by Isabel Jolie
I gasp. “Is that what you think? You think I’d do that to you? Willingly? For money?”
He rubs a hand over his face then through his hair. He mutters, “You wouldn’t be the first.”
I study him. That’s what he thinks of me. This is his version of all in. Fuck. What a nightmare it would have been if I’d been pregnant.
Tears well up, blurring my vision, and I turn to walk down the hall. He grabs my arm. “Wait.”
I spin around, ready to spew venom. I’ve dated some real losers, but none of them have ever accused me of trying to trap them. “No, Sam. This is good.”
He puts both hands into his jeans pockets and takes a step back, eyes cast to the ground. He’s ready for me to slay him, and oh…my anger is rising, and slay, I will.
“This is good. It’s good I found out what you think of me this early on in the relationship.” He jerks his head up, shaking it. Before he can speak, I continue. “And it’s good I know what ‘all in’ means to you. Because maybe your head is too far up your ass to get this, but any time you have sex, there is a risk of pregnancy. Any. Time. And you know what? This!” I point at him and wave back and forth between us. “This isn’t what I want to be in if I ever do have an accident.”
I turn and storm down the hall, pausing to snatch my coat off the rack as I rush out the door.
I repeatedly push the elevator button. Then I notice the stairwell door at the end of the hall and speed through it.
Once outside on the sidewalk, I spin around, unsure where to go, then head to the river. It’s cold outside, but I need air.
It’s only after I cross the street and turn the corner to head west that it occurs to me. He didn’t follow me.
“Hell. Fucking. No. We don’t need to use a condom, huh?” His words play on repeat in my head. The anger. Vitriol. Borderline hate.
What would have happened had I been pregnant? Would that hate have been turned toward our child? If I chose to have it?
I don’t have an issue with women choosing abortion. There are a million reasons a woman could choose to have an abortion. Children are an enormous responsibility and expense. Would I choose an abortion? On one hand, I can afford a child. A child wouldn’t put me over the brink into poverty. Unfortunately, even from a career perspective, I don’t have the passion for my career right now. I’m not in high school, or in a degree program that prevents me from taking time off.
But would I bring a child into the world knowing one parent hated it simply for being alive? Probably not. I know the pain of being unwanted. My parents didn’t want me. They only kept me so my grandmother wouldn’t write my mom out of her will. No, if I ever have a child, that child will be loved. Fully loved. Not half-assed, in an obligatory way.
A bench by the river sits vacant, and I crash onto it. I place my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. I cry. Completely bawl. Snot runs out of my nose, and I use my coat sleeve to wipe it away. He didn’t even chase after me. He let me go. The rejection slices. I rock back and forth on that bench, crying, my arms around myself, until I have no more tears.
I’m not sure how long I spend on that promenade watching the sky change color as the sun falls to the west, casting oranges, pinks, and purples along the skyline and reflecting on the river. After the sun sets, the river turns black, with city lights twinkling in a mixture of small and wide white orbs. A black crow perches on a nearby tree limb. The air turns colder, and bundled pedestrians with scarves and gloves speed-walk by. My bare, frozen hands ache from the raw cold.
When I rise from the bench, I decide this is the end for Sam and me. A child isn’t something I am craving right now, but I can’t be with someone who can’t handle it if life doesn’t go according to plan. I can’t be with someone who makes abortion look like the best option.
On the cab ride home, I dig into my coat pocket for my phone, expecting some texts from Anna. She has to be worried after witnessing that shitshow. A part of me doesn’t want to look at the phone, because I know if he hasn’t texted me, it’ll feel like another knife wound. But I need my friend. I survived Damien almost completely on my own. Sam, though. The pain ripping through me is brutal.
My tender, ice cold fingers dig deeper into each coat pocket, hunting for my phone. Then I open my pocketbook. The small tampon bag brings fresh tears. I rifle through the rest of the stuff, my apartment keys, small bag for make-up, subway map, some receipts. No phone.
Chapter 24
Sam
“What the hell do you mean you can’t find her?”
