Forever (This #5) (39 page)

“I’m gonna call it a night. Cookies were delicious, sis.” I pat Bradley on the shoulder. He resumed his spot on the couch after he got back from the store and is now watching another football game. “Night.”

I stare at my phone. He misses me, but he hasn’t called me, texted me, or even acted like he cares. My blood starts to make little bubbles, then simmers, and eventually boils. Screw this. I’m here, and we’re going to talk. I bring up his profile on my phone. His face flashes on my screen, and I wonder if his stubble is long, if his eyes are wide, or if they’re tired. I wonder if he’s wearing those jeans that hang on his hips with the elastic from his boxers just barely showing. The horses in my abdomen start to prance. My core ignites. I tap the button for text. I’ll start with a question. Surely he won’t ignore that, and if he does, I’m just going to show up at his place and demand we sort through this. And he will because he wouldn’t make me spend the night on his porch in the cold. On Christmas Eve.

Sam
:

You awake?

Nothing.

Silence.

I watch the digital clock on the nightstand and start counting. How long do I give him? What if he’s in the shower? What if he’s with someone else? The thought never entered my mind that he could have found someone else.

Sam
:

Answer me or I’m coming over. You can’t avoid me forever. We’re going to see each other tomorrow.

The phone dings nearly immediately, and my heart skips a beat. Or three, but who’s counting.

Joe
:

Yeah.

One word. I’ll take it. It’s progress.

Sam
:

Merry Christmas Eve.

Joe
:

You too.

Two words. More progress. Maybe if I keep this up I can get a nice long sentence because words make sentences, and sentences make paragraphs. I’m convinced my paragraphs could make chapters about how I love him, and I can’t wait another minute playing this stupid game. I could turn those chapters into the best novel with our love story. It’d be the most wonderful chick flick I’d ever see because it’d be ours.

The thought he’s with someone else is starting to cause my breaths to come in short spurts. Maybe the reason he’s sending short answers is because he’s otherwise engaged and wants to keep me from the house. Bile starts to rise, and I’m not sure if it’s from the thought of him with someone else or if it’s the pregnancy. Gabby’s in there planning cute ways to tell Bradley, and I’m in here wondering if I should ever tell Joe.

It’s absurd and unfair to not tell a man they are going to be a father. I glance at the two gifts I bought for him, both wrapped nicely. I waited until the last minute to get them. Part of me has been so angry at him because I let my fortress down for him, and he’s trampled on sacred ground. The thought of giving him another piece of me, even in the form of a gift, hurts too badly. But we don’t give gifts with conditions. If the recipient wants to trash them, recycle them, or donate them to Good-freakin-will, then that’s on them. They have to live with knowing they were thought of with careful consideration, and they are tossing a symbol of that love away. I guess that’s just it. Can I take being tossed away one more single time? First Gabe. Now Joe. But it’s not even about me so much. Can I take him rejecting me and his child? There’s no getting over Joe now. Every time I look into the face of this baby, I’m going to see him. I’m going crave his come ons, his texts, the way my name rolls off his tongue. We’re forever linked.

Another tear falls down my cheek. And another. And another.
Darn hormones
.

My fingers tap the screen, and I type out another text.

Sam
:

Are you alone?

Joe
:

Yes.

Sam
:

Are you staying at the lake house or your apartment at the bar tonight?

Joe
:

Lake house.

Sam
:

We need to talk. Before tomorrow because I don’t want Christmas to be even more awkward than it’s already going to be.

Joe:

I know. I’m on my way.

This explains the short choppy texts.

Sam:

Quit texting and driving.

Joe:

You quit texting me.

I hop up, toss my phone on the bed, open the door, and walk back out to the living room. Gabby’s wrapping last minute Christmas presents, and I’m pretty sure based on the amount of cookies, pastries, and pies that are spread across the island, she’ll be baking into the early hours of the morning from the coffee she consumed a little bit ago. Bradley’s on the couch, his leg over his knee. He surveys me. “I thought you were calling it a night?”

“I was, but I texted Joe.”

Bradley smirks. “Uh huh.”

“Oh, it’s not the first time I’ve texted him. I’ve called too.”

“I heard about your call.”

My eyebrow lifts. “You did?”

Something clanks against the granite in the kitchen, and Gabby pops around the corner. “I think I’ll take a quick break to hear about this.” She plops on the couch next to Bradley. He spoons her in his arms, kissing her forehead.

