“I’m seeing someone.”

She barks out a humorous laugh. “You mean that little girl who made a scene?”

“She’s very much a woman, and she had every right to be upset, as I do, considering you appeared out of nowhere with no warning and you’re pregnant.”

“With your child,” she snaps.

“So you say. How the hell do I know you weren’t running around behind my back screwing away your loneliness with someone else? I was never good enough, remember, Imogen? Maybe you found someone to give it to you better than me.”

She tips her chin up, cheeks flushing. “You know how stress affects me.”

“You were always stressed. Always critical. I tried, Imogen, did you?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Too little, too late. I don’t want you back. I’m happy now. I have no interest in trying with you again.”

Imogen gives me her practiced smile. “How old is your plaything, Griffin?”

“She’s my goddamn girlfriend and her age is not relevant to this conversation.”

“Twenty, twenty-one?” Imogen needles.

“Twenty-two.”

Imogen’s face twists into a disgusted grimace before it smooths out into something that resembles pity. “This is my fault. I pushed you to this. Of course you’d need to find someone who would bolster your ego after I broke off the engagement. It’s completely understandable.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

She moves into my personal space and puts a hand on my arm. “It’s reasonable for you to be upset and, dare I say, shocked by this news, but this girl, has she even finished college?”

I grit my teeth and look anywhere but Imogen.

She sighs. “Darling, listen. You’re going to be a father, and she’s just starting her life. What are you planning to do? Split up our family? Only see your son fifty percent of the time so you can play house with her until she realizes her reality and yours don’t belong together?”

I scrub a hand over my face. “I don’t want you back.”

“Not right now, no. You’re still angry, and I understand that, but we’re meant to be together. You’ll see that with time.”

“I don’t think so, Imogen.”

“I do. I believe in us, in being a family. I know you’re coming back to New York in a few weeks. I’m willing to give you time to process. I knew you’d be upset, and I’m sorry about the complication that girl poses, but you know I’m right about her.”

I don’t respond because I have nothing to say. Every word out of her mouth makes me feel like I’m drowning.

She exhales a shuddery breath as if she’s on the verge of tears. I doubt she is. I’ve only seen her cry a handful of times in the four years we were together.

“Anyway, I’ll be in Vegas for a while. If you need space and for me to sleep in separate accommodations, I can deal with that, but I think we should have dinner together so we can start planning for the birth once you’re back home. There’s just so much to do. Oh!” Imogen sits up straighter and cradles her belly. Her nails are pale blue. “He’s kicking. Here, give me your hand so you can feel it too.”

She stands and moves closer. Morbid curiosity gets the better of me, and I let her place my hand over her stomach. The bump against my palm feels very much like a stab in the heart. Because she’s right. Cosy isn’t going to want any part of this, and I can’t blame her. More than that, if this baby is mine, I’m responsible not only for his welfare, but the welfare of his mother too.Chapter Sixteen: Bliss UndoneCosy

The whole scene at the hotel plays over and over again in my head all the way home. As soon as I walk through the door to my apartment, I burst into tears. My girlfriend status didn’t even last twenty-four hours. I was fine not getting serious with anyone until he came along and made me believe I could have more. Now my heart is shattered, and I’m doomed to a solitary existence.

“Cosy? Are you okay?” Nev’s slippered feet appear in my vision. They’re blurry thanks to all the tears.

I sniff and drag the back of my hand under my nose, which is a terrible idea since it leaves a snail-like trail behind. “I’m fantastic.”

“So, these are tears of joy?” She puffs on her e-cigarette. This one smells like cinnamon. Sometimes I wish I were a smoker so I could have a vice.

“Absolutely.” I peel myself off the floor and throw myself at my sister, sobbing into her shoulder.

She pats me on the back. “I have weed if you want to get high and talk about it. Oh, and I think there are a few of those gross coolers you like in the fridge. I saved those for you.”

Leave it to my sister to offer drugs and alcohol as a coping mechanism for heartbreak. “I’ll pass on the weed, but the coolers sound like a good idea. What time is it?”