Withers’s calm, slow voice on the line ramps up my frustration. “Sir, there are millions of people in this city. You have her phone. She’s not at her apartment. I do have someone accessing street feeds, but it’s going to take some time.”
I run my hand through my hair and pace. Dammit. Three minutes passed, at most, before I was running after her. I thought for sure my elevator was just behind hers. She vanished. I called her, and Anna answered the phone.
The glint of her apartment key catches my eye. It’s sitting on a small plate on my dresser. “Keep searching for her. I’m going up to her apartment to wait.”
“That’s a good idea, sir. I have a security person outside her apartment building scouting for her. I think that’s where we are most likely going to find her.”
“Yep.”
I go to hang up, and Bill’s voice sounds out. “Sir, at this point in time, there is no indication you should be concerned.” I nod and hang up without saying a word. He has no idea. I should be very concerned. I acted like an ass, and I know it.
The doorman greets me with a wave. He’s on the phone, calling someone who has a visitor. I stride past him to the elevator bank. I hold my breath as I use the Schlage key to turn the knob. The apartment is dark, lit only by streetlight cascading through a window. I don’t bother to turn any lights on. I alternate between pulling at my hair and punching the futon cushion. My phone sits on the coffee table, dark except for occasional electronic lights when a news alert comes through or a text. No updates from Withers.
The knob eventually turns, and I brace myself. She walks in, flicks on the light, and hangs her coat up. She stops in her tracks when she sees me. Her cheeks are red, swollen, and wet. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her tone a mixture of surprise and anger.
“I couldn’t find you. You left your phone at Anna’s.” I point to her phone that rests beside mine on the coffee table. “I looked everywhere. Knew you’d eventually come back here.”
She closes her eyes and sucks in her bottom lip. “You need to leave.” She points her index finger, opens her eyes, and repeats herself. “You let me know how you feel. You need to leave now. Leave your key too.”
She wipes at tears as she heads to her bedroom, dismissing me. I follow her, and before she can close the door on me, touch her shoulder. “Please stop.” I try to guide her to turn and face me, but she won’t budge. “Please listen to me. I did not handle that situation well.” I hear her sniffling. Her tears hit me like shrapnel. “Please listen to me. Then, if you want me to leave, I’ll go.”
She wipes her face and twists away from me. She drops into the single chair in her den and angles her swollen face up to me.
This is my chance. “Look, for most of my adult life, I’ve been warned to watch out for women trying to trap me. Based on my net worth and income, the child support check alone would be enough for most women to not have to work.”
She raises her hand like a student in class. “I get it. I understand.” She’s staring at my feet.
“No. You don’t.”
She leans back in the chair and closes her eyes. I wait for her to open them, but she keeps them closed as she says, “Go on. Say what you need to say. I’ve cried a lot today, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to close my eyes while you speak.” She rolls her hand in the air to indicate I should continue.
“Over the years, I’ve been approached by a lot of women. A lot of women interested
in money. I regularly make the list of most eligible Manhattan bachelors. Every time I see my brother, he can’t help but remind me I should wrap it up. My financial advisors and lawyers have all told me to be cautious. After years of that, a certain level of paranoia sets in. For Christ’s sake, I had a woman claim her baby was mine. As if I wouldn’t require a paternity test. When I saw that pregnancy test on the bed, I panicked. You and Anna were laughing. Happy. It was a gut reaction.”
Her eyes remain closed. My heart rate increases, and I clench my fists.
“When I calmed down, I thought about it. I knew you’d never be the kind of person to trap me. I tried to run after you, but I couldn’t find you. Where’d you go?”
Her eyes remain closed, her head angled up to the ceiling. “Is that it?”
“What?”
“Is that what you needed to say?”
“Yes. Do you understand?”
Eyes still closed, she sits completely still. “I understand. Have a good life, Sam.”
Fuck that. I drop to my knees in front of her and place my hands over hers on her lap.
She opens her tear-filled, red eyes. “You need to leave now.”