Bradley nods. “Yeah. You know he’s been a lovesick, sexually frustrated puppy, right?”

I swallow. “How would I know that? He’s been ignoring me.”

“Gabby didn’t tell you?”

She glances at me, smiling. “I told you he was pathetic.”

“Oh well. I’m pissed at him still, but we have to talk, and it needs to be face-to-face.” I fidget with my fingers. “I was going to go to him, but he was already on his way.”

Gabby’s face straightens. She knows why we have to talk. And she’s probably the reason he’s already on his way.

“So what are you going to say?” Bradley asks.

I shake my head. “When he comes, do you think you could give us some privacy?” I rub the fabric of my knit T-shirt between my fingers. “I don’t want to be alone with him in a bedroom.”

“Fine. You can have the living room. I’d love an excuse to be trapped in our bedroom—hell, anywhere with my wife.” He smiles at Gabby and she rolls her eyes, her grin spreading.

“Of course you would.” I squint my eyes. This is their house. It’s not like I can ask them to keep it down, but I really don’t want to have a serious conversation with Joe while listening to them make love.

“Your face is everything right now, Sam.” He winks at Gabby. “We’ll try to keep it down.”

I tilt my head to the ceiling, letting out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thank you.”

“And if it gets quiet down here, and you’re not in the living room, we’ll just assume you’re giving us the same courtesy from your room.”

“Touché.”

“So, are you going to hang out with us while you wait?” Gabby asks. “If so, I can so put you to good use.”

“Or you can watch the Nevada versus Southern Miss game with me and chill.” Bradley pats the couch.

“Tempting, Bradley. So tempting.” I make my way to the kitchen. “I’ll help you wrap, Gabby. C’mon.”

The doorbell rings, and it zings a current from my head all the way to my core. He’s here. He’s outside that door right now.

I try to swallow. All the words I was so convinced I could form into a novel leave me. The boiling blood freezes.

Gabby paints a worried expression on her face. “Want me to get it or do you wanna?”

I nod.

“Me get it? Or you get it?”

I nod again, still trying to swallow.

“You get it. Go get your man.”

My head bobs and my feet start to move on their own volition toward the front door. My hand squeezes the cold, brushed nickel handle, twists it, and pulls. Towering over me is Joe. My gorgeous, sexy man who looks like he’s lost his best friend. His hair is disheveled. He’s wearing the same jeans he had on that day when he knew I had just left Ryan for him, a navy T-shirt under a khaki coat. Electric pings zap my core. Everything in me coils.

“Hi,” I whisper.

His eyes slowly close. He breathes a sigh and mutters, “God, Sam.”

The television shuts off. I hear the sound of Bradley and Gabby’s door closing, and I know we’re alone. “Why did you do this to us?” A tear rolls down my face. I want to fight him. Every part of my being wants to just throw my arms at his chest, bang my head into it, and ask him why, why, why. But I’m just so tired. Physically tired, but also tired of fighting. And I hate seeing him like this. I hate the way this feels. I just want to go back, pretend this is the door to Joe’s place, and start all over again.

His eyes open, and when he sees the tear, he brushes it away with his thumb. He shakes his head.

I swallow. “Come in. It’s cold out there.”

He steps through the threshold, and I close and lock the door.

I point to the couch. He sits. For a moment, I consider occupying the love seat, but my body gravitates toward him and my knees lower me to the cushion next to his.

His eyes scan me from top to bottom. “You look different. Your hair’s longer.”

“I’m letting it grow out a bit for winter.”

Joe smiles and his fingers lightly touch one of the waves. “I like these little soft curls.”

I lean into his touch and grab his arm. “I can’t spend my life without you in it.”

“Cut to the chase, why don’t you?”

“I don’t want you to run away like a scared puppy when things get real, like you did after Ryan’s accident, not without it all on the table. I’ve been trying so hard to live my life without you, but I swear it’s impossible.”

He nods. “I know. One word. Charleston.”

“If you were trying to pay me back for me not choosing you then, you succeeded.”

“I would never try to intentionally hurt you. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing for all of us.” Those words sound familiar. They’re almost exactly what I told him weeks ago about why I chose Ryan that night.

“How’s that working out for you, Mr. Martyr?”

He laughs a little. “Not going so well.”

Music to my ears.

“What made you change your mind? Why are you all of the sudden talking to me now?”