She spun, disbelief and rage twisting her features.

Both intensified as I added, “Maybe even more so.”

“How am I to carry the blame for any of this?” She gestured around us widely. “I gave you his hair for the test weeks ago. I encouraged you to get a lawyer from the very beginning. And you said no. No, we could work it out between us. I trusted you.”

Ignoring the hurt and betrayal saturating her words and piercing me from her eyes, I pressed forward. “That’s a lie. You never trusted me. Never. You were determined to think the worst of me. I told you I love you—and I do, God help me, I’m so fucking in love with you—and you pushed me away. We make love in the physio room—”

She scoffed, laughing derisively. “Oh? Was that what we were doing?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately, desperately. “At least, that’s what I was doing for the last few weeks. I can’t keep my hands to myself, and every time I steal a kiss, it’s because I’m so bloody in love with you I can’t think straight.”

“That’s not love, Bryan. That’s infatuation. That’s lust.”

“No. It’s a symptom of being over the moon gone for another person and wanting them to be happy, wanting to be the one to make them happy.”

She stared at me, her face no longer a mask of dispassion. Her features were a mess of conflicting emotions—raw pain warred with hope and despair. She inhaled an unsteady breath, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I love you,” she said on a tortured exhale. “I love you.”

She loves me?

“Eilish . . .” I wanted to touch her, but she had her arms wrapped around her torso as though holding herself together.

“And you’re right, I pushed you away. I closed myself off. I thought, if we removed physical intimacy from the equation, I would be able to see clearly. I would be able to trust that what we had between us was real.”

I stepped forward, intent on reaching for her, but she flinched. “No. Don’t . . .” She shook her head, her words trailed off, and her lip quivered. Jesus. I hated seeing her upset like this, but at same time I just wanted to shake some sense into her.

She took another visible breath, her gaze lowering to the floor. “I’m sorry for pushing you away. I was wrong, but, Bryan,” she shook her head, “what you did was wrong, too. You could have come to me if you wanted the test, the formal agreement. Going behind my back—”

“I called my father on Monday. I had no idea he’d fast-tracked the process. He arranged everything without consulting me. I planned to take you out to lunch Wednesday so we could talk about it. That’s not an excuse, but it is the truth.”

“Why?” Her voice cracked on the word, and she still wouldn’t give me her eyes. “Why did you want the test? Did you think I lied to you?”

“No. God, no.” I balled my hands into fists, frustration eating me from the inside. “This whole situation is a fuck-up,” I breathed.

She lifted her gaze to mine, her blue eyes wide, sad. She didn’t disagree.

I sighed heavily and continued speaking. “Last week, after I left your house, I got a call from your mother.”

Her eyebrows jumped, her eyes flashed with anger. “My mother?”

I nodded. “She wanted to know what I was going to do about Patrick. Basically, she was pushing me to propose to you.”

“Bryan, oh my God,” she exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth in shock. “You have to believe I would never—”

“Yes. I know that now, but my head was all over the place at the time. I had your mother calling me, and my sponsor was breathing down my neck. You remember the woman you met at the hospital?” She bobbed her head. “That’s Sarah. She’s been so great in helping me stay sober, but when she found out about you and Patrick, she was adamant I get a paternity test. I’ve had a lot of bad luck with girlfriends in the past, you see, women—addicts—who encouraged my addiction to feed their own. She was worried about me, that you were after money.”

She let out a joyless laugh. “I don’t and never have wanted your money.”

“I know. But you’re the first person I’ve been with since I’ve been sober and I couldn’t help doubting myself, wondering if I could trust my own judgment. That’s on me. I’m still learning how to live life sober. But when you pushed me away . . .”

Eilish studied me, her face understanding but wary.

Both of us went quiet then, silence filling the confines of the lift. I tried to think of the best way to proceed. In the end I decided a truce was needed. Casting her a tender glance, I said, “Thank you for changing your mind about the child support. I know it might not seem like such a big thing, but it’s important to me to be able to contribute.”

Some of the anguish left her face as she dropped her arms to her sides. “I wouldn’t have declined if you’d been more reasonable. Thirty thousand a month is ridiculous.”

I ran a hand over my face. “I don’t agree. I’ve contributed nothing for five years. And you live in a very upscale neighborhood, Eilish. It can’t be cheap, especially not in today’s market.”

“It isn’t,” she allowed, her mouth tugging to the side ruefully. “And, honestly, I do need the money. Sean made me promise to accept his help financially for twelve months, and that was eight months ago. He’s been paying the rent.”