I shouldn’t have, though. Him spending the night was not the cautious, smart way to approach this pregnancy and tricky period between us, but I’d been the one to invite him in yesterday. I’d been the one to whisper what I’d wanted on that couch.
It was my fault; I knew that. So I needed to fix it, set things straight. I needed to do a better job of setting boundaries before I found myself leaning on Sully too much. If I let him, he’d take care of everything for me, be here every day, which would only complicate matters during a time when we both had enough on our plates, plenty to process already. I shouldn’t confuse this thing between us, make it more difficult than it neededto be.
At least not yet—not when I already had so much to figure out on my own.
After a hard swallow, I looked at him.
“Thank you, Sully. But I think I need to do this myself.”
Sully had been watching me, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
He didn’t speak. His chest rose and fell, arms folding across his chest as he considered me.
“What?” I finally prompted, unable to take the silence.
“It’s just…” He shook his head. “I thought you came back because you wanted to be a team, but you’re putting a lot of this on your shoulders and saying you have to do it yourself.”
“I meant being a team while raising our child, Sawyer.”
“Yeah, but…”
He looked distraught, his expression contorting and twisting.
I knew that look. Mostly because I felt it a lot.
“You’re feeling guilty,” I finished for him.
“I mean, yeah.” He threw his arms up, not seeming to know what to do with them. “Of course I am, El!” He waved frantically at the display of needles on the table. “Look at what you’re having to go through.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assured him, forcing myself to believe it, too. I squared my shoulders. “I can do this. And it’s not like you’re going to be here every morning to do it for me, so realistically, it’s something I should learn how to do myself.”
He flashed me a painful stare. Took a step in my direction, where I stood beside the kitchen table. His hands dove into his pants’ pockets, a sheepish look. Pleading.
“Sul…” I started.
If he did ask, if he did beg, I wasn’t sure I’d know how to say no.
“I could,” he murmured in the still air. “I could be here. And I could do all the shots for you. Just like I did seven years ago.”
God, I wished he wouldn’t dangle that thought, that possibility, in front of me.
“Sawyer…”
There was still so much air we had to clear. Still so much to figure out.
“Eleanor…” he whispered back.
Goddamn him.
“That’s notreasonable,” I tried, but my voice was weak. “You have your own apartment, your own routines, your own life.”
“So did you,” he argued, but his voice was muted, careful. I could tell he was trying hard not to push me too far while still needing to say his piece. “Before you came back to Minnesota. And you changed all of that for me. For us, for this child. I can make changes, too.”
“You hate making changes.”
“I hate the idea of you having to do this alone more.” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “So, so much more,” he muttered into his palm, barely audible.
