by Trisha Grace
He slammed the door closed, but didn’t take another step into the house.
Neither did Sarah. “She seemed really confident.”
Keith exhaled silently through his nose. This was his mess, his burden to bear. So he forced a grin. “It’s just a bluff. She’s trying to play this out as long as she can.”
Sarah turned to him. “She wouldn’t offer to do a paternity test if the child wasn’t yours.”
“It isn’t mine.” He leaned over and gave her a peck on her hair. His confidence was waning, taken over by an immense sense of dread. But this was his problem. Sarah shouldn’t have to be concerned with the mess caused by his past. He would bear the dread, the uncertainty.
“She’s just acting. Don’t worry about it.” He walked over to the couch, threw the envelope onto it, and flashed a grin. “Let’s order takeout.”
“I should go.”
“Sarah.” He strode toward her.
“I need to think.” She opened the door and stepped out.
Keith reached out and grabbed her hand. “Sarah, please. We said we’d do this together.” What he’d been feeling moments ago disappeared, and desperation reigned.
Sarah wasn’t breaking up with him, but there was something so final about this moment that he couldn’t bear it.
Sarah licked her lips and gently pulled her hand from his. “I’m sorry.”
He watched as she freed her hand and stared at his own, frozen in mid-air.
“I just need a little space to think about this.”
“It isn’t mine,” he said, as if saying that over and over again would make it true.
“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “I just need space.” She turned and strode away.
“Where are you going?” he asked, taking a step forward. “You can’t just walk out of here.”
“I can if I want to.”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t mean that.” He walked up to her. “I meant you’d be walking into a mob.” He pressed his car key into her hand before she could reply. “Take my car.”
Sarah looked down at the car key and began shaking her head.
“I’m not letting you leave unless you take the car.” Keith gave her a small, wry smile. “I can—and will—throw you over my shoulder and carry you screaming and yelling back into the house. I’d risk you never speaking to me again rather than let you walk into that mob.”
Sarah clenched her hand around the car key and got into his car. He stood watching until his car was out of sight. God, please bring her back to me. I’d do anything to get her back.
Chapter Eleven
Sarah drove toward Elena’s place. She wasn’t sure where else she could go. But as the GPS told her to turn left, a bright red Porsche cut in front of her car. She slammed on the brakes, and her body lurched forward.
She didn’t even have time to scream.
She straightened and sucked in a deep breath while staring at the red Porsche ahead.
Miriam stepped out of the car and half ran over with a frown. “Are you all right?” she asked when Sarah opened the door.
“Of course not!” Sarah glared up at Miriam. “What were you thinking? You could’ve killed both of us.”
“I’m sorry.” Miriam put a hand over her belly, and Sarah immediately felt guilty for yelling at her.
“I just really wanted to talk to you,” Miriam said and helped her out of the car.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“But I do.” Miriam grabbed her hand, stopping her from getting back into the car. “I do.” She looked down on the ground. “I know this pregnancy …” She gazed back up at Sarah, her eyes filled with tears. “It took me by surprise, too. I never meant to hurt what you and Keith have.”
Don’t buy her tears. Sarah blinked and nodded, reminding herself of the things Elena and Gina had told her.
“I’m sure the baby is Keith’s. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have volunteered the paternity test.”
Sarah clenched her jaws. She’d come to that conclusion herself, but she didn’t like hearing it from Miriam.
“I grew up without ever knowing my father, and I don’t want that for my child.” Miriam put her hand on her stomach.
Sarah licked her lips. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was leading, but she knew in her gut that she wasn’t going to appreciate what Miriam would say next. “What are you trying to say?”
“Leave.”
Sarah blinked.
“Leave Keith. If you’re here, he’ll never be there for the baby and me. He won’t want to acknowledge the baby.”
“If the paternity test—”
“Yes, but he won’t want to have anything to do with my baby.”
Sarah shook her head. Keith had kept his past a secret from everyone else, but Sarah knew better. Keith knew what it was like to grow up without parents. “He won't abandon the child.”
“But he’ll never be a real father to my child as long as you’re here.” Miriam’s fingers intercepted the tear making its way down her cheek. “Can you imagine your childhood without your father?”
Sarah didn’t have to imagine. She knew exactly what it was like.
All the hurt she’d felt as a child—the jealousy at seeing her friends’ fathers pull them into a hug; the loneliness of not having anyone with her on special school occasions because her mother had to work to support her—surfaced and weighed down her heart.
Shaking her head, Sarah got back into her car.
Miriam took a step closer and held onto the door. “I know I have no right to ask this of you.”
“Then don’t.”
“This isn’t easy for me, either.” Miriam’s gaze dropped to their feet. “I know this is probably turning your life upside down, and I know Keith will never love me the way he does you. But I’d accept that if it meant my child would have a complete family, have a father who would love her and be there for her.”
