Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Yes.” A whisper. An almost imperceptible nod.
“And what about the baby? It wasn’t New Year’s, I wasn’t dying, and we weren’t fucking when you said I could be a part of his life.”
“I won’t take fatherhood from you.”
I shake my head. Disbelief. Distrust. My head is a mess, and this is just so fucked up.
Her gaze drops. “I’m sorry. But we were just a fantasy I lived for a little while.”
Chapter 39
Ryan
I hate the look on his face. The hesitation and the pain as I make him doubt my love. I hate what I’m doing to him, but I don’t do it lightly. And I do it for him. What’s best for him.
“Fuck this bullshit,” he says, stalking across the room. “Last night, this fucking morning, I was there—I was inside you. You can’t fake those kinds of emotions.”
“Maybe you can’t,” I whisper, turning to the window.
“You’re just frightened,” he says, coming to stand behind me. In the reflection, I watch his hand rise. But he lowers it again without reaching for me. Maybe he’s learning.
“You’re right.” Confessing a little of the truth won’t hurt me. “I’m frightened all the goddamn time. I’m frightened of being on my own, and of not being able to cope. I worry about baby brain and a shift in my focus and losing my edge. I worry that I won’t be able to do my job—I worry that I won’t get a job. Here. Back home. But worst of all,” I say, as my voice breaks, “I’m so very afraid that I’ll turn into my mom.”
“That’s not gonna happen.” In our reflection, Matt swipes a hand through his hair. “You’re not that person. You’re kind and loving—”
I give a laugh that sounds like a sob.
“It’s fucking true.”
“You don’t know,” I say, my attention slicing over my shoulder. “After all, she was my only role model.”
“You’re your own role model, Ryan. And you love this baby.” His arm comes around me to touch me, but I spin away.
“But will this baby love me back, or will she learn to hate me?”
“What are you talking about?” he demands, catching my arm and stilling me. “You’ll be an amazing mum—look at all you’ve done for him so far.”
“Drinking tea I don’t like and staying away from wine and not shoving coke up my nose is a pretty low bar.”
“You moved in with me. That was some leap of faith, and you didn’t do it for you.”
His words strike me true. I accepted his proposal for so many reasons, but at the heart of each was that one constant. Our child. I said yes for safety, for security. And it was a leap of faith, and he was our soft landing. And I did it so Matt could be a father and so our child wouldn’t be fatherless. But that’s not enough to keep me here.
“All that other shit? Those obstacles? You’ll overcome every one of them. You’ve seen some stuff, suffered I don’t know what. But you’ve survived. Look at yourself, Ryan. You’ve fucking thrived.”
“Impending motherhood has made me soft. Made me delusional.” Made me think for a little while that I could keep you. “What happens when I turn back into the real me?”
“I love the real you,” he says with such adamancy, my words dialing up his rage. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know her.”
“I’m not worthy of your love,” I retort, pulling from his hold. “Aren’t you listening? You don’t know, Matt. You just don’t know. Last night, in bed, lying across your chest, I wanted to rip out all your fucking tenderness.”
“I would’ve let you—let you tear open my chest if it meant I could show you my love. To prove it to you.”
“Do you know why I stayed?” I demand as I pivot. Bodily. Tactically. “Because I needed a roof over my head. And I needed someone to keep me accountable.”
“Fucking bullshit!” he yells, full of rage. “This was never about what was good for you.”
“You don’t know me,” I repeat, turning for the door to my apartment. I need to leave. Go. I can’t be here anymore. “You don’t know the things that I’ve done.”
“You’re the first woman I have ever loved. The only one.”
My heart aches to hear that. But he’ll find someone else. Who couldn’t love him?
“You shouldn’t hang your hopes on me,” I say, almost at the door when I turn to face him. “I’m not a good person. You shouldn’t trust me.”
“Don’t leave.”
He looks so hurt. I hate that I have to do this.
“You’ll find someone else. Someone like Mila or Evie. A woman with goodness inside her.”
“Fuck that.”
“Evie and her animals. Mila and her social causes. Ryan and her . . . m-mercenary ways.” I catch myself just in time.
“Fuck all your excuses,” he retorts angrily. “I don’t want Mila, I don’t want Evie, or anyone like them. I love you! The Ryan I know isn’t a quitter. She’s fearless and, yes”—he gives a huff of a laugh—“oh so fucking independent. You don’t have to leave. You’ve just been conditioned to think the worst of yourself. Of everything. Can’t you see that?”