by Ashley Jade
“I hope so,” she whispers. “I wasn't lying when I told you I loved you, and I think if we tried, really tried. We'd be so good together.”
My throat bobs on a swallow and a breath saws out of me, rendering me speechless.
We both take my silence as my agreement, though—and a moment later she seals it with a kiss.
And I try not to pretend it's someone else's mouth on mine.
“Your order will be ready in fifteen minutes,” the brunette at the counter informs me.
I pay for Becca's food and walk around the takeout section of the restaurant, fighting off thoughts of going back to the casino.
After perusing various pictures of healthy dishes on the wall, and hearing yet another Enya song start to play, I've had about all I can take.
My phone rings as I step outside and when I see it's Asher calling for the third time, I press the ignore button. There are only two reasons he'd be calling me this morning and I don't need to hear him lecture me about how I should leave Breslin's friends alone, or about how I shouldn't be getting drunk at casinos.
I pocket my phone and have a look around. The restaurant is located on a strip of one of the many overpriced and quaint little shops here in Connecticut, so I decide to check out a few. I'm not looking to buy anything, I just need the distraction.
I'm browsing a random shelf in a Mom and Pop shop when something stops me in my tracks.
The elderly woman standing nearby gives me a strange look as I study the stuffed animal, but I don't care. Evidently, she never got the memo that dragons are badass. Not only because they look scary, but they attack anyone who tries to hurt them.
The thought makes my stomach clench as memories zip through me.
Back when I was a kid, the only way I could fall asleep was to pretend I had a dragon in my room looking out for me.
It's completely asinine, and I'd die before ever admitting it to anyone, but it was the only thing that helped me feel safe.
This dragon doesn't look mean like the one I used to imagine, but he is colorful and cool looking. I can't help but wonder if my son might like him too.
Something tells me he would.
Whenever he's scared, I can assure him he has nothing to worry about because both me and this dragon will keep him safe.
A smile touches my lips. Maybe I won't be so bad at this parenting thing after all.
“Are you okay, young man?”
The clerk's voice snaps me out of my haze. “Yeah.” I grab the dragon and walk over to the counter. “I think I am now.”
At that, he raises an eyebrow, but I pay him no mind because nothing can dwindle my spirits. I'm practically drunk on sheer optimism.
After I swipe my card, I take my dragon and start walking back to the restaurant, my smile growing wider.
Everything is going to be okay.
The sound of my phone ringing again interrupts my happy thoughts, and I bring it to my ear. “Let me guess, brother. Kit told Breslin I called her last night, and Breslin's pissed.” Annoyance has my temper rising as I continue, “Well, you can tell your little fire-crotch I don't give a fuck—”
“I'm sorry. Is this Preston Holden?”
The unrecognizable voice catches me off guard. “Who wants to know?”
“I'm calling from DGL. This is the number we have on file to call with the paternity results. However, I need you to confirm you are Preston Holden before I can disclose them.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, surprised they're calling today instead of Tuesday like they said they would. “I'm him.”
The man clears his throat before delivering the news that will change my life forever. “The sample we collected from you is not a genetic match.”
I feel like someone just tore the entire ground right out from under me, and I have to brace myself against the nearest storefront.
“I'm sorry, I think there's been a mistake.” I swallow and it feels like glass going down. “What exactly was the percentage? I know it's supposed to be 99.9% or better, but I'm a numbers guy. So if it was, let's say, 98.9% or something—”
“I'm sorry, sir. That's not how the paternity test works. There's a percentage only if the genetic markers are a match and none of yours were. You're welcome to have another test done, but—”
I hang up because the more he speaks, the worse it all becomes.
Becca swore I was the father repeatedly.
I looked right into her eyes each time she did—her lying, manipulating, whore eyes.
Pain radiates through my ribcage and my heart pounds a mile a minute. The ache from this blow is like nothing I've ever experienced. It's the cruel torment that comes with the sobering awareness of not realizing just how much I wanted this baby to be mine until now.
Now that he's gone. Now that I have nothing.
Now that I'm back to being Preston Holden—the fuck-up, the gambler—instead of a dad.
My body trembles with rage, the force of it is so intense, I almost drop right there on the sidewalk.
It’s a good thing Becca isn't near me because every bit of it would be directed at her. Despite the small part of me that hates myself for insisting on the paternity test in the first place now.
The sound of my phone ringing once more makes me contemplate throwing the fucking thing into traffic.
But I don't, because I'm hoping it's the lab calling back to tell me they've made a grave mistake. “Hello?”
My hopes are dashed at the sound of my brother's voice. “I've been trying to call you for hours.”
“This isn't a good time, Asher.”
I'm about to hang up, but then he says, “He's in the hospital.”
I have no idea who he is until Asher's breathing becomes uneven and he grinds out, “He hit a patch of black ice and crashed his new Mercedes into a tree. The hospital tried getting in touch with Mom, but she's on a cruise. They called me because I'm listed as his emergency contact.”
