“I’m so lonely,” I whisper, voice raw with emotion.
His arm tightens around my middle. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”
I stupidly relax against his embrace, inhaling his expensive masculine scent and reveling in his comfort. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend this baby was planned and we’re an actual couple. This makes me burst into tears.
“Shhh, hey, Abs. It’s okay, honey.”
His words are so sweet and gentle. They wrap around me like a hug. Of course, this only upsets me more. My tears continue to stream out as if I’ve waited weeks to release this dam. Now that it’s been broken open, I don’t think it’ll ever stop flowing.
“I’ll come over every day after class,” he vows, “and as much as I can over the weekends.”
I know he’s just panicking because I’m losing my shit right now, but it’s oddly comforting to hear the words whether he means them or not.
“Hey,” he says as he strokes my stomach. “Tell me something about you. I realize I don’t know a lot. What are your goals? Your dreams? Your favorite movie or snack or day of the week?”
A smile tugs at my lips, and I laugh through my tears. “My goal is to make it through the week without throwing up.” I pause and my chest aches. “I dream of what it’ll feel like to hold our son in my arms.”
He’s quiet, so I continue.
“My favorite movie isThe Time Traveler’s Wife, favorite snack is maraschino cherries straight out of the jar, and Saturdays are my favorite.” I turn my head slightly, so his nose touches my cheek. “What about you?”
He doesn’t move away which sends a thrill down my spine. “I want to work somewhere I can make my own schedule. I dream of having a life others are envious of—coolest house, family, cars.”
I deflate because his answer is kind of generic. Like he’s said this a thousand times before, if only to himself. Still, it doesn’t seem real.
“What does this superior family look like to you?” I ask, feeling like a glutton for punishment. “White picket fence? Two point five kids? Plastic wife named Barbie?”
Angela has a manufactured nose. I wonder if that fits into his perfect dream.
“I should go,” he says, pulling back. “Everything I say upsets you. It always has. If I’m so triggering and my wants out of life are so repulsive, why’d you let me fuck you? Could have said no and we’d have avoided this shit.”
His words are callous and cold. When he slips off the bed, a chill sweeps through me. I roll over and watch him head for the bedroom door. His shoulder muscles are tight with tension that’s visible through his fitted T-shirt.
“There was no telling you no,” I bite out, wanting to hurt him like he’s hurt me. “You pushed me into that pantry and took what you wanted.”
When I say it like that, it sounds nasty and wrong. Like another person who actually hurt me. It couldn’t be further from the truth, but I want him to feel some of my pain.
Rhett whips his head around to glower at me. “Take that shit back, Abby.”
My bottom lip wobbles but I stubbornly keep the words bottled up inside me.
“What the fuck ever,” he snarls as he storms off.
The front door slams and my heart feels like it’s shattering. Before I can second guess myself, I grab my phone and shoot him a text.
Me: I’m sorry. I say mean things when I’m upset. Please don’t hate me.
Rhett: I didn’t force you.
Me: Trust me. I know the difference.
Rhett: Call me if you need anything.
Me: Are we still friends?
Rhett: Unfortunately.
I smile despite my aching heart.
