by Roya Carmen
I’m not sure what’s wrong, but he’s not acting like himself. He hasn’t even said hello to the girls.
“Can it wait?” he asks, his mouth a hard line.
I slip off my shoes. “Yes,” I say, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
He pulls me by the arm and drags me to the kitchen. “Weston called,” he tells me, his mouth tight.
“What?” I say, surprised. “He called here?”
He rubs his week-old beard. “Yeah, he’s calling you at the house now. He’s called twice already. First, he stalks you on your cell, then he comes to your school and now this.”
I chide myself for being so open and telling Gabe everything. In hindsight, I realize I shouldn’t have told Gabe the details.
He sucks in a long breath. “I swear, Mirella, if he doesn’t leave you the hell alone soon, I’m going to personally go over there and kick the shit out of him.”
I wince. “Please, Gabe, don’t do anything stupid. Don’t be crazy.”
He laughs, an edgy cackle. “Yeah, I’m the crazy one? He’s the one who’s acting completely insane.”
I gaze down at the floor. I don’t know what to say.
“Maybe he does really love you,” he says, his words surprisingly soft. “But I don’t know if I’d call this love.”
I don’t think it’s love. It’s infatuation…obsession. Weston did tell me once he was obsessive.
The loud melody of the phone rips me from my thoughts. Gabe and I zero in on the display.
“It’s him again,” Gabe sneers, lunging for the receiver.
I grab the phone and step back. “Don’t,” I snap. “I’ll deal with it.”
My heart hammers in my chest. “Hello,” I say quietly. It’s been weeks since I last talked to him, last heard his voice. Part of me has longed to hear it.
“Hi, Mirella,” he says simply. And after a long beat, “I’m so sorry.”
I inhale slowly, determined to not fall apart. “Yes, Weston. How are you?” I ask, trying to build a wall of formal-tone chit-chat.
“I’m so sorry,” he says again, his voice strained. “I couldn’t stay away. I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved, for harassing you.”
I don’t say a word. There’s nothing to say. And I do want to hear him out.
“But I needed to speak with you. I couldn’t let things end the way they did, the way I behaved, the way I treated you at that coffee shop.”
I close my eyes. “I understood, Weston,” I say softly. “I knew you weren’t yourself. You were angry.”
I open my eyes. Gabe is glaring at me. I can tell he’s close to ripping the phone out of my hand and telling Weston to fuck off.
“I wanted to say a proper good-bye,” Weston says. “You never gave me the chance to.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, remorse washing over me. I was so hard on him. “You’re right. I never gave you the chance to get closure. I left so abruptly.” I’m in tears and I can barely speak, but I manage to say the words, my voice cracking at the edges. “Good-bye, Weston. I wish you the best.”
A long silence travels across the line.
“Know that I love you,” he says softly. “I will always love you.”
“I know,” I say. Part of me longs to tell him that I love him too. It may not be the same kind of love I feel for Gabe, but I care so deeply about him. I know I can’t say the words. “Good-bye, Weston.”
“Good-bye,” he says quietly just before I press the end button, tears flowing down my cheeks.
Gabe fixes me, his eyes full of emotion and so much anger.
I set the receiver back on its base and walk away, not wanting Gabe to see me crying over Weston.
The melody plays again. I turn back toward the phone but Gabe beats me to it. He grabs the phone in one hard swift move.
“I swear to God, Hanson,” he hisses. “I will come over there and rip off that pretty little head of yours.”
I gasp. I know Gabe means business. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this furious. Why is Weston calling me again? Why? We’ve said our good-byes.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were…” I hear Gabe say to the person on the other end of the line, who obviously is not Weston.
Gabe stares down at the floor. “Again, I’m so sorry,” he says before handing me the phone. “It’s for you,” he says and storms off. He’s still fuming.
“Hello, Mirella. It’s Dr. Fisher.”
My stomach drops. Dr. Fisher never calls. My mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario—breast cancer. My grand-mother died of it…and so did my aunt. Perhaps Dr. Fisher saw something wrong in my standard blood tests. Here I am wrapped up in this drama when I could be in for something far more serious. My voice is shaky when I ask her, “Yes. What is it, Dr. Fisher?” No “how-are-you,” no small-talk.
“I need you to come in,” she says, her voice a little uneven. “I have an opening tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”
Oh God.
“Were my blood tests okay?” I blurt out. “Please tell me.”
“Uh, I’d rather not at this time—”
“Please, Dr. Fisher, it’s me. Please.”
