Matt had tightened his arms with good reason. I jumped and tried to pull back.

“The … baby?”

“Your sister doesn’t want the baby.”

“I’m not following.”

“I’ve convinced her to have it … and I’m going to adopt it.” Matt’s tone cooled and hardened. He released me and walked back into the room. “She was very reasonable. She simply doesn’t want it. The whole situation is too painful for her, and she doesn’t want to be a young, single mother. Completely understandable.”

He moved books from the shelves into stacks on the floor. I had never, not once, heard Matt speak so sympathetically about Chrissy. My mouth hung open.

“And she doesn’t want to have an abortion. You see, she already…” He paused, lifting one of the small plush owls I’d put in his room. “Well, she felt it move. She’s giving it up for adoption. I’ll call Shapiro tomorrow and get the ball rolling, and schedule an appointment for an ultrasound. Sort out the … gender question.”

I braced my hands against the door frame. Oh, Matt was back, all right.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Do I have any say in this?”

“I thought you would be happy. I can see that you’re not.”

“Matt, this is … huge. This decision.”

“I’m well aware.” He brushed past me, carried a pile of books to the library, and returned. “I know we never properly discussed … all that. And I’m not asking you to carry a child. This isn’t about that.”

“So, it’s about what?”

“Making things right.” He answered without hesitation. As he passed with the next load of books, he paused and looked me in the eye. Yikes, I’d wanted this Matt back—commanding and stubborn—but I’d forgotten how intimidating he could be. “Don’t you understand?”

“I might, if you’d asked me or talked to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, and this isn’t a question. I’m going to take care of that child. I’m going to love it the way I didn’t love him.”

“Married couples make decisions together.”

“No one’s forcing you to marry me.”

His words slammed into me with physical force. I inhaled.

Ungrateful man. Nate got that right.

I twisted the engagement ring off my finger. My knuckle burned, the skin around it bunching. Matt watched with a passive expression, which made me want to scream.

“You’re fucking right about that.” I slammed the ring atop his stack of books.

He balanced the books with one hand and pocketed the ring.

“I’ll hold on to that for you,” he said, and he breezed into the library.

Chapter 34

MATT

“What did she say?”

“Buckle your seat belt.” I glared at Chrissy until she banded the belt across her body. Her unmistakably pregnant body. My eyes lingered on her belly.

“Relax,” she said. “Everything’s fine in there.”

“We’ll know that soon enough.” I pulled away from her parents’ house.

“How’d you get this appointment so fast, anyway?”

“Easy. You’re overdue. You were supposed to have a twenty-week check.”

“Okay, chill out, Frosty. Better late than never.”

Chrissy’s abbreviated nickname actually made me smile. She’d donned me Mr. Frostypants over a year ago, in happier times.

“So, what did she say after you took the ring? ’Cause I really don’t want this baby, like, messing things up with you and Han.”

“She said…” I cleared my throat. I remembered the argument well. It happened three nights ago, and Hannah hadn’t slept with me since. She took the air mattress if I got in our bed; if I joined her on the mattress, she darted to our bedroom. “She said something like, ‘You’re a selfish fucking jackass.’ I’m paraphrasing.”

“Great,” Chrissy muttered. “And you’re still ‘holding on to’ the ring?”

“Mm. She’ll come around. Either way, I’m adopt—”

“You’re adopting this child and it means everything to you,” she droned.

I glared and kept quiet the rest of the way to the clinic.

Excepting Hannah’s surly attitude, everything was falling into place. Shapiro had another lawyer working with an agency on the relinquishment form and kinship adoption lawsuits, and my home study and background checks started next month. I wasn’t worried. Thanks to Shapiro’s tireless work over the years, my record looked pearly.

Now, if only Hannah would conform to the idea, get the ring back on her finger …

*   *   *

Chrissy clutched my hand while the ultrasound technician slid the wand over her belly.

Would I be required to fill this hand-holding role during the actual birth?

I felt light-headed.

The technician seemed too quiet. The thing on the screen moved constantly. Chrissy and I watched, rapt. Seth, why did you do this? You should be here. I’m not ready.

But there it was, ready or not: a grainy child-shape, my atonement embodied.

“Everything’s looking good,” the technician said.

Chrissy and I exhaled simultaneously.

“You can see the spine”—she pointed—“and the head right here. And…”