by Alexis James
Her skewed view on this entire thing makes me skeptical about what he said to her. I have a hunch he’s using her guilt as a way to tiptoe back into her life. In fact, I believe he’d probably use any weakness to his advantage. “That’s messed-up, Sabrina. Why the hell are you taking the blame for something he should have done?”
“She’s my child! I owe it to her to always think about what’s best for her. Why can’t you understand that?”
Picking a fight with me is apparently what’s she hoping for, but I refuse to give in. Staying calm now will go a long way in making her see reason later. “What I see … what I know is that you have given your child everything. That guy chose to deny her, he chose to walk away from you knowing he’d gotten you pregnant. Whether it’s his guilt catching up with him or some other lame reason, this is on him.”
“He doesn’t need a reason. He’s her father.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that a few times.” Fuck. Getting smart with her will sure as hell not gain me any points, though I do get the distinct feeling that I’m somehow being pushed aside to make room for this guy.
She sighs and runs her hands through her hair. “You should probably go.”
Oh hell no. “Nice try, beautiful. But I’m staying right here.” Moving toward her, I pull her stiff, unyielding body against mine. “I love you and there’s no way in Hell I’m walking away to let you deal with this shit on your own.”
“I have to though. It’s my responsibility.”
“Fuck that. We’re a team now. We share the responsibility.”
Shaking her head, she gives me another shove and eases out of my embrace. “You’re not making this easy for me.”
“I want to. Just tell me how.”
Tear-filled eyes meet mine and she whispers shakily, “I need time.” She attempts to inhale then swallows heavily as tears roll down her pale face. “I need you to go.”
Her words are like one big slap in the face, and I find myself taking a step back and recoiling in shock. “So you expect me to step aside while this dude shoves his way back into your life? Where the hell does that leave me?”
“I don’t know, okay? But any future I might have wanted to have is over … for now at least. I can’t make plans of my own when I have no idea how this is going to affect my child. Why can’t you see that?”
I curse and snap out, “I do see that! She’s as important to me as you are. Why the hell can’t you see that?”
Slumping against the wall she murmurs, “Please just go. I can’t do this with you. Not now.”
I hear quite clearly what she refuses to say out loud and the jerk in me has no plans on leaving until she says what she’s been hinting at since I first walked in. “Are you really blowing me off, over this? What about us and what we have together?”
She bites down hard on her lower lip and lifts her gaze to mine. “This isn’t about you and me. This is about my child and her father.”
Once again the words slap me hard and everything I’d hoped for, planned on, and imagined suddenly disappears in the blink of an eye. “Jesus, Sabrina, I thought you loved me. I thought we were making a life together.”
“I thought so too,” she whispers. “Please go, Roman. Just go.”
I’m too stunned to do anything more than comply. Her words have taken everything beautiful about what we had and discarded it as easily as Will once discarded her and her child. The fact that she’s so easily willing to let me go is hard enough; the fact that I know she knows how very much I love her and is still casting me aside hurts in ways I never could have imagined.
Part of me wants to yell and scream and throw things to get her attention, the other part knows without a doubt that nothing I do will make a bit of difference. She’s had hours to formulate this plan in her head and to justify the outcome. Hours when I assumed she was helping Jack … when the truth is she lied to me and has been sitting here discarding me from her future all along.
“Please, Roman…”
There once was a time when those two words meant “take me, make me yours.” Now they are nothing more than an easy dismissal and words that will probably haunt me for weeks and months to come.
Please, Roman, walk away and don’t come back.
Please, Roman, forget that I ever loved you. Forget that I ever needed you.
Please, Roman, forget that I ever promised my future would include you.
Closing my eyes, I nod once and turn toward the door. No parting words are necessary. She’s said enough for both of us and is now refusing to look at me at all. I greedily take her in, memorize the beauty of her face, the hands I used to hold, the body that once eagerly begged for mine. Then with a shaky breath, I step out into the warm Miami sun and walk away.
Monday mornings have never been easy. Getting Emmy out of bed after a weekend of late nights is always a challenge. Getting us both out of the house on time when we’d prefer to extend our weekend one more day is something I fight with each and every week. This particular Monday is no exception, although to be fair any day of the week would be extremely tough when my child refuses to speak to me.
I can’t blame her. I can’t blame her one bit. She returned home last night sharing fun stories of her sleepover with me while we dined on hamburgers and fries and once she was all talked out, I opened my mouth and spoke the words that would forever change her future.
At first she simply looked at me like I’d lost my mind but when I repeated the words and told her briefly about Will showing up out of the blue, her entire demeanor changed. She shoved back her chair, slowly rose to her feet, and said very calmly, “You can’t make me see him.” Then she retreated to her room and hasn’t spoken a word to me since then.
I wish she’d yell, scream, or cry or ask questions, but she’s so resolute about it all, I’m completely unnerved. She may be only sixteen, but she accepted the news of her father’s appearance with the calmness of a very mature adult—unlike me, who has barely been able to stop crying since the moment he got in his car and drove away.
