Shattered Bonds (continued)

“No,” she finally whispered. “It’s not.”

“That young kid? The guard?”

Wendy’s voice was soft and quiet as she answered him. “No.”

This seemed to surprise Greg. His eyes widened and his eyebrows rose slightly. Wendy realized how it must sound.

“It wasn’t like that,” she protested quickly protested, her voice rising. “I was going to tell you,” she went on, the words tumbling out in a hurried stream. “I didn’t . . . the father isn’t . . .”

All of the emotions of the past several weeks caught up with her then and she burst into tears. The rest of her words were trapped behind sobs that shook her entire body. When it became evident that Greg was not going to comfort her—he just sat and regarded her with a steady, dispassionate stare—Wendy hugged herself tightly, riding out the emotional storm until it passed.

When it finally did, she sniffed back the remaining tears, and swallowed hard. She glared at Greg through swollen eyes, convinced that she had made the right choice.

Insensitive bastard. He could have at least tried . . .

She turned abruptly away from him and let her arms fall to her sides, not realizing her hands where clenched into fists. Greg continued to watch her, his expression cold and unreadable. If he was angry with her, he refused to let her see it.

“I’ll get my things,” Wendy said, her voice hoarse and low.

“Yes,” Greg agreed, finally taking his eyes from her. Although Wendy could not be certain, she thought she heard an edge of ice in his tone.

Wendy rose from the chair and glanced once more at Greg. He seemed unwilling to give her any more of his attention. Releasing a quiet, but audible, breath of angry frustration, she turned away and headed for her bedroom.

She pulled out two storage crates beneath her bed and, without looking to see what they might already contain, began cramming her belongings into them. For the unorganized mess that the small room held, there were fewer items that she expected. The bedding she included as well, realizing belatedly that it was because it still smelled of David, and not for any practical reason. A new set could easily be obtained from community storage.

If there were possessions that she wanted from anywhere else in the house, she would deal with them later. She could ask Greg for them or simply replace them, depending on their personal importance to her. It made her wonder how much of a jerk he was going to be about all this.

It’s not like he’s been leading an exactly honorable and chaste life . . .

Their close relationship had been over for some time, she knew. For some reason, though, that understanding did little to ease her pain at that moment. She wanted to be angry with Greg, but she knew that she was just as much at fault. There were reasons that she had tried to hide her pregnancy from him, and for not choosing him to be the father. The issues behind them she had never chosen to discuss with him. She had just . . . what? Played along, hoping that it would somehow turn out all right?

She blinked back tears as continued to shove items into the crates. They were both nearly full now, mostly from the bedding. She slammed one closed and latched it. Turning, she sat down on it and lowered her head with a low sigh. She was tired—physically tired and emotionally drained. What she really wanted now was sleep, to try to discount these events in a few hours of oblivion.