Tina Beckett - New York City Docs

Tessa’s heart turned to ice in her chest. “You mean pay for everything? Kind of like your parents did for me?”

She hadn’t meant the words to come out with the harsh edge they had, but there was no way she could call them back now. Not when all the walls she’d just let down started to go back up, block by block. She knew him well enough to know that he would just keep pushing, trying different angles in order to get his way. She wouldn’t accept his financial help, so he would just bypass her and give it to their child instead.

Was that what she wanted? For herself? For the baby?

As if sensing her thoughts, Clay pulled his hand from her stomach and stared straight ahead. Then he took a drink of his wine. Then another.

He stood to his feet and set the glass back on the dresser.

Just when she thought he was going to leave without saying another word, he turned to her. “If you think I’m just going to sit back and not participate in my child’s life, you’re wrong, Tessa. You can’t expect me to help Molly get an education someday and do nothing for this child.”

“But it’s different with Molly—”

“No. It’s not.” He sent her an angry glare. “Even if she lived with her mother on a full-time basis, I would still want to contribute—to have some say—in what happens to her. It’s the same for any child you and I might have. I would want to take care of him or her. How can you not see that?”

I want to take care of him or her.

At those words, all the anger from the past bubbled out of the compartment she’d built for it and tainted everything they’d shared over the past couple of weeks. His constant need to take care of her years ago—to give her things—had become a point of friction, rubbing at her until she was raw. Well, she could read the writing on the wall. He was about to start doing it all over again, and if she gave in on this point he would start pressing her to give in on other areas.

“That’s not your choice to make, though. I think I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and any child I might have.”

His face closed, turning to stone. “That might be true, but you can’t stop me from setting up a fund like the one I have for Molly. Neither can you stop the child from using it once he or she comes of legal age.”

Horror went through her. Would he actually go against her wishes like that?

“Don’t draw this line, Clay. Please.” All her hopes for making things work between them shriveled in an instant. Nothing had changed. Nothing.

“I’m not the one drawing the line. You are. And if you think I won’t step over it, you’re wrong. I just did.”

With that, Clay picked up his wallet from the nightstand and shoved it in his back pocket. Out came his car keys. And without another look in her direction he let himself out of the door and, very probably, out of her life.

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