I hear a loud sigh at the other end of the line. “Your blood tests were fine, Mirella,” she tells me. And then silence fills the line. I stand to attention, almost shaking with dread…a fear of the unknown.
Finally, she clears her throat. “You’re pregnant, Mirella.”
I stop breathing for a second, the phone still in my hand. I don’t say a word.
“I know this is unexpected for you,” she goes on, her voice soft and somewhat calming. “This is one of the reasons I wanted to see you.”
This can’t be happening.
I thought my life was a mess.
But I hadn’t seen anything yet.
Excerpt from the third book in
The Ground Rules series
“THAT DAY IN THAT LITTLE COFFEE SHOP when you told me you wanted to end things, I couldn’t think straight,” he confesses, and part of me just wants to reach out to him and tell him I’m sorry.
“I couldn’t imagine ever being able to let you go,” he goes on. “I think that’s the reason I reacted the way I did. But I knew it was what you truly wanted. And I wanted to give you what you wanted. Everything you’ve ever wanted, I’ve wanted to give to you.” He ventures a look up at me, his eyes so vulnerable.
I feel myself weaken and I need to turn my gaze away.
“And I also knew it was for the best…for all of us. That’s when I vowed to do anything in my power to stay away from you and move on with my life.”
I’m still not looking at him, but every inch of me is reluctantly glued to him…to his words.
“I’ve started seeing my therapist again,” he tells me. “And she’s helping me. She truly is.”
“I’m so glad to hear this, Weston.” I can’t help but think that at least one of us is getting desperately needed help. I don’t even know if a therapist could help me at this point. I know I’m completely fucked up and it most likely goes back to the day my mother left me.
“She’s helped me realized that I’ve been using you as a coping mechanism,” he explains, still staring at his uneaten roast beef sandwich, “like some might use drugs, or alcohol. She says I’ve been using sex.”
The word shock me. But I’m glad he’s discovering these truths—truths I’ve recently been discovering too.
“But I tell her it’s not just sex with you,” he continues and his gaze fixes mine again. “She doesn’t seem to understand that I truly love you.”
My heart sinks. He hasn’t let go. “So you’ve been arguing with your therapist? I think that’s a bit counterproductive.”
He smiles. “I know.”
God, that smile.
Please stop smiling.
“But whatever this might be with you, it’s true…I’ve been using you to deal with my past, the memories I can’t face, the ones I don’t want to think about.
When I’m with you, you’re all I think about, Mirella. You make me so happy. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”
I can’t imagine. I’ve never been in his shoes. I’ve never suffered such a tragedy, such insurmountable pain. My throat tightens and my eyes well up at the thought.
Please don’t make me cry.
“She says I need to let you go and move on. And on this, I completely agreed with her. And I was trying. I was doing so well, finally moving on. I threw myself into my work, and spent more time with Lizzie and Ashton, as she suggested. I was making so much progress,” he says, lifting his beautiful eyes to mine, “and then, you called.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks again to my very sweet husband, and to my amazing kids for being such awesome little human beings.
I’d also like to thank all The Rule Breakers—the wonderful readers, bloggers, and fellow authors for sharing and helping make The Ground Rules such a success. I was truly touched by all the positive feedback—the amazing, intense and sassy reviews! I could not believe it! I’m not naming names because I don’t want to forget anyone, but you all know who you are! Seriously, what a wonderful romance community!!
To my friends at my local Writer’s Club, especially Emily who is always so supportive and cheerful—everyone should have someone like you in their lives.
And thanks to my publicist Traci Olsen, master Rule Breaker and partner in crime, and to my editors Robin Lonscak (The Ground Rules) and Lisa O’Hara (The Ground Rules: Rewritten) for all the great feedback and hard work. Together, we’ve made the books even better! And to Omnific Publishing for taking a chance on The Ground Rules, as unconventional as it is! You truly are “Romance… without rules”!
And last but not least, again, to all my readers, with gratitude. I hope you enjoy book two as much as you enjoyed book one.
About the Author
Roya Carmen is a book junkie, doodle addict, and self-professed chocoholic. A graduate of Ryerson University, she worked in Graphic Communications before becoming a stay-at-home mom. She has always loved writing, finding her passion for romance in 2008. She enjoys spending time with her family, camping, and painting. And of course, there is nothing she loves more than sitting down at her laptop and making up stories—and if those stories should include beautiful men, a little romance, and a few steamy scenes, all the better!
Roya Carmen lives north of Toronto with her husband and three children and is a member of RWA.