Sarah turned her face away before the first of her tears fell, and she closed the door once she pulled her leg in.
Miriam didn’t stop her this time.
Sarah threw the car into reverse before heading back on the road. She didn’t go far, though. She glanced up at the rear-view mirror. When the red Porsche disappeared from her mirror, she stopped the car.
Folding her arms over the steering wheel, she leaned forward and sobbed.
Lord, this isn’t fair. Why did You send him to me only to force me to walk away?
As much as it pained Sarah to think of leaving, she couldn’t be the reason why Miriam’s child would grow up without a father. She could never live with herself if she did so.
Elena scanned the studio as she entered. Production crew members walked about the studio as usual, and several of her colleagues were on set, getting ready for the next scene. It was work as usual, and no one seemed to be in a fluster.
She frowned. Did Spencer pass out after sending her a text?
She lengthened her strides and headed straight toward Spencer’s dressing room. “Spencer?” She turned the doorknob and opened the door while knocking twice.
Spencer was on the couch, his eyes closed.
Elena knelt down next to the couch and grabbed his shoulder. “Spencer?”
Spencer’s eyes sprang open, and she gasped, falling back. He reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her. “Are you all right?”
She slapped his hand away. “I thought you fainted or something!” She stood and stuck her hands on her hips. “Why did you ask me to come over as soon as possible?”
“I thought you might want to have dinner instead of heading home to sleep again.”
“You said it was an emergency.”
He nodded. “It was late. No eating after eight, right? If you didn’t get here soon, we wouldn’t be able to have dinner.”
Elena closed her eyes and drew a slow deep breath through her nose. “I’m not one of your models or model-wannabes. I eat whenever I want.” Thou
gh her personal trainer would probably give her hell after a lavish dinner and make her work everything off. “And what makes you think I want to have dinner with you?”
“Whoa. Calm down.”
She shot him a glare.
“You said to look for you when I came up with a proper conversation topic.”
“Yes. I didn't say to call me over when your brain decides to start working.”
Spencer laughed, which only infuriated her further.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat and swallowed. “It’s just … I’ve never seen you this angry before.”
“And you find that funny?” Elena wished she could throw something at him, but she’d rather not waste her time. So instead, she marched toward the door.
“Wait. Since you’re already here, let’s go out for dinner. My treat.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can afford my own dinner.” With her hand on the doorknob, she turned to Spencer. “I thought you were sick. I thought you really needed help. But you clearly just enjoy playing on people’s concern for you.” She opened the door and headed out.
“Elena.” Spencer was right behind her, his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He was no longer smiling. His face was straight, serious. And there wasn't a single hint of the mischievous spark that always lingered in his eyes.
She gave a silent sigh.
“Let me buy you dinner as an apology. We’ll eat whatever you want.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then frowned.
“I’m really sorry.”
She put her index finger on her lips and angled her face to the side. “I think someone’s shouting,” she whispered.
Spencer’s brows drew together. “It’s probably just from the set.”
Elena shook her head. She rounded the corner away from her own dressing room and walked down the hallway that led to the mass dressing room for the other actors.
She stopped outside a door that belonged to the production crew. The shouts had stopped and were replaced by sobs, seemingly from the other side of the door.
“Maybe we should just—”
Elena shot Spencer a glare, and he raised his hands in peace. She knocked gently on the door. “Is everything all right?”
The sobbing stopped after several sniffs, and the door opened to a woman in a three-quarter sleeved light blue button-down shirt and black denim pants. Her light brown hair was in a mess despite being tied back in a low ponytail, and black lines from the corners of her eyes marked the paths where her tears had run earlier. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Elena frowned and shook her head. “Are you all right?”
The woman’s gaze dropped to the floor.
“I don't know what you’re going through.” Elena reached over and gave her arm a squeeze. “But everything will be okay in the end. You just need to hang on.”
Something in her last line triggered an eruption of fresh tears. The woman buried her face in her hands. “It just isn't fair. You guys already have everything. Why do you have to steal what belongs to other people?” She pushed Elena aside and ran away.
Elena staggered back, her eyes wide. She would’ve fallen on her back if Spencer hadn’t been right behind her.
“What did you steal from her?”
She glared up at him.
“Why are you always so angry with me?”
She straightened and ran her hand through her hair. “She clearly wasn't referring to me.”
“Are you sure?”
Was she? Elena licked her lips. If she wasn't wrong, the woman was one of the writers. She didn't remember having any interaction with her. What could she have stolen from her? “She wasn't talking about me. I have no idea what she was talking about.”
“Are you all right?” Spencer asked as they headed back where they came from.
“Huh?”
His eyes shifted to her arm, and she looked down to see her hand kneading her shoulder, right where the woman had pushed her.
“I’m fine.” She dropped her hand.
“Do you know who she is? We should talk to someone about this.”
