I close my fingers around the edge of the mattress. “I was wrong but I’m trying now. Doesn’t that matter to you?”
“No,” he repeats. “I’m done giving you the benefit of the fuckin’ doubt. If you want my damn trust, you’ll have to earn it back.”
Silence stretches between us. Slate leans back against the dresser, arms crossed. His eyes narrow on me.
“Just so you know, I’m getting a paternity test,” he says.
“Because you think I’m a liar, right?” I don’t know why I’m even surprised.
“No. I don’t doubt she’s mine. She looks too much like me to ever think that.” He rubs his face like he is exhausted.
“So why get the test?” I ask.
“I’ve been denied years with her. Once I get the results of the paternity test, I’m filing for joint custody. I refuse to stand by while you fuckin’ make decisions for both of us anymore.”
“I’m sorry you missed out on time with her.”
Before I can tell him that I’ll sign whatever he wants, he snarls, “Sorry doesn’t give that time back to me.”
When I don’t respond, he shakes his head slowly. “I don’t want to keep having this fight. Not tonight. I’m too tired to pick apart every choice you made. But I can’t pretend any of this is fine.”
“I’m not asking you to pretend.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I can’t forgive you for this. Not now.”
“What exactly do you want me to do?” I ask.
Slate exhales and drags a hand across his jaw. “We’re not changing anything. Not right now.”
I blink. “Meaning what?”
“You stay here. In this suite. In this bed. You and Katie stay close until we know more about your stalker,” he says. “This place is secure. The walls are thick. There are two armed brothers downstairs at all times. I’m not putting you on the far side of the clubhouse when someone is hunting you.”
“I understand,” I say, feeling more dispirited by the second.
“But we’re not together,” he clarifies. “We’re not good and might never be. Just so you know, getting back to where we were seems like a distant dream for me right now.”
A dull ache forms under my ribs. “I know we’re not and it’s all my fault.”
Ignoring my contrite tone, he explains, “We sleep in the same bed, but you stay on your side. I stay on mine. No acting like we’re something we’re not right now.”
When I don’t respond, he studies me for a long time before stating bluntly, “I don’t trust you anymore. I want to. I used to. But I don’t. It’s going to take time,” he says. “If it ever comes back.”
I swallow hard. “I hope it does.”
“I don’t know if hope is enough,” he says quietly. “But it’s all we’ve got for now.”
After another long pause, Slate strips down to his underwear, walks over, and sits on the far side of the bed. After a few moments of silence, he turns off the lamp on his side and settles down on his back.
I stay seated for another moment, unsure whether to sleep on the sofa or just sleep on my side of the bed. Eventually, I slip under the covers, pull the blanket up to my chest, and turn onto my side, facing away from the man I love, the same one I betrayed. My heart aches and I wish with every fiber of my being that I had made different choices.
Slate’s breathing evens out. I can tell he is awake though. A long silence spins out between us. I begin to feel like we’re strangers again. We lie in the same bed, not talking and not touching. I force myself to accept that this is what a relationship looks like when trust is broken. I close my eyes and try to sleep. I feel terrible that I denied Slate his daughter these last few years and I’m sorry that I forced my daughter to live on the run when she could have been safe with her dad. But I also have to admit that I feel sorry for myself because for one brief moment I had it all and blew it.
Chapter 13
Slate
Iwake up at the crack of dawn. Christina is still huddled close to the edge on the far side of my bed. I expect the anger to still be burning brightly in my chest, but it isn’t. Instead, there’s just profound sadness. I’m sad that I can’t trust the woman I love. I’m also confused about how I can still be in love with someone who won’t open up and tell me anything until I find out on my own and confront her. I’m what my club brothers would call pussy whipped. No self-respecting brother would stay with a woman who lied to his face about really important stuff like fathering her fuckin’ child. Yet, here I am, doing exactly that.