I’ve made only a few attempts to get her to speak with me: once before bed last night and again this morning. She won’t look at me or even acknowledge that I’m in the room. When I offered to drive her to school she threw her backpack over her shoulder and walked out of the house without so much as an “I hate you.”
How dumb is it that I wish I could channel my child and contain my emotions so completely? I’m shaky and pale from all the crying and the sleepless nights and my stomach is in so much turmoil I can’t even keep coffee down. I suppose I should be grateful that it’s Monday, which is typically my busiest day of the week. I can lock myself in my office and no one will be the wiser.
I can’t allow myself to think about Roman. Not now. Not when every other aspect of my life is so incredibly screwed-up. If I think about him at all, I’m bound to lose the small bit of control I have on this new reality. I can’t think about running into him at the office, can’t think about all the questions that are bound to come my way from Mia when she realizes things are now completely altered. I have to force myself to focus solely on Emmy and how these new changes are going to affect her. Most importantly, I need to make certain my relationship with her isn’t permanently damaged.
By the time I pull into the parking garage and step out of my car, I’m focused and intent on what I need to accomplish. Keeping my eyes downcast, I walk quickly toward the elevator and step inside. I greet my coworkers, review a few items with Cynthia, then step into my office and quietly close the door behind me.
Then I can finally breathe.
“Suck it up, girl,” I whisper to myself. “Stay focused.”
Dropping my purse into the desk drawer, I settle in and attempt to get to work. My eyes keep straying to the silent phone on my desk and the equally quiet cell phone perched next to it. Even though I’m diligent about keeping my focus on work, every few minutes I glance at both devices and ponder when the silence will finally be disrupted.<
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Sadly, the only disruptions the entire day are work related and by five o’clock, I’m sick with worry about my child and too darn distracted to continue this farce. I’ve more than paid my dues by all the repeated long hours so leaving on time for a change shouldn’t feel wrong. But it does. Everything does. Even this skin I walk in feels strange and foreign, like it belongs to someone I used to know, someone I might have been if reality hadn’t found a way to sneak back into my life.
Try as I might, I do notice that Roman’s truck isn’t in its usual space and seeing that concrete void only reinforces what I’ve known since silence took over my life: everything has changed. Everything I once thought of as “every day”, as the mundane, as my second chance has now been taken from me and from my child too with a few simple haunting words.
I’m not going anywhere. I want to get to know her.
My stomach rolls violently as I slide behind the wheel and head for home and for once I’m grateful for my lack of appetite today. Just thinking about Will’s threats, his promise to forever change what I once believed was only mine makes my skin crawl. I don’t want that man anywhere near me, let alone within a mile of my child, but what I want is irrelevant. He is her father and even though it may not say so on her birth certificate, I know full well that one simple test could confirm what I’ve always known.
The house is quiet when I step inside and were it not for the shoes kicked off to one side haphazardly, I’d think she somehow found a way to avoid coming home at all. Dropping my purse onto the table, I move down the short hall to her bedroom where the door is closed and sounds of music waft from inside.
She doesn’t answer when I knock the first time and while I’d love to let my child stew in her silence to make her feel more in control, behaving like this will change nothing. So I knock again. And again. When there’s still no answer, I mutter a curse and reach for the handle.
Emmy’s seated on the floor next to her bed, books spread out around her and her laptop propped up on her legs. She doesn’t greet me audibly; the eyes that meet mine tell me everything. My little girl is scared, terrified of this upset in her life and what it might mean for her future.
“It’s going to be okay, baby,” I murmur, leaning against the door jam and giving her space.
She scoffs but continues to keep her focus on the computer. “Nice try, Mom.”
Well, at least she’s talking to me. “How about I make us some dinner and we sit down and talk about it.”
“I’ve got a test tomorrow to study for.”
One thing I’ve always loved about my child is her stubbornness, her unwillingness to budge when she believes completely in something. She’s been that way her entire life: tough, unyielding, and determined. I’ve always, always been grateful she’s managed to find a toughness that I’ve somewhat attempted to embody, but I’m now beginning to regret ever praising her for her independence.
What the hell do you expect? Do you want her to roll over and open her arms and welcome this stranger?
With a shaky sigh, I swallow back the tears that threaten yet again. “You can study until dinner. Then we are going to talk.” I leave my words hanging in the air, pull the door closed behind me, and pad to my room.
My eyes instantly drift to the small frame propped up on the nightstand—an image taken of the three of us that day on the boat, back when life was relatively simple and Roman and I were untouched by the past. He’s standing in the middle, one large arm around me, one around Emmy, his ownership clearly evident in the possessive hold he has on us.
While my heart thuds painfully, I force myself to look away and quickly shed my work clothes, changing into comfy yoga pants and a tank top before heading back out to scrounge up something easy for dinner.