“One of the writers, I think.”
“She should be fired.”
Elena turned to him. “For crying?”
“For pushing you.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “She was upset. And I’d be upset with you if you were to make this an issue for her.”
“Why are you so nice to everyone but me?”
“Maybe it’s because you’re terrible at reciprocating kindness?”
“I just saved your life.”
Elena laughed. “How did I miss that?”
“You could’ve fallen back and hit your head. You could’ve died.”
She laughed again and shook her head. “Are you that desperate for someone to have dinner with you?”
“Spence. Elena?”
They turned, and Elena smiled. “What happened to you?” she asked Keith, who had a huge stain down the middle of his shirt, but waved it off before he gave her an answer. “There, your best friend is here,” she said to Spencer. “Have dinner with him.” Then she strode away.
“Elena, wait.” Keith ran after her.
“Why does everyone keep telling me to wait?”
“What are you doing here?”
Elena arched her brow. “Why shouldn’t I be here?” Then she frowned. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be having dinner with Sarah?”
“I was hoping Spence would still be here.”
“Why are you ditching dinner with Sarah to see Spencer?”
“Miriam showed up at my place.”
“Oh.” She pinched her lips together. “Did Sarah pour that on you? She doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”
“She didn’t. I spilled soda.” He lifted the envelope he had in his hand. “Miriam gave me a swab, then told me to send this in for a paternity test.”
“You’re kidding,” Spencer said as he got closer. “She must be confident you’re the father.”
Keith glared at him.
“Why is everyone glaring at me?”
Elena laughed softly, and Keith redirected his glare toward her. “I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry.” She took the envelope from him and flipped it over to see the address. “Are you sure this lab can be trusted?”
He shrugged.
Elena pulled out her phone from her shorts’ back pocket.
“Maybe we should take this inside.” Spencer placed his hand on Elena’s back and led her toward his dressing room when a production crew member walked by, casting a curious glance at them.
Keith frowned at Spencer’s hand. “What are you doing?”
“What?” Spencer looked over at him, while Elena continued staring at her phone.
Don’t, Keith mouthed.
Spencer rolled his eyes.
“It seems pretty reputable.” Elena looked up at him. “She must have something up her sleeve. There’s no way she’s six months pregnant.”
Spencer opened the door, but Elena didn’t step in.
Her eyes squinted.
“I did not cheat on Sarah,” Keith said, enunciating each syllable.
“Fine.” Elena stepped into the room, and he and Spencer followed. “If you’re telling the truth—”
“I am telling the truth.”
“Then Miriam’s lying.” Spencer sat next to Elena on the couch. “But what’s her end game?”
“Exactly.” Keith sat on the chair in front of the dressing table. “How long will a lab test take? A couple of days? Her lie will be exposed then.”
Spencer shrugged. “So it must be something she can accomplish in a couple of days.”
Elena gasped. “Sarah.” She shook her head. “She’s going to ask Sarah to leave.”
“There’s no way Sarah would listen to her.”
“Sarah’s a good person,” Elena said.
“And Miriam can be unscrupulous.” Spencer leaned forward on his knee. “She was the one who suggested how I could get you to the club.”
Elena gave Spencer a dirty look before turning back to Keith. “You should go to Sarah now. Talk to her. Tell her to at least wait for the results before making any decisions.”
Keith stood, but stopped after taking a step. “What if it’s really mine? What if Miriam’s really pregnant?”
Elena sighed. “One problem at a time.”
He nodded. “Can I use your car?” he asked Spencer. “Sarah has mine.”
“Use mine.” Elena reached into her pocket and threw her car key over. “She’s probably at my place anyway.”
“Thanks.”
“And go change your shirt,” Spencer said.
Keith looked down at his shirt. He’d just head back to his dressing room to change. “Thanks,” he said to Elena and headed back to his own dressing room.
He was a few steps from his dressing room when the door opened and a man in a dark blue T-shirt and beige pants hurried out of his room. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my room?”
“Oh.” The man wiped his hand down his pants. “I was looking for you. The door wasn’t locked.”
“Who are you?”
He brushed his hand against his pants again before extending it. “I’m one of the writers.”
Keith pumped his hand once. “Whatever it is, I don’t have time for it now.”
The writer lingered at his door. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Keith didn’t wait for him to explain.
Keith pulled off his white T-shirt, grabbed the bottle of water on the dressing table, and took a gulp. “What is it?”
The writer watched him take another gulp, then shook his head. “Never mind. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Great.” Keith grabbed a T-shirt he had left in the closet and pulled it on while the writer closed the door behind him. He grabbed the bottle of water, took another gulp of it, and hurried out of the studio.
It’d been hours since Sarah left his place. He shouldn’t have wallowed at home for that long. God, please don’t let Sarah leave.
Chapter Twelve
