If he really was hiding more — I was going to find it.

“You know everything about me — all of my secrets and family drama. What could I have to hide?” I say.

He faces me. There is a dark cloud behind him. It seems like an omen. I shiver.

“There is a lot I don’t know about you,” he says.

My mind immediately goes to the fertility monitor and Clomiphene I was using to get pregnant.

His brain is working overtime. I can see the burning behind his irises. When Caleb thinks, his eyes practically glow. I hate that. The benefit is, I always know when he’s on to me. His eyes now dart to mine; they drop to my mouth, and then lift back to my eyes. He narrows his and tilts his head like he’s reading my thoughts. Can you read a secret on someone’s face? I f**king hope not.

“When you came to me that night … in the hotel … were you trying to get pregnant?”

I remove my eyes from his and stare down at the water. Goddamn, he can. My hands are shaking. I fist them. Then I fist him with the truth.

“Yes.”

I don’t know why I tell the truth. I never tell the truth. Damn it all! I want to suck the words back into my mouth before they reach him, but it’s too late.

Caleb links his hands behind his neck. His eyebrows are up, up, up, creasing his forehead into half a dozen little lines. He’s mad as hell.

I think of that night at his hotel. I went there with determination. I had a plan. My plan worked. I never thought I’d get caught. Caught I was. I flick my thumbnails across the pads of my fingers.

Flick

Flick

Flick

Caleb is biting the inside of his cheek. It looks like he wants to take off running. He runs to think. When he speaks, his words come from between his teeth.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He looks up at the sky, the struggle evident on his face. “I love her so much…” his voice cracks. He leans an arm on the side of the boat and peers into the water with me. “I love her so much,” he starts again, “I don’t care how she came to be. I’m just glad she’s here.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and look at him out of the corner of my fearful eye.

He swallows, once, twice…

“You got pregnant on purpose. And now you don’t seem to want her.”

It’s hard to hear … both parts. Chilling and true and ugly.

“I thought she’d be a boy.” My voice is so low it’s competing with the waves, but Caleb hears me.

“And if she were? Would you like being a mother then?”

I hate when he forces me to think. Would I? Or was this role something I was doomed to fail at, boy or girl?

“I don’t know.”

He lifts his head to look at me. I eye the scruff on his face, and I want to touch it.

“Do you want her?”

Don’t tell him the truth!

“I ... I don’t know what I want. I want you. I want to make you happy…”

“But, not Estella?”

His voice is catching edge. The edge that usually indicates I’m in big trouble. I try to work my way out of it.

“Of course I want her. I’m her mother…”

My voice lacks conviction. I used to be such an accomplished liar.

“What you did after that … was that planned out too?”

I watch his chest play the in/out game. Rapid angry breaths … he’s steeling himself for my answer.

I suck in all the air that the sky has to offer. I pull it until my lungs burn. I don’t want to let it go. I want to hold that air and hold the confession he’s forcing out of me. I don’t have to tell him the truth.

“Caleb...”

“God, Leah, just tell me the truth…”

He runs a hand through his hair, walks a couple paces to the left so that I can only see his back.

“I was upset … Courtney-“

He cuts me off. “Did you do it to make me come back?”

I swallow. Fuck. If I say no, he’ll keep asking me questions until he traps me.

“Yes.”

He swears and drops to his haunches, his fingertips pressed on his forehead like he’s trying to hold his thoughts in.

“I think I need time to think.”

“No, Caleb!” I shake my head from side to side. He shakes his up and down. We look like a couple of distraught bobble heads.

The whirlpool starts, panic sucking me down until I whimper, “Don’t leave me again. I can’t take care of her alone.” I drop my head.

“You won’t have to, Leah.”

I look up at him hopefully.

“I’ll take her with me. She’s my daughter; I’ll take care of her.”

Oh God. What have I done now?

He gets up, turns on the Cat’s engine and we are slicing back toward shore, the remnants of my sanity shredding.

The minute he ties us to the dock, I am off the boat and racing to my phone, which I left in his car. I want to get out of here. My fingers become boneless as I fumble with the screen, jabbing uselessly. I dial a taxi service and tell them my location. I am shivering despite the heat. My God, what was I thinking telling him that? I can barely breathe as I see him walk down the dock and toward where I am perched against the hood of his car. Even in lieu of our current situation, my heart stirs at the sight of him. I love him so much my heart aches. He won’t look at me. I don’t know what this means, but thinking is never a good thing. Thinking stirs up a dangerous maelstrom of emotion. My emotion almost drowned me once. I don’t want to go back there.

The gravel shifts beneath his feet as he walks to where I sit. My arms are wrapped around my waist as I try to press my sanity back into my torso. He stops a few feet away. He’s coming to check on me. He hates me at this moment, but he’s coming to check on me. “I called a cab,” I say. He nods and looks out at the water, which is just visible beyond the copse of trees where he parked his car.

“I’m going to stay here,” he says. “I’ll call you when I’m back so I can pick up Estella.”

My head snaps up. “Pick her up?’ Oh yeah, that.

“I’m going to take her to stay with me for a while at my condo.”

I breathe through my nose, grappling with my emotions, trying to rein back control of the situation.

“You can’t take her from me,” I say through clenched teeth.