Killian
I’m still fucking pissed as we finally arrive at the cottages. I want nothing more than to be far away from Rebecca right now.
Emotions that I haven’t been familiar with in a fucking time are fucking surfacing, and they won’t be pushed back down. Hurt, anger, jealousy…I don’t even fucking know anymore.
All I know is I need a respite. I need the solace of my own fucking home.
There’s more whiskey waiting for me there, and I can hear it calling my name. I don’t even want to think tonight. I just want to be numb, and Jameson is the perfect solution for that.
Doing the gentlemanly thing, I walk Rebecca to her front door.
“See ya.”
That’s it, and I’m ready to fucking leave.
I hate those two fucking words together, but I said ’em.
It’s the most careless, heartless goodbye in the English language—a goodbye I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
But I let it leave my lips, because I’m ready to leave myself, and I don’t have the patience for the usual pleasantries.
Why even be fucking pleasant anymore? Why try to engender more warmth between us?
That’s what got us here in the first place.
Now look where the fuck we are.
I turn to head home, thinking I’ve made my easy escape already.
Just a few short steps and I can say bugger off to this goddamn night.
“Okay, Killian, my curiosity’s just getting the better of me now. What the hell is your problem?” The tone she takes makes it clear she’s on the defensive.
Internally, I groan.
So much for that easy escape, Mack.
“Problem? I don’t know what—” I’m not putting much effort into this feigning ignorance business.
“Stuff it,” she cuts off my rambling excuse for an excuse. “You’ve been in a shitty mood since before we left the pub.”
Well, she’s in this for the long haul.
Fuck.
“I don’t remember asking for a wife, Rebecca,” I snarl. “If I wanted someone to nag me, I’d have suggested we get married instead of simply having a baby.”
“I’m not nagging—”
“Yeah, you fucking are,” I reel around on her, my hands stuffed firmly in my pockets. “What do you care what’s wrong? Who says anything is wrong?”
“Because I care about you.”
Oh, that’s rich.
“Who asked you to?! Certainly not me.”
I’m being a right arsehole and I know it. Unfortunately for Rebecca, I’m drunk off my face, and I don’t give a shite what comes out of my mouth.
“Well, I am having your baby, Killian, and that’s kind of a big deal.”
“Yeah, it’s a deal. Exactly right. One you agreed to. To have a baby. Nobody asked you to care or involve yourself in my life beyond that.”
“So you’re saying you don’t care about me?”
“That’s not—” I stop myself short. I honestly don’t know what the fuck to say. “Let’s not have this conversation right now.”
“Let’s not? So when’s a good time?”
“Christ, Rebecca! I don’t know, but it’s not now!” My voice is coming out in an aggressive growl, as though my inner demons are finally coming out of hiding to confirm their existence.
The more we argue, the more pissed off I’m getting. I can literally feel the anger bubbling out and getting ready to spill over.
This is turning into a goddamn lover’s quarrel, and we’re not fucking lovers. We’re two people who sleep together for fun—to satisfy each other’s desire.
And yes, to have a baby, because I wanted a fucking deadline extension.
How fucking absurd.
Her eyes go wide momentarily, and I can sense the hesitation in her body language.
“Y-You’re scaring me, if I’m honest, Killian.” She’s fidgeting, twisting her fingers together.
That statement hits me harder than I expected. I’m scaring her?
There’s no reason to be scared, for fuck’s sake.
You’re simply taking this entire thing too far, Rebecca.
The very fact that she can see through me to those tucked-away corners that I’ve shut everyone else off from is the very reason that I want to just end this shite right where we stand.
“That’s fucking ridiculous.”
“It’s not. Your mood changes at the drop of a hat. One moment you’re smiling and joking and acting like an actual person who dares to get some joy out of life. The next you’re brooding and drowning yourself in Guinness and whiskey with dark storm clouds following you everywhere. Do I even want to know why that is?”
“It’s ridiculous. This is turning into a lot more than it was supposed to be. I didn’t ask for a goddamn therapy session. I simply want to be left alone.”
I don’t want any more intrusions on my life. She’s already wormed her way into areas that I swore she would never reach.
My life is fucking simple. I want to write, I want to drink, and I want to be alone.
What I don’t want to have to do is answer to anyone else other than my publisher, and even that’s pushing it.
For fuck’s sake, that’s enough fucking pressure as it is. And I hardly even have to go there in fucking person.
“Look, I’m beginning to think this whole fucking thing was one colossal fucking mistake.” I look up and release a long breath. It’s brisk enough that the air escapes in a dense, shapeless fog.
How very fitting.
“That’s because you’re a fucking coward. It’s so easy to run away, but to take responsibility? That takes balls. Balls that you apparently don’t fucking have.”
“I’m going home, Rebecca. And not because I’m a coward, but because this isn’t what we agreed on.”
“Things change, Killian.”
“Not this. Not my intentions. This was simply a way to make you a mother and borrow time until my next deadline. If things are changing, they’re changing on your end, not mine.”
It’s only when I see the tears forming in her eyes that I realize I’ve gone too far.
But you know what? She needs to hear this.
She needs to realize that having my baby doesn’t entitle her to any further rights in my life.
“I’m leaving,” I say again, but my feet are firmly planted on her front porch.
“Then fucking go already!”
I make my way down the stairs when the door slams behind me.
Then I hear Rebecca’s sobs.
Good job, you selfish prick. Good job.