A knock at the door startles me just as I pull the fridge door open and my empty stomach clenches in fear. A minute or so goes by and the knock sounds again and for a second I consider that it might be Roman. Maybe he’s come back to fight this out some more or maybe he’s returned to pull me into his arms and remind me how much he loves me.
Fixated on that thought, I move quickly to the door, throw the deadbolt, and tug it open, my smile fading quickly when I see who is standing on my doorstep.
“Hello, Sabrina.”
Will is as unkempt as he was two days before, only now he’s got a pissed-off scowl to add to the wrinkles on his forehead. I ask myself what it is I ever saw in the man, especially since he’s aged so much in such a short time. I’ve aged too, don’t get me wrong, but he looks like life has thrown him more than one curveball and that ball has dragged him along for the ride.
“What are you doing here?” Holding tightly to the door, I step forward to block any view he might have to the inside of the house.
“You didn’t call.”
Rolling my eyes, I reply, “This isn’t something I can rush, Will. It’s going to take time.”
“Yeah well, I don’t have time. I want to see her now.”
An odd uneasiness—fear maybe—crawls up the back of my throat and rips the breath from my lungs. “Now is not a good time.”
He glares at me. “Too fucking bad.”
For a man who claims to want to meet his estranged child, he sure as hell isn’t being fatherly. He’s behaving as he always used to with me, using anger and threats to get what he wants. Years ago I believed it was because of how strongly he felt about me. Now I know the truth. He’s never grown up. He’s still trying to bully those around him to get what he wants. I do believe he has a right to see his child, but I’m not about to allow him to think he can treat me like he did so long ago.
“You will see her when she’s ready and not a moment before. Now kindly get off my property or I will contact the police.”
One thick hand slams against the front door, and he takes a step closer. I see him struggling for what to say, how far to push to get what he wants. He’s such a big baby. Why the hell didn’t I see that years ago? He used similar techniques to worm his way into my bed and once he’d accomplished, he’d used anger to get me to comply with all his wants and needs. It’s hard to believe that I actually did some of the beautiful, mind-blowing things I shared with Roman with him. How is it possible I was so stupid that I once believed this is what I deserved?
“You’ve got until the weekend. Figure this shit out, Sabrina, and talk to her. I’ll be back Saturday morning.”
His threat hangs heavily in the air as he stalks back to his car and guns the engine, throwing me a hateful look before he peels away from the curb. Shutting and locking the door, I slump back against it and heave a sigh of relief. Wild thoughts scurry into my head, one after the other, as I reach blindly for a solution. Nothing short of leaving town and disappearing will change the fact that my child will be meeting her biological father. Sadly, I wouldn’t put it past Will to use this week to draw up some sort of formal legal document.
Oh God … what if he tries to take her away from me?
Sliding down to the floor, I pull my knees to my chest and bury my face in my hands. How could a decision that I felt so certain about years ago be coming back to haunt me now? I’d done everything right … well, except for the minor issue of getting pregnant but other than that, I’d been completely fair and open, offering Will the chance to stay or go, but never once pressuring him into a decision.
I can still see him now as he was back then, handsome in an intimidating way, so full of himself and overly confidant. He’d shown no reaction when I tearfully handed over the pregnancy test and announced we were going to be parents. When he did finally speak, it was as if I never mattered to him, that I was nothing more than a conquest, an innocent he’d corrupted far too easily.
I was so dumb. I was lonely, had no one close to me to confide in or talk to, and when Will Leahy strolled into my life I was starstruck. It was my second year of college, his third, and while I was serious about my studies and getting to school on time, he usually showed up late or hungover. We s
hared a math class together and two weeks into the beginning of the school year, I was already hanging on his every word and looking up at him with stars in my eyes. I somehow managed to look past what should have been concerns: his self-importance, the cocky arrogance that came off as though he was trying too hard. I dismissed all the little things, like the fact that he’d stroll through a door and leave me to follow along behind and get smacked in the face if I wasn’t careful. I was quick to make excuses for him when my parents expressed concern that I was the one footing the bill for any fun we were having. Hell, I was quick to make excuses for all his behavior.
But that didn’t change the fact that I was lost in my own little world, blissfully happy because this one man paid attention to me. Sure, it was no great love affair. I might have thought I loved him at one time, at least enough to open my legs for him, but that quickly disappeared when I announced we were having a baby.
How could I forget that the last thing he said to me was, “How do I even know if the kid is mine?” At the time I was devastated, hurt beyond belief, shocked that he could think I’d be with someone like that. What I didn’t know, and what I learned months later, was that while I might have been so naïve to believe we were monogamous, he clearly did not share the same train of thought.
Will and I might have shared a short time together but his betrayal has stuck with me all these years. No excuses, no amount of apologizing will ever erase what he’s done. He used me in every single way and when I’d needed him most, he’d turned his back and fled, dropped out of school and enlisted in the army. You’d think that after all that regimented training he’d have learned some tact, some patience, some kindness perhaps.
