And to her.
But what had happened to her? What was making her so frightened and on edge? Why couldn’t she look him directly in the eye? Was it her scars? Her face? Did her shame stem from that? Or was it the unexpected pregnancy?
Clearly she was in shock. All he’d tried to do was make this easier for her. Try and shoulder some of the responsibility.
Because it was his and his alone. And because of who he was it was imperative that he do the right thing.
He would need to speak to his advisor.
* * *
At just after six in the morning Andrea delivered a healthy baby girl.
Freya was reluctant to leave her patient’s room and go back out there and face Jamie again, but she knew that she had to.
She could only hope that as there was less than one hour until the end of her shift he might be busy elsewhere and she would be able to get through it without having to see him.
She’d had her fill of pushy men. To be fair, she’d only been with one, but that one—Mike—had been enough for two lifetimes.
It had started innocently enough. Mike had asked her not to go out with her friends from college one evening.
‘Why not?’
‘I just can’t bear to imagine you out on the town like that. I’ve seen gaggles of girls dressed to impress and off their heads on tequila shots. I know what guys think of girls like that, and I don’t want them looking at you like you’re a piece of meat.’
She’d thought he was being sweet! That he cared so much about her.
He’d begged her not to go, and to make him feel better she’d cancelled. The next week, when the girls had wanted to go out again, rather than just accept the invitation straight away she’d said she needed to check with Mike first.
Slowly she had stopped having any contact with her friends. Then he’d started making comments about how her family looked down their noses at him and how family meet-ups made him uncomfortable—could they stay home?
Bit by bit he had isolated her, until her entire life had been his to control and manipulate. She’d felt as if she couldn’t breathe and she’d tried to break away. He’d found her, begged her to stay, promised he would change.
Only he hadn’t. If anything he had got worse—his insecurities, his paranoia.
She’d bolted one day when he was at work and run home to live with her mum again. She’d thought she was free, that her life was hers again, until that terrible day on the high street...
Freya was grateful to see that the hub looked clear and she headed over, her back aching slightly, and slumped into a chair to complete Andrea’s notes. The open tin of chocolates called her name and she unwrapped one and popped a caramel barrel into her mouth.
Mmm...just what I need.
The chocolate began to soften in her mouth, and as she chewed she realised just how hungry she was. She’d not really taken a proper break whilst Andrea laboured, and suddenly she was starving—craving a full English breakfast, washed down with a mug of strong tea.
A banana was placed right in front of her. She frowned and looked up to see who had given it to her.
‘Jamie...’
‘Eat this. You haven’t had anything all night.’
She moved the banana away from her. ‘Thank you, but I have other plans.’
‘So you say—but you’re not the only one who gets to make decisions about yourself any more. This is my baby too and you need to eat. Healthily, preferably.’
He grabbed hold of the tin of sweets and moved it away from her.
Angrily, Freya grabbed the tin back. ‘Keep your voice down. I don’t need the whole ward hearing about it.’
‘Are you going to eat the banana?’
She glanced at the fruit, lying harmlessly on the desk, and felt repulsed by it. The idea of taking a bite of it turned her stomach. She craved hot food. Preferably dripping in grease.
‘Not right now.’ She felt a little hypocritical. She’d often lectured pregnant women about eating well for a healthy pregnancy and here she was craving fat. And maybe another chocolate from that tin.
‘So when are you going to eat?’
‘When I get out of here. At home, where I can cook myself something.’
She didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t like to go out during the day. Didn’t like to sit by herself in cafés filled with staring people.
‘Where do you live?’
She looked at him incredulously. ‘Why would I tell you that?’
‘Because, like it or not, we’re involved now and I want to look after you.’
‘I don’t know you!’
‘You knew me enough to make a child with me.’
He stared hard at her, his eyes dark and dangerous, as if daring her to try and wriggle out of that one.
‘Well, I didn’t know I was doing that at the time.’
It was enough to make her remember their assignation—her back against the wall as he hoisted her legs around his waist and thrust into her, her hands frantically grasping at him. Both of them made courageous by darkness and anonymity.
No. She would not tell him her address. He might be anyone and her home was her safe space. Her haven. A place where she could relax and just be. It was her bolthole, and there was no way she was going to give him that information.
‘You’re not going to do this, you know.’
‘Do what?’
‘Go all alpha on me. Order me about.’ She could hear her own voice quaking as she stood up for herself.
‘I care about you.’
‘No, you don’t. You got me pregnant and now you think that you’ve got to be seen to be doing the right thing. Well, I’m giving you an out. You’re off the hook—you can walk away.’
It would be easier, wouldn’t it? To do it alone? Without a man? Because men were frightening. They didn’t know what it felt like to be a woman. To know that half the population was bigger and physically stronger than you. That they could overpower you if they cared to try. Not to be able to walk down a street without fearing the footsteps you could hear behind you. Always having to be aware of your surroundings. Of who might be looking at you strangely. Were they just curious, or were they about to pounce?
He leaned forward and stared at her. ‘I don’t know what experiences previous men have given you, but let me tell you something. I am not that kind of man. When I do something I take full responsibility for it. And that means taking care of you and taking care of that baby.’
‘But you don’t have to. I can do it alone.’
‘I do have to. It’s my child. It has to be honourable.’
‘Why does it have to be honourable?’
Even as she said the words she realised how childish she sounded. Why wouldn’t she want her baby to be honourable? Was she cheapening it already? By saying it didn’t matter if it was ‘honourable’?
But this was her baby! She had dreamt of this for years!
He recoiled as if she’d slapped him, as if he was appalled that she could think anything else.
‘Because it has to be. I won’t have it any other way.’
She moved the banana. She could smell