My first thought is that karma must be catching up to him.
But my next thought, the one regarding our last conversation, has my insides twisting. “I'm on my way.”
VI
"Love isn’t complicated, people are." —Unknown
“I was supposed to pick up the early morning shift at the coffee house tomorrow before classes start but—”
“I'll cover it,” I cut in. “My classes don't begin until the afternoon anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
If Breslin wasn't sitting in a hospital with Asher right now, I'd tell her off for being so damn stubborn.
“B, I've got you. But, if you want to make it up to me, meet me in the cafeteria before classes start, this way we can grab a late lunch and catch up. It feels like forever since we last talked.”
And there's so much I want to tell you.
“It's a date,” she says, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking her the questions that are currently burning a hole through my stomach lining.
Is Preston there? Did he make it home okay? How is he handling the news about his father's accident?
A frustrated sigh passes my lips and I plop down on one of the many boxes that I still need to unpack. God, this is so stupid. I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. I'm being a concerned citizen here, dammit.
Which means I have every right to ask how my ex-girlfriend's fiancé and baby daddy is doing...right?
Right.
“Bre—” My mouth clamps shut when I realize she hung up over a minute ago.
Without thinking, I scroll through my phone log, pausing when I see the incoming call I received at 3:05 a.m.
Boom, there it is, glaring at me like a big ugly zit on porcelain skin...begging to be either popped or camouflaged.
My finger dances over the call button before I make the sound decision to press delete and be done with this tango for good.
We're not friends.
Which in foresight is probably a good thing, because he's self-destructive at best and s
elf-serving at worst.
My chest pangs with some emotion I don't dare identify, but I brush it off and start unpacking.
I'm unloading the contents of my second box when I hear a knock.
“Go away,” I grumble.
When they ignore my warning and knock again, I place my box cutter down and stomp to the front door.
If I'm lucky, it's some idiot stoner asking if he can borrow a lighter. But if I'm not? It's some overzealous idiot who suddenly wants to be friends before we graduate, all because some bullshit click-bait article on social media told her it would make her a better person.
Kelly, the annoying girl in my economics class last semester who yapped incessantly about her dog named Rooster—when she wasn't calling me a dyke freak under her breath, that is—comes to mind and I groan.
When I turn the knob, I realize that Kelly would be a godsend right about now. Because a fresh hell greets me in the form of my ex-girlfriend.
I'm regretting leaving that box cutter behind.
“Hi,” she starts. “I would have called you, but I couldn't get through.”
“I blocked your number over Christmas break,” I inform her curtly, keeping my face expressionless.
“Oh.” She frowns. “I suppose I deserve that after everything I put you through.”
“No argument here.”
I cast my eyes down and notice the dress she's wearing is red, which is awfully fitting, because as far as I'm concerned, she's the devil.
Unfortunately, I'm so distracted by her presence that I don't realize she's crossed the threshold and is inside my dorm until the door clicks closed behind her.
I have to look away, not because of the anger, but because I don't trust myself to do the right thing when it comes to Becca.
Because I still love her.
Becca must sense this because she uses the opportunity to inch even closer, causing my heart to do a little flip of protest. Almost like the organ knows there's danger up ahead and wants to abandon ship.
“I was a bitch to you yesterday,” she whispers, and that flowery scent of hers that I remember like only a lover can invades my nostrils.
I take a step back, attempting to put some distance between us but she reaches for my hand. “I'm so sorry I hurt you, Kit.”
The contact zips through my body like a double shot of Bacardi 151 on an empty stomach. And just like the intoxicating agent, it weakens my defenses and causes my armor to crumble until all I can remember is how much I loved her...instead of how she ripped my soul to pieces.
She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I miss you. There's not a second that goes by that I don't think about you.”
When a tear falls down her cheek and I know there's truth behind her words, the force field surrounding my heart explodes into a thousand smithereens.
“Then why did you cheat on me?” I choke back a sob, but that only makes the next one break free. “I thought we...I thought you were happy.”
“I was.” She cups my face, her thumbs catching my tears. “I was so happy with you.”
“Then why would you hurt me?”
It's the question I've asked myself minute after minute and night after night since the second my heart broke in that cafeteria.
“I would have done anything for you, Becca. Anything.”
It's true, this girl could have asked for the damn moon and I would have found a way to lasso it down for her.
The thought is like a boomerang reopening the wound. I remove her hands from my face and take several more steps back.
Her eyes dart around the room before they lock on mine. “You want the truth?”
I give her a small nod. No matter how much it may hurt, maybe it will help me get some closure.
“You scared me.” She holds up a hand. “Well, not you. But the intensity of your love...our love...scared me. Everything about us scared me.”
What she says makes no sense to me. Love is supposed to be intense. Hell, it's the most intense thing there is. Otherwise it's not love.
