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I was too jaded to even give the emotional reaction I wanted to. “Wow. Good luck with that.”
I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my arm. Jerking it away, I punched him in his jaw. Reacting physically just pissed me off more. I was trying to remain in control of my emotions and my hands, but that disrespectful shit was the last straw. He should have just let me walk away.
“Don’t you ever put your hands on me again!” That indifference was shifting into rage… into hate. I needed to get the hell away from him… especially since I was pregnant. My mind immediately took me back to that day—to the fact that he slung me around like I was a fucking rag doll. The day he raised his fist at me and would have hit me if I hadn’t moved.
I knew then just what he was willing to do for Brooklyn. This shouldn’t have been a surprise.
“Malaysia…”
“I fucking hate you!” My body shook as I resisted the urge to put my hands on him again. As I exercised a discipline I didn’t even know I had. “I stayed with you and gave you grace, and you brought your kid mistress into our home. I hate you! And I don’t want to ever see you again. On the off chance we do cross paths, don’t say a word to me. Don’t even look at me. Act as if I don’t exist. I swear to God if you even look my way, I’m going to tell Aspen to finish you off. I don’t know what I was thinking when I pulled him off of you.”
“Malaysia, please…”
I ignored him as I turned my basket and went in the opposite direction. One or two years. How was that enough? How was he turning jail time into a noble grand gesture for his young ass baby mama? Did he think him taking control of the situation would make it better? Somehow warrant respect? Nothing would ever make me respect him, and I wasn’t sure why he even shared that with me.
A part of me liked the idea of them being separated and having to suffer through it. That short ass jail sentence was laughable. I was sure it was because she was so close to being eighteen, but still. With a huff, I quickly went into the bathroom to try and compose myself. My life had been so much more peaceful and better without him in it, and I hated allowing his words and stupid face to piss me off. I pulled in deep breaths and reminded myself of why I was there.
I was pregnant with the love of my life’s baby. Nothing or no one, not even my embarrassing ass ex, was going to ruin that.
22
Aspen
That Weekend
“It’s done.”
“Aight. ’Preciate you,” I said to Bully before ending the call.
Thanks to his connections, I knew the moment Peyton had been processed. He’d turned himself in like he told Malaysia he would do, and I made sure his CO knew his charge. After word was spread, his fellow inmates would be on his ass. If he thought doing two years was about to be a breeze, he had another fucking thing coming. Two years was what he would get on a misdemeanor charge, but because of the baby and age difference, there was a chance it would be a felony. If so, he’d get thirty years. Either way, I’d paid enough money to make sure his ass suffered every day of his sentence. They had strict orders not to kill him or do any permanent damage.
More than anything, I wanted him embarrassed the way he made Malaysia feel embarrassed. I wanted him to never forget or be able to sweep under the rug the way he played in her face. I was grateful that he’d fucked things up with Malay because it cleared the way for me to love and care for her properly, but still. He hurt my baby and made her cry, and I still felt some type of way about that. Malaysia had blocked his baby mama and cut off all contact with her, and they were officially a fucking memory—one I wanted to love her so well she completely forgot about.
“Bae!” Malaysia yelled, gaining my attention.
I left the library in search of her. She was in her room, which was no surprise.
“You good?”
“Hmm?” She turned swiftly, covering whatever she’d been working on at the table.
“What’re you up to?”
“You asked what else we needed to do in the house…”
“Yeah. You came up with something?”
“Mhm. We have to empty one of the rooms.”
“For what?” I asked, walking over to her.
She turned and grabbed a bouquet. There were pink and blue hydrangeas in it along with positive pregnancy tests, small bottles, and a onesie that had Daddy’s Biggest Blessing in cursive.
“We have to make room for them.”
Rolling my tongue over my cheek, I looked into her eyes as mine watered.
“You’re pregnant?”
