The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)

I shake my head, catching the sweep of instant relief washing over him, removing any doubt as to whether he wants this or not. I wish I could feel the same way, but at least I know part of me, somewhere inside, refuses to consider termination. I’ve never been someone to have an opinion over pro-choice. I’ve always believed everyone should have their own choice in life and follow a path that makes them happy in all things.

“I’m not going to get rid of our baby, Jake. I wouldn’t hurt you that way.” I sob as the words hit me.

Our baby.

It’s like a slap. Saying the words without even thinking about them somehow makes this more real.

We’re going to have a child together, our own little bundle of Jake and Emma mixed up together for eternity, a creation inside of me that we put there.

I don’t know how to feel. Fear and panic are consuming me, and I can’t process anything beyond the next thirty seconds. I can barely breathe … again. I’ve never had a full-blown panic attack before, but I know instinctively that’s what this is. Jake catches my hands and brings them to his chest, pulling me to look at him, slowing my erratic breathing as it matches his. I let him bring me back from the verge again.

“We are in this together. I won’t sit back and let you deal with all this alone, Bambina. I’ll take care of you every step of the way. I’ll be the guy who gets up and feeds the baby while you sleep, and I’ll change the nappies and take care of mom the best I can. Trust me with this. Trust that I would never leave you to do this alone even if you decide you don’t want me back.” He kisses me on the nose, and my heart melts at the way he always grounds me; a thought creeps, and I instantly go cold.

“But this won’t be your first child, Jake. Marissa will give birth before I do and ruin another thing in my life. Your time will be split … between us, between the children, so you can’t promise me anything.” Tears run down my cheeks, and I pull away from him, anger rising again at the thought of him and her, that horrible stomach-churning vision of his mouth on hers, always lingering to make me ache physically. I slide away from him and cross my arms across my chest, glaring at him, daring him to try to come near me because right now, his touch is abhorrent, and I’m spring-loaded for an attack. Having that bitch in my head makes sure of it, and this feeling here is as close to hate as I could ever feel for him.

He watches intensely for a moment before sliding back against the tub, resting himself against it. He knows when to choose his battles. He’s annoyingly good at reading me sometimes, yet other times as brain-dead an idiot as you could possibly get to what I’m thinking.

“I need to say this, Emma. You can look at me like that the whole time if you want, but I’m still saying it.” He looks down at my abdomen between us and then back up at my face, his expression serious. I scowl at him more hatefully.

“Marissa may have got in there first, but it doesn’t mean shit. The difference is, this one I want more than anything, and hers, I never did … I guess that makes me an absolute shithead for saying it.” He sighs and runs a hand through

his hair, flexing his shoulders, resting both palms on the

back of his head. His expression is that of fatigue more

than anything, “You will always be my priority, despite having two kids. I already know which baby will hold

my heart more.” He glances across at me apologetically, as though he does realize how horrible a person that might make him.

“You are a shithead.” I spit out childishly, lowering my glare to the floor, and a new wave of tears hits hard. I can’t begin thinking about this now, or I’ll fall to bits. It’s a complete mess, her, me, babies, Jake.

How the hell did it even come to this horrible fucked-up situation?

Jake ignores my comment and watches me closely, keeping his distance while I flounder in emotional turmoil. I have no clue what to do with all the excessive energy coursing through me.

“Emma, when Marissa told me about the baby, I felt like jumping off the building or hopping on a flight to Australia and never coming back. I still feel sick every time I think about it, even after weeks of knowing it’s happening. But this … US …” He slides up onto his knees, shimmying across the floor toward me, awkwardly, yet extremely appealing somehow. He leans down, lifting my chin to look at him. He leans his forehead against mine. The urge to lash out and fight has once again dive-bombed into my feet; fatigue and sadness well up, drowning me instead.

“It feels completely different with you. I want this. I want it more than I ever knew I wanted it.” He grins, that sweet little boy smile spreading across his face. “The second I realized what the doc was telling us, I felt this crazy joy building up inside me, Bambina, like straight from my toes and slowly up and over me. This is how it’s supposed to feel when you find out you’re going to be a father; the desire to shout it out from the rooftops and instant love … I love you so much, and I won’t let you down.” He grazes his mouth against mine, but I only stiffen at the touch. Marissa is too close to the forefront of my mind right now for his touch. Everything he’s saying has stopped computing. I need space to think and fresh air. I need to get off this bathroom floor and eat. We need sustenance because I just threw it up, which can’t be healthy.

“I can’t process this right now.” I pull away from him, leaning out, telling him clearly to give me space. He sighs and moves back but doesn’t go far. I think he’s starting to realize the turmoil I’m in over him touching me, thankfully, without me having to verbalize it.

