His strange way with words, his way of articulating his feelings, it’s irrelevant now because I’m fluent in Miller’s language. He couldn’t have put it any more perfectly.
‘I want to be a perfect daddy,’ he whispers.
Happiness sails through me, but through that bliss, I reach the very solid conclusion that Miller was referring to Charlie. It’s Charlie he’ll destroy. He knows about me. And he saw me with a pregnancy test in my hand. I’m a good reason for Miller to walk away, even more so now. Charlie eliminates good reasons. And Miller will destroy anything that tries to take me away from him. Frighteningly, I know he’s perfectly capable.
Which means Charlie is on death row.
A loud rapping brings me around, whipping my head in the direction of the club entrance.
‘Anderson,’ Miller mutters, his mask slipping into place, our happy moment being cut too short. He breaks away from me, giving my thigh a little squeeze before he strides off . . . and my sass appears from nowhere and bites me on the arse.
‘Why’s he here?’ I ask, slipping from the bar to my feet.
‘To help.’
I don’t want to see him. Now I know for sure she’s in London and he hasn’t got Miller holding him back, he’ll want to talk about her. I don’t want to. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the mammoth space of Ice, I pace around the bar until I’m staring up at rows and rows of the hard stuff. Burn the anger away. That’s what I need to do. I reach up and snatch down a bottle of vodka, mindlessly unscrew the cap, and pour myself a triple. But when the cold glass meets my lips, I don’t tip the contents down my throat, mainly because my mind is distracted by a mental image.
An image of a baby.
‘Damn,’ I sigh, slowly taking the glass back down to the bar. I just stare at it, swivelling it around gently until the clear liquid is still. I don’t want it. Alcohol has served a purpose of late – a silly attempt to blank my woes. Not anymore.
‘Olivia?’ Miller’s questioning tone pulls my tired body around, revealing my hopeless face . . . and the glass. ‘What are you doing?’ He steps forward, uncertainty creeping onto his face as he flicks his eyes from me to the glass.
Guilt joins my hopelessness and I shake my head, full of remorse for even pouring the damn thing. ‘I wasn’t going to drink it.’
‘Damn straight you weren’t.’ He strides around the bar and viciously swipes the glass from my hand before throwing the contents down a sink. ‘Olivia, I’m dangling off the edge of insanity already. Don’t give me the nudge that’ll tip me.’ His warning is stern and serious, yet the soft expression suddenly rife on his face defies every word of that command. He’s pleading with me.
‘I wasn’t thinking,’ I start, wanting him to know that I poured that drink in a blind temper. I’ve barely been given the opportunity to let this news sink in. ‘I’ve no intention of drinking, Miller. I would never harm our baby.’
‘What?’
My eyes widen in response to that shocked yell, and Miller virtually snarls.
Oh. My. God.
I don’t turn around and face the enemy. If there’s any scrap of sass within me, it’ll be stripped down to nothing with a look of disgrace or the delivery of some scornful words. So I keep my guarded eyes on Miller, silently begging him to take the lead. There’s nothing right now that can shield me from William Anderson, except him.
The long silence that stretches becomes painful. I’m mentally willing Miller to be the one to break it, but I close my eyes tightly when I hear William draw breath, accepting that it’ll be him instead. ‘Tell me what I’m thinking is wrong.’ I hear a soft thud and see William collapsing to a barstool in my mind’s eye. ‘Please, tell me she’s not.’
The words I am bubble in my throat, along with and so what? But they remain exactly where they are, defiantly refusing to put themselves out there. I’m mad with myself, mad that I’m rendered useless when I want to be wielding some bravery and unleashing it on William.
‘She’s pregnant.’ Miller’s chin rises, his shoulders squaring. ‘And we’re ecstatic.’ He’s daring William to continue.
William dares, though.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Anderson spits. ‘Of all the stupid shit you could pull, Hart.’
I wince, not liking the slow-building heaving motions of Miller’s chest. I want to join him, stand united, yet my damn body refuses to take me to him. So I remain with my back to William while my mind continues its assessment of the perilous situation looming.
‘We agreed that if Charlie didn’t have anything concrete on Olivia already, he would soon. Soon is now.’ He reaches me and links an arm around my neck, encouraging me into his embrace. ‘I said if he even breathed near her, it would be the last thing he did. He just breathed near her.’
I can’t see him, but I know William will be matching Miller’s hostility. The frosty vibes are crawling all over my exposed back.