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mattered to you for the past ten years. But you can be damn sure it would have mattered to our son!”

Chapter Three
    “Our...what?” Marc flashed ice cold, then hot with fury. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    She was standing frozen in place, one hand clasped over her mouth as if she was trying to hold the words in.
    Too little, too damn late.
    “I must have heard you wrong. It sounded like you said ‘our son.’ But that can’t be right, because we don’t have a son. I don’t have any children at all.”
    He hadn’t wanted children. Not while he was at risk of being deployed at a moment’s notice, not while the world was such a dangerous place for a soldier. He wasn’t going to leave behind a significant other, let alone a child, under those circumstances.
    He’d seen the damage that had done to Bree, the pain of losing a soldier father. He’d experienced how it had caused so many problems in their relationship.
    There was a reason he hadn’t dated seriously since joining the army. No attachments, no hard feelings, no responsibilities beyond the commitments he’d made toward Uncle Sam.
    “Don’t act all surprised,” she sneered. “Lying doesn’t look good on you.”
    “Who’s lying?” He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “You knew,” she stammered, staring at him. “I sent you that letter.”
    “What letter?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded loud, echoing off the walls of the pub. Reining in his rapidly rising temper, he repeated, “What damn letter?”
    “The letter I mailed you when I found out I was pregnant!”
    Marc drew in a deep breath, trying not to explode. “Which was when?”
    She threw up her hands. “About two months after you left for boot camp.”
    Two months. He calculated the date, realized that by then—”Where did you send it?”
    “The address you gave me the day you left town.”
    Boot camp. Which, by that time, he’d completed and had been stationed overseas.
    “I wasn’t there,” he said, teeth gritted. “I was out of the country. I never got the letter.”
    “You never...” Her voice died away. Eyes wide, she whispered, “You had to get it. You had to have known.”
    “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but just because you want it one way doesn’t mean that’s the way it went down. Listen closely. I. Never. Got. The. Letter. So this whole ‘you have a son’ bullshit? First I’ve ever heard of it.”
    “No.”
    She looked like she was going to be sick.
    Marc didn’t blame her. He felt the same damn way.
    He had a son? He was a father?
    No. No fucking way.
    “Let me get this straight. Two months after I left for boot camp, you found out you were pregnant. And you’re sure it’s mine?”
    Her eyes narrowed. “One hundred percent,” she hissed.
    He held up his hands. “It’s a reasonable question. We used protection, you know. Every time. And I don’t know what your social life was like after I left town.”
    “I had no social life,” she shot back. “You think I would go out and have sex with someone else that soon after we broke up? Don’t you know me at all?”
    “I thought I did,” he said.
    She shot him a withering glance. “And the whole protection thing? Remember how I got food poisoning the week before prom?”
    Boy, did he. It was like the Exorcist scene come to life.
    “Apparently, if you throw up your birth control pills too many days in a row, they’re not as effective as you think.”
    Shit . That made sense. A horrible, awful, fist-clenched-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach sense.
    “So you find out you’re pregnant,” he said, trying to regain the thread of conversation. “You’re positive I’m the father. I’m in the army. So you decide to send me a letter.”
    Bree nodded.
    “And when you didn’t hear back from me, you did what, exactly?”
    She was silent.
    “Called my CO? Sent another letter? Tried to reach me online? Contacted my fucking