It’s nice to finally be home, but the nausea is still an ever-present threat, and I haven’t had a real meal in days, subsisting on saltines, broth, oatmeal, and toast. I would kill for a BLT with avocado. There’s a small mom-and-pop bakery in Denver where I used to get the best sourdough. I have yet to find anything even remotely close in Oak Ridge. I’d sell feet pics for one bite.
Hm. Is this my first pregnancy craving? That has to be a good sign, right?
I glance across the sofa at my self-proclaimed baby daddy and Vegas-ordained husband. “You can go home now. I can take care of myself.”
The couch shifts as he sets my right foot down and starts massaging the other. “You could pass out again.”
I scoff. “I didn’t pass out. I stumbled.”
“That’s not any better.”
“Griff.”
“I’m staying.” His tone brooks no argument as his thumbs dig into my foot in just the right spot. I let out an involuntary moan. He’s playing me like a fiddle, and I’m gonna let him. It feels too good to fight it.
As his hands trail up my calf, my phone chimes with an incoming text message. My stomach lurches, but it’s not the illness this time.
Tyler: I’m moving on. I think it’s best if we have a clean slate. Don’t put me on the birth certificate. I’ll sign whatever paperwork you need so you know I’m not coming after you or the baby.
The words cut me to the quick. I blink rapidly to dull the stinging pain, and my chin quivers as I fight against the overwhelming anger rising inside of me. I will not cry. But then the anger gives way to grief, and my strength falters.
I stopped loving Tyler the moment he walked away from me with no explanation, but it doesn’t change our history. It doesn’t erase the three years I devoted to our relationship.
Clean slate.
It’s not that simple for me. Tyler gets to walk away without consequence, and I’m left to raise our child on my own.
I was deceived—made to believe he was a good man who wanted a life and a family with me. All of it was right there athis fingertips, and he chose to turn his back on us at the first opportunity. I can’t forgive that, but he’s not asking me to.
Griffin’s holding me. When did that happen?
His lips brush my temple. “What’s wrong, Angel?”
“It’s over.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Really fucking over.”
“Oh.” He chuckles. “It’sreallybad.”
I pull back and stare at him indignantly. “What does that mean?”
A faint grin pulls at his lips as his brows draw up. Light catches on the gold flecks that rim his irises, and my fickle heart betrays me. I hate how gorgeous he is.
“You, my beautiful wife, have a tendency to laugh when you’re hurting.”
Maybe so, but I hate that he’s noticed that particular detail about me. When I try to push him away, he holds steady.
“I do not.”
Even my conscience is calling me a liar.
“You do.” He tucks an errant lock of hair behind my ear. “Tell me what happened.”
“Tyler wants to sign away his rights to the baby.”
His expression flickers between surprise and something else I can’t quite put my finger on before he steels himself again. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“No. Yes. God, I don’t know.” My shoulders slump, and I let out a resigned sigh. “It hurts. Not for me, exactly, but for the baby. I love them so much already. I don’t know how I’ll explain this someday. What happens when they ask about their father?”
“That’s a long way away. That baby has you, and even if that’s all they have, it would be more than enough. But they have me, too. When he asks, we’ll sit down as a family and have an honest conversation.”