I tighten my grip on her. “I am so sorry I hurt you. But please know, it was a gut reaction. An emotional reaction. I don’t really think you’d try to trap me.”
Her head bobs forward slightly, and she sniffles. “I appreciate that. It’s good to know. You can leave now.”
Damn it. She is like a wall. She’s not hearing me. “That’s it? You can’t forgive me? You need to understand, Jackson was acting weird when I first walked in. It put me on edge. Then we heard you laughing, and I walked in thinking you guys were doing something silly, but I saw that box, and you tried to cover it up.”
She closes her eyes again. “I know what you saw, Sam. But you see, here’s the thing. When two people have sex, there’s always a chance of a pregnancy. Always. And I don’t want to be with someone who has the reaction you had to an unplanned pregnancy.” Her words pummel me, and I fall back onto the floor, willing her to look at me. “You need to leave now. We’ve both said what we need to say. Goodbye, Sam.”
Fuck. She won’t open her eyes. I stand and in slow, measured steps make my way to the door. This is such bullshit. Yes, I was wrong. But, she’s wrong now too. If she’d given me five minutes, I would have gotten my shit together.
I turn and charge toward her and hold on to the sides of her chair as I lower my face inches above hers. “No. What we have is a good thing. A great thing. I love you. I. Love. You. I haven’t ever felt this way about any woman. I want you to move in with me. I want to wake up next to you, go to sleep next to you. I want to talk about business ideas with you. I want to go on runs with you, explore the world with you by my side. One day, have kids with you. And this screw-up…” I wait and drop my hands to hers and squeeze until she opens to me. “Yes. This screw-up is big. And I’m so damn sorry. I lost my mind. Just for a moment. It was a reaction. And, yes, it was fucked up. But you know, I just had to calm down enough for my instinct to slow down and my head to take over. When I couldn’t find you, I returned to Jackson’s. I walked in the room and picked up the stick. I held it and looked at the results. And you know what?”
She angles her head, questioning, some semblance of life returning.
“I felt disappointment. A part of me wanted to see two lines, not just one. Liv, kids are part of the life I want with you. And if it happened today, I’d be okay with it. More than okay with it. I’d be fucking thrilled. I love you so much. I do.”
She snaps, “Could have fooled me.”
I lean over, slide my arm under her legs and my other arm behind her, lift her, and sit in the chair, placing her on my lap. I breathe her in and hold her close. For a moment, she’s stiff like a board. With an exhale, she relaxes into me and rests her head on my chest below my chin.
“I will make this up to you. One day, I’ll be the husband you deserve.”
She lifts her head and pushes away from me as fresh tears glide down. “You need to slow down.”
I tilt her chin up and kiss her. Softly at first. She relaxes against me once more, and our kiss becomes deeper and tender. “Hey, I told you, I go after what I want. I’m not going to let you go. I’m gonna screw up at times. But what we have is real. We’ll work through it.”
She lays her head back down on my chest. “I don’t know. I need to think it through.” She exhales loudly. “Let me sleep. I can think through everything tomorrow.”
I can live with that. I stand, lifting her with me, and carry her into her bedroom. I lay her down on her side of the bed and gently remove her shoes, her jeans, and sweater. She has a t-shirt on beneath the sweater, and I leave that on and pull the comforter around her, tucking her in. I strum my lips across her forehead and whisper, “Sleep.”
I’m not letting her go. No way. I walk around to the other side of the bed, kick off my boots, and slide off my jeans and climb into bed behind her and wrap myself around her sleeping form.
* * *
Sun shines through Olivia’s bedroom window early, as I never closed the blinds last night. I pull her close and breathe in her scent, the smell of her lavender shampoo calming me. I shudder to think how close I came to losing her. All due to my kneejerk reaction to seeing that test on the bed. Damn my brother and his repeated “wrap it up” comments. My financial advisors. Security. All those warnings got to me more than I realized. And I fucking hate it.