“I don't understand.”
She walks over to me. “What I mean is, I've never felt anything like what I feel for you. It was confusing, not only because I've never fallen for another girl this hard, but because I was afraid I was going to fuck it up, you know? That I'd do something stupid and end up losing you.”
I raise a brow. “So instead of talking to me about your fears you—”
“Did something stupid and ended up losing you anyway.” She sniffs. “Self-fulfilling prophecy, I guess.”
She rests her forehead against mine and I ignore the next warning my heart issues.
“That's not the only thing you want me to tell you, though. Is it?”
Her voice takes on a husky tone and my own vocal chords jam in my throat. The dynamic of this conversation has shifted and I don't know how to get it back on topic. Not when she's looking at me the way she is now.
Like she wants to devour every inch of my body.
She presses her hand to my chest and smiles slyly when she feels my heart beat rapidly against her palm. Like she knows it's still hers for the taking.
Too bad there's not much left of it to take this time around.
“You want to know about him.” The hand covering my heart drops to my breast. The touch is so light, one could easily mistake it for an accident.
But I know better, because with Becca...everything is intentional.
“You want to know if sex with him was better than sex with you, don't you? What it was like when he fucked me.”
My pulse skyrockets and I honestly hate myself for being a little curious, despite the fresh dose of pain her words bring.
Her hand falls. “Well, stop wondering. Because it doesn't matter. He doesn't matter.”
She grabs my chin and my heart clanks out a desperate plea, wanting her to mend the damage she caused it.
“He never mattered. He was just something I thought I wanted because I feared what people would think about me marrying a girl.”
She strokes my cheek and I lean into her touch. Becca's never talked to me about these feelings before and I can't help but empathize.
“But I'm not scared anymore, Kit. And I know you won't believe me when I say this, but I was planning on ending it with him once I realized that no future was worth having unless it was with you.”
I want to ask her if that was before or after she put a knife straight through my ticker and watched me bleed out from the trauma, but she looks down and says, “Unfortunately, fate had other plans. And I know now just how badly I fucked up.”
I look down at her belly, the bump a glaring reminder of why she shouldn't be here right now and why I need her to leave.
“I wanted to tell you,” she continues. “I mean, obviously I had to.”
She's seeping in again. I can feel it. “Why didn't you?”
“Because I wanted to keep you just a little longer.” The corners of her mouth turn down. “I'll always be sorry for what I did to you. There are so many things I wish I could take back.”
“I don't know what you want from me, Becca.” The fog lifts a little and I steel myself. “We can't change the past. What's done is done.”
We stare at each other for several beats before I say what I should have said the moment I opened the door to my past. “I think you should go.”
Her face twists in pain. “Are you sure that's what you want?”
No. “Yes.”
She inclines her head, narrowing the space between our mouths. “Fine. If you're really sure, then I'll go.”
I'm relieved because I'm a razor's edge away from caving.
“But not before I do this.”
“What—”
I don't get a chance to finish that statement because her lips are on mine and everything starts to whirl inside me like a twister.
The hurt, the pain...the feelings I still have for her.
Logically, I know this is wrong and I should push her away inste
ad of kissing her back, but there's still a small part of me that can't untangle myself from her.
Love is an addiction. A dependency. A craving.
It's why we allow the poison to enter our system in the first place.
It's what makes us accept far less than we deserve.
The stove is hot. We all know this. We've all been warned.
Yet we all touch it at least once in our lifetime.
Some of us even chase the burn.
Because at the end of the day, it's better to delude yourself into thinking that someone loves you, even a toxic person...rather than face the stone-cold reality that they don't.
The bubble of deception we create is our protection.
No one wants to be unloved.
Preston.
His name flashing through my head is the equivalent of being waterboarded with ice water and I break the kiss.
“We can't do this.” I wipe my lips with the back of my hand as if it will erase the mistake I've just made.
“What? Why?”
“You have a fiancé,” I remind her. “I know your moral code isn't exactly fine-tuned, but this is wrong.”
“I can't marry him.” Her lips caress my ear. “I'm in love with you.”
I want to point out all the monumental things that are wrong with that statement, starting with the fact that you're not supposed to break the people you love, but all I can think about is Preston.
Not only is his father in the hospital currently, his fiancée is cheating on him. “He asked you to marry him and you said yes. And you're having his baby. He loves you, Becca. He doesn't deserve to be hurt like—”
Like you hurt me.
She gives a shake of her head. “Trust me. He doesn't love me or this baby.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she collapses on the floor in a fit of tears and my heart jumps to my throat.
“If he did, he wouldn't be out all the time gambling. Or getting drunk and calling different girls to meet up night after night.”
My mind flits back to the phone call again and I wince. Shit, he's even more of an asshole than I thought.
She lifts a finger. “I know, I deserve it because of what I did to you.”