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“She’s outside on the porch,” Blaire says, her voice trembling. “She’s refusing to leave until she talks to you.”
I’m already on my feet, making Mark stand as well as he regards me with concern. “I’m coming. Don’t open the door. Don’t talk to her. Just stay in Theo’s room until I get there. Don’t go near the windows.”
“Theo’s napping,” she says quietly. “I’m in his room with him.”
“I’ll be home in fifteen,” I tell her, then end the call.
Mark is watching me, already rising from his chair. “What’s going on?”
“Veronica’s at the house,” I say, shoving my phone into my pocket. “Refusing to leave. Blaire’s there alone with Theo.”
Mark’s expression hardens. “I’ll call the clerk’s office right now and see if we can push the no-contact order through today.”
I don’t wait for anything else. I’m already out the door, boots hitting the hallway at a run, keys in my hand before I even reach the elevator. By the time I hit the parking lot, I’m thinking I’ll need a defense attorney instead of a custody lawyer.
***
I barely have the truck in park before Veronica is marching off my porch toward me, jaw tight, eyes wild.
Thank God Blaire kept her car in the garage. The last thing I need is Veronica realizing Blaire is living here now too.
I get out and slam my truck door, meeting her half way.
“You need to leave,” I tell her instantly.
She ignores that. “No! You need to talk to me. You can’t leave me at the hospital and then just ignore me for days while I’m pregnant with your kid.”
My jaw tics. “I was going to see you in a couple weeks for your next appointment. I’m not ignoring you—I just don’t need to talk to you every day.”
“That’s bullshit!” she spits. “You would call Blaire every day.”
“To talk to my son.” I snap. “That’s different than chatting because you’re bored.”
Her face twists with righteous fury. “Does she know? That I’m having your baby?”
“Yes,” I say, tired down to my bones. “She knows.”
Veronica lifts her chin like she’s expecting that revelation to crush my world. “So what then? She’s just okay with it?”
“Veronica,” I sigh. “Get off my property.”
“I want to talk—”
“I don’t!” It rips out of me sharper than I mean it to, but I’m past the point of smoothing edges for her comfort. “In fact—” I pull my lawyer’s business card from my wallet and hold it out to her.
Her eyes widen. “You got a fucking lawyer?”
“Yes,” I say plainly. “I will be at your appointments. But otherwise, I do not want contact unless it’s an emergency."
“So you’re just going to ignore your child?” she shrieks.
“Of course not! When the baby is born—IF it’s mine—then we will work out custody, and I will be a fully involved father.”
“You can’t just disrespect me and expect me to give you my child” she fires back, voice shaking with rage and entitlement. “If you’re going to treat me like shit while I’m pregnant then I’m not going to let you around my baby.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to yell. This must’ve been what Blaire felt like dealing with me in those early days—when I was too pissed at life, too overwhelmed, too stubborn to be easy to parent with.
Fuck.