I kiss the back of her head. At some point yesterday, Bill suggested planting a tracking device on her moving forward. For once, that damn crazy Navy SEAL might be on to something. Tempting. But, no. I wouldn’t do that to her. If she had a car, I’d put a tracking device on it. I have one on all my cars. Admittedly, from a theft perspective. But I draw the line on personal tracking devices. We don’t live in South America where kidnapping of expats is a real issue. But damn if not knowing where she was yesterday didn’t drive me out of my mind.
My morning wood presses against her ass, and as she shifts in bed, she rubs me, teasing my dick into a painfully engorged state. I don’t want to let her go, but I know after what we went through yesterday, we need to talk this morning. She doesn’t need me to molest her before she’s woken up.
I force myself to slide back, trying not to rock the bed, so as not to wake her. There’s about a foot of distance between us when she grabs my cock, and I stop breathing in shock. Her back is still to me, but she’s reaching behind her, stroking the outline of my cock, then her hand slips into my boxers and she continues to stroke.
Holy shit. So unexpected. She’s gripping hard, just the way I like it. I groan. “Baby, I’m…I don’t think you understand how hard I am right now.”
She tosses her hair back as she turns to see me and lets me go. Ah, fuck. I miss her hand. But right now, I’ve gotta veto my dick’s desire. She gives a seductive smile and doesn’t say a word. Lifts the t-shirt she’s wearing and pulls it over her head, unsnaps her bra, then slides her panties down her legs.
I can barely swallow. She’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her dark nipples are erect, and I reach out to massage her breast, twisting the taut nipple.
She pushes my boxers and the comforter down the bed. Then she straddles me. Slides over me, capturing my cock between her lips, coating me with her juices. Her breasts bounce. Sexy as fuck. She uses her body to massage and tease my erection, using my tip to press against her clit.
I swallow, watching her. “Does this…? Are we…?”
Without slowing the movement of her hips, toying with my erection, she whispers, “We’re good. You ever pull that again, and we aren’t.” She pauses, hovering her dripping wet pussy over my tip. “Got it?”
“Yes.” I gasp. “Fuck, yes.”
Her hips rock back and forth over my erection, and she slides in enough to use my cock as pressure against her clit. I’m spellbound as she brings herself to orgasm, teasing herself across me
, placing pressure and heat against my enormously sensitized tip. As she lifts her head back to come, I can’t take it anymore and flip her over and drive myself in.
She’s tight, and her muscles quake from the orgasm she’s still experiencing. I won’t last long. She feels incredible. Tight, warm, wet, perfect for me. “God, you feel good.”
I start to pound her as her legs wrap around me, her nails along my back. I’m so close. I reach down and massage above her entrance, circling her sensitive clit. She arches forward, screaming my name, and I pour myself into her.
I collapse onto her, holding her tight as I catch my breath. I kiss behind her ear, down her neck, then position us so I can take a nipple in my mouth and twirl my tongue around it. I glance up from my position, place a soft kiss between her breasts, and smile. “That might be the best good morning ever.”
I slide out of her and squeeze her ass, keeping her tight against me. She sort of giggles and runs her fingers through my hair. “Maybe mine too. That felt amazing.”
“Amazing, huh?” I kiss her lips. “I’ll take amazing.” She kisses along my neck then sighs and leans over me to check out the time on the alarm clock. “Time to get moving. Want to shower with me?”
“Hell, yes.” She grins and starts to get off the bed, but I pull her back to me. “Hey, we’re really okay? You forgive me for being a jackass?”
Her deep blue eyes gaze upon me as she plays with my hair. The way she looks at me, I can see her love. She hasn’t said it, but right then, I know. She loves me too. We are going to be fine.
“Yeah. We’re good. I understand what happened. And, after a long night of sleeping in your arms, I’m over it. Past experiences color our reactions. I get it. And I guess I just decided sometime between last night and this morning that I’m not ready to give up on us.” She places a soft peck on my lips then hops off the bed, walking toward the bathroom while baring her shapely derriere. “It’s a work day. We’ve got to get moving.”