my decision. You had the opportunity to build a future with me, to have the life we’d always talked about, but you bailed out. You! Not me. Why would I take the risk on you bailing out on my son as well?’
‘Our son,’ he automatically corrected and blinked in surprise, her accusations sitting like a heavy stone on his heart.
She was right. He had walked away from the best thing to ever happen to him though not by choice. He’d had to push her away, to save her from the scandal that would’ve ripped their relationship apart.
He’d made his decision at the time, the only choice available to him, yet here he was, questioning her choices? Giving her a hard time when they had more important things to think about, like saving the boy’s life?
‘This isn’t getting us anywhere,’ he said, swallowing his bitterness at the unfairness of it all. ‘Tell me more about Toby.’
The tension drained from her body and she slumped into her seat again, the harried expression slipping over her face like a well-worn mask. ‘You’re sure you can handle this?’
Hell, what kind of man did she think he was? The useless, spineless, weak man his father had been? No, he was nothing like dear old Dad, the man who had cost him a future with the woman staring at him as if he could morph into a monster at any second.
‘What do you want me to handle? My instant fatherhood? That Toby is sick? Or the fact that you lied to me and I’ll never be able to forgive you for it?’
Hurt flickered in her eyes, a flash of unadulterated pain that made him feel guilty, though it didn’t last. His emotions were too raw, too intense, too devastating for him to give her an inch.
She saw him as some last-ditch option, as a man not worthy of knowing he had a son unless it was a matter of life and death, and the truth hurt like hell, making him want to lash out in return.
‘I don’t want your forgiveness, I want your help,’ she said, her defiance startling when he almost expected her to fall apart if her pale face and bloodshot eyes were any indication.
Not that he wanted her to. He didn’t want to play knight in shining armour, not when he had more pressing matters like trying to assimilate the fact he was a father.
‘That’s right, you’re desperate,’ he sneered, pushing away from the table and striding to the window, hating himself for pushing her like this but unable to stop. A deep, perverse need to punish her egged him on, to make her pay for keeping him in the dark because she hadn’t trusted him enough.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her soft touch on his arm made him jump and he jerked away, needing distance between them before he did something even more out of character, such as walk out the door and never look back.
Though to Aimee’s way of thinking, that wouldn’t be so unexpected. For all he knew, she probably expected him to run. Again.
Staring blindly out the window, he saw a guy with a stroller unbuckle a little boy from the contraption, swing and settle him on top of his shoulders, both grinning madly as they trotted off down the street. He’d seen kids and dads a thousand times before and the scene had never affected him the way it did at that moment, a hard, tight knot forming in the pit of his stomach, making him feel sick that he had a little boy of his own and knew nothing about him. That he’d never be any good at any of that father-son stuff that was expected of dads.
Though Aimee wasn’t asking him to be a father to Toby. She only wanted him to get tested as a donor. Somehow, that made him feel a whole lot worse.
Ignoring the churning dread in his gut, he turned to face her. ‘I can deal with the anger stuff. Right now, tell me what I need to do about Toby.’
Her gaze searched his face for a moment, apparently satisfied by what she saw. ‘OK. We don’t have much time so I took the liberty of making an appointment with the doctor tonight for you to get tested and ask any questions you might have.’
Her presumptuousness—her assumption that he’d drop everything and help her after the way things had ended between them—rankled like nothing else.
He needed more time. Time to come to grips with the bomb she’d just dropped on him, time to grasp the full reality of what being a dad meant, time to gain control over the slow-burning anger that made him want to explode all over again.
However, three little words penetrated his dazed brain. Not much time…
Aimee had approached him out of desperation and the little guy didn’t have much time.
He couldn’t wallow in his anger or stew over her deception, he had to make a choice. Now. And just like five years earlier, it was a no-brainer.
‘Fine. I’ll do it. When do I get to meet Toby?’
She averted her gaze, staring out the window behind him. ‘It will be too late tonight so it’ll have to be tomorrow. He’s so tired all the time and the hospital keep pretty strict visiting hours.’
‘Even for parents?’
‘N-no, parents are welcome any time.’
Her slight hesitation had him on full alert. She was hiding something. Something else, and suddenly it hit him like an exploding volcano: swift, scorching, devastating, and burning an agonising trail right through his soul.
She didn’t want him to meet Toby.
If he had the test and wasn’t compatible, she wanted him to walk away. To leave as if nothing had changed, as if his son didn’t exist.
Well, he had news for her.
‘I know you don’t see me as father material but I’m here now and I’d like a chance to meet my son.’
The words fell out of his mouth in a rush, as if by saying them he couldn’t take them back. And right then, it hit him. He didn’t want to take them back, despite the fear he’d be lousy father material.
My son.
He still couldn’t comprehend the two words and had no idea how he really felt or what he’d say when he came face to face with Toby, but suddenly he was damn sure about one thing. He wanted a chance, a chance to meet his son.
Aimee nodded, her shoulders slumped in weary defeat as if she’d gone ten rounds with him and lost. ‘You ready to go to the hospital now? It’s not far.’
‘Let’s go.’ He tried to inject some life into his voice but it fell flat as he mulled over the truth he’d just learned and the implications for them all.
Aimee moved around the shop like an automaton, flicking off lights, pulling down blinds and setting the coolers for the cakes. His protective instincts urged him to help her but he didn’t move, sensing she needed to do the simple, repetitive actions as a way to buy time to steady her emotions.
If she was feeling half as punch-drunk as he was after their confrontation, she’d be an emotional