“You’re moving back in as of today.” A command, and there’s an edge to his tone I instantly don’t like. I snap up to glare at him.

“What the fuck? You don’t even know if I’m even willing to take you back, and you’re issuing orders to me?” I slam my hands on the cold tile floor angrily, shoving myself to stand. He knows how to ignite my fury button. I’m instantly seething. My skin is prickling with rage at his nerve. I’m already on my feet, ready to march out, but he catches my wrist and comes up to tower above me.

“If you think I’m going to let you stay anywhere but here when you’re this fragile, then you can forget it. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s my baby too. You get no say in this.” He has his stubborn face plastered on, a mild amount of aggression radiating from him. I know when a huge fight is about to erupt, and I have no energy for this. I lift my chin, defiantly meeting the fire in his glare with a fire of my own.

“You will back the fuck off and let me decide what I’m doing. Right now, you’re the last person I want to live with.” I snap, angered at the turn in this situation, and yank my arm free. He clenches his teeth and glares over the top of me at something above my head, thoughts circling around his mind. We are standing feet apart, stubborn, meeting stubborn. His expression changes as he tries to figure out the best way to handle me, but I will not back down to him. He lost the right to cajole me the second he kissed that bitch; having a baby in this now only makes me more determined to stomp the shit out of his commanding tone.

His face softens unexpectedly, a gentle hand coming to stroke down my jawline and throat tenderly, his voice soothing. I slap his hand away. I know he’s changing tactics.

Manipulative asshole.

“Look, I know I have no right. But you’re still here after everything, which tells me that maybe I have more than a small chance of getting you back. That I have something to hope for. This isn’t about trying to trap you here with me, Emma; it’s about protecting who I love, and there’s two of you now. I need to be able to take care of you and not go out of my mind worrying when you’re in Queens. I wouldn’t be able to function knowing that I’m not protecting you and caring for you in the way you need me to.”

When he puts it like that …?

My anger simmers, my emotions tug a little, and how he’s looking at me breaks down my defenses. His eyes drilling straight into my heart with an annoyingly irresistible face. My breathing calms, and I try like crazy to ease the irrational mess in my head. He has no idea of the intoxicating effect he can have over me, and despite wanting to fight him on this, I know I want him to take care of me. I don’t want to be a strong, capable mess back in Queens who fights herself to get up and eat or get up to do something to distract herself from the pain. Being here with him and having him close to me has been far more bearable than the last week of my life, despite the gulf between us.

“One day at a time … I’m not bringing my stuff back until I decide if I can live with you again. You’ll just have to send Jefferson for clothes as I need them or crack out your credit card because I’m not making any long-term plans to be here.” I stick my chin up defiantly and turn on my heel. I catch the slight smirk on his face out of the corner of my eye and storm through to the bedroom, yanking off his T-shirt and reaching for my clothes. I try to ignore the satisfaction he thinks he feels because he has not won this battle. I’m in charge, and I intend to make that clear. Jake has a lot of making up to do, and I’m not a girl who will let him stomp over her heart so easily and get back in.

“What are you doing?” Jake comes out after me and stands lazily against the door frame, one hand on the jam, almost reaching the top effortlessly. His eyes trailing down my body, so I turn my back on him.

“I’m obviously not sick or dying, so there’s no need to be bed bound. It’s morning sickness, so I need to get over it.” I grind my teeth. “I need to eat, seeing as I lost my lunch and I’m starving.” I sound angrier than I am. My brain automatically tries to push all of this into a contained space, so I can take little bits out at a time to analyze, process, and get my head around.

“And you need clothes to eat?” He’s watching me, a little amused at my obvious bad mood. His whole demeanor has dramatically relaxed, knowing I’m staying.

Asshole.

“Yes, because you’re taking me out to eat. I want barbecue chicken wings, a side of fries, a huge tub of banoffee ice cream, and coffee donuts with caramel sauce.” I lift my face to him as though saying, “got a problem with that?”

I’m freakin hungry.

“You think you can handle a car ride and not throw up?” His gaze doesn’t back down from my intimidating glare. My menu request does not even phase him.

“We’re walking. I need the air and the exercise,” I snap out and wait for his protest. He shifts uneasily, his desire to argue with me crossing his beautiful brow before he thinks better of it. I will not back down on this. I know what I need right now, and it’s not lazing in bed swanning about like some weak, sick person.

Maybe he’s finally remembering that he should be groveling right now and not making demands.

“Fine.” He pushes off the door frame and turns to his wardrobe, opening a door and yanking out a shirt. “We walk there, but we drive back. Jefferson can come get us later.”

We’ll see!