And all along, she was lying to me.
When Stefani told me the truth, and after I recovered from the initial shock, I realized something powerful. It wasn’t so much that I grieved losing her, but rather losing the relationship I thought we had. The mutual understanding, the common goals. I decided the chances of finding a woman like that, someone who actually wanted the same things as me, were next to none, so why bother. Then she happened. Mila convinced me she was the one for me.
Which is why the pain this time feels so infinitely worse. I let myself believe that the love we had was real. And maybe it was. Unlike Stefani, who I now know never really loved me, I think Mila does. But just like Stefani, and maybe every other woman out there, she thought she could trick me into changing my life plan.
As I pace my backyard, a part of me knows I need to talk to her. I need to hear it from her. But my reaction, my pain, my anger at being betrayed again is so visceral, I can’t control it right now. And despite everything, I don’t want to hurt her.
Confronting her right now is a bad idea. Drinking is a good idea. Tequila. The burn might replace some of the other pain I’m feeling. The pain in my chest, where there’s an empty hole where my heart used to be. Mila took it, ripped it into shreds and burnt it in a dumpster fire.
Yeah, maybe liquor can’t help that, but what the fuck do I care right now.
Four, or is it five, shots later, I’m not feeling any better. Big surprise. I go to bed, and as I lay there with the room spinning around me, all I can think is, why?
Waking up the next morning with the Sahara Desert in my mouth and an anvil on my head is making me regret all kinds of things. Like not finding Mila yesterday and hearing the truth from her. Like drinking too much tequila. Most of all, I regret setting myself up to be hurt like this for a second fucking time. This feels like the sort of lesson you should figure out the first time, but apparently I’m a gullible dumbass.
Lying here in bed, my hungover brain tries to come up with alternative reasons for why Mila might be excited about purchasing pregnancy tests, but I keep coming up blank. I know Ethan and Summer aren’t trying, thanks to a conversation at dinner last week. Her other two friends are single, so even if it was them, there’s no way they’d be excited. And sure, Mila’s the kind of woman who would happily do a favour for just about anyone, but buying pregnancy tests is a personal thing. Not the kind of errand you run for just anyone.
Which is why I keep circling back to the truth I want to deny. The tests are for her.
Somehow, I manage to drag myself out of bed, but only after sending an email to Phil claiming to be sick today. He readily agrees to cover my morning appointments, and I promise to be in this afternoon. Lying to my business partner is not exactly how I wanted to enter into this relationship, but it’s necessary.
Half an hour later, I’m parked in front of Mila’s house. I ignored all of her messages last night asking where I was by turning my phone off. But she obviously saw me pull up, because by the time I’ve closed my car door, she’s standing on the porch with her arms crossed in front of her.
“Good to see you’re alive.”
My nostrils flare, but I don’t respond.
“What happened last night?” She walks down the steps, and the frustration on her face fades to concern.
The tiny part of me that is maintaining some degree of rational thought says I should at least give her a chance to explain, but seeing her, feeling my body’s automatic reaction toward her is making my anger rear up stronger than ever.
I take a step back, and her brow furrows in confusion. Good. She should be confused. I sure as shit am.
“Jackson?”
“Why did you lie to me?” I ask quietly.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t —”
“Yes, you did.” I temper my volume, aware that we’re out front of her house and nosy neighbours are everywhere. “Was it all just so you could use me for something? Not that I have any fucking clue what that could be, but seriously. Was any of it true? Anything?”
“Jackson, what the hell are you talking about!” Her voice is raised, and one arm reaches out to me but I dodge it. If she touches me, I’ll lose it. Just seeing her is breaking me.
“I saw you yesterday. At the store. Buying pregnancy tests. I. Saw. You.”
I force myself to ignore the shock and hurt I see in her eyes.
“You’ve got it all wrong. Just listen to me!”
How dare she sound outraged. She has no right to be upset; I’m the one who’s hurting. I’m the one with pain boiling inside of me. With my feet planted wide and my arms crossed over my body, I make my final stance.
“No. I’m done,” I say harshly. But what she yells at me next makes the world fall away from beneath my feet.
“You might be, but I’m not. The tests weren’t for me, Jackson. They were for Riley.” She’s shaking. And the words come out strangled with her own pain and anger.
Fuck. FUCK. Everything inside of me, all my rage, grinds to an abrupt halt. Why the hell, when I was trying to rationalize what I had seen, did I not think of Riley and Dean? I don’t know them that well, but Mila’s talked about them enough for me to know they’re happily married, so why wouldn’t they be the ones trying to conceive. The fog of hurt is lifting, leaving me with an unpleasant clarity about how badly I’ve fucked up. Then my idiot brain, still in defense mode, pushes the limits by asking what turns out to be the wrong damn question.
“Why are you buying her pregnancy tests?”
