Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Amazing chemistry alone isn’t going to get us through this issue, that’s for darn sure.
“I miss him,” I say after a moment while rubbing the small baby bump that seemed to have popped up overnight. It’s not huge or noticeable—unless I’m naked—but it is there. “I miss him, but I’m also really mad at him for not doing what I need him to do.” I swallow down over the gravel lodged in my throat.
“Sometimes men are idiots,” Libby says, sounding like she knows from experience. If I wasn’t so caught up in my own personal drama, I would ask her about it because I know there is a story behind that statement. “He loves you.”
“He might love me, but I want more than love. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I want all of him—not just the pieces that he’s choosing to show me, not just the pieces of him that he can tie up in a neat little package for me.”
“You’re right. You deserve to have all of that—but so does he. He deserves to have someone to share his burdens with,” she says.
Those stupid tears I’ve been trying to fight come back.
“Do you think I’m overreacting about this?” I ask after a few minutes of listening to the television play in the background.
“Do you?”
“No . . . ? But I’m also pregnant and overly emotional right now, so I’m not sure I’m the best judge.”
“Each woman has to decide for herself what she will and will not put up with in a relationship. If he won’t talk to you about things that you can see are causing him pain, is that something you can deal with?”
“It isn’t.” I close my eyes and rest my cheek on the top of her head.
It isn’t because I know that eventually, the pain he’s carrying around is going to manifest itself in another way, and I won’t watch him destroy himself—or put our child through seeing that firsthand, either. Pain has to be dealt with.
“When are you going to tell Mom and Dad about the baby?” she asks.
My muscles tighten and my stomach twists into a knot.
It doesn’t feel right to tell anyone about the baby when things with Wesley and me are so up in the air. I don’t want the announcement of being pregnant to be followed up with my telling everyone that Wesley and I won’t be raising it together. The idea of doing that makes me feel even more sick.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“You’ll know when you’re ready.” She sits up. “I have to head to Tony’s. Do you want me to bring you a slice of pizza home for dinner?” she asks.
My mouth waters at the offer, but not in a good way. Ugh. I can’t even stand the thought of pizza now, and I love pizza—or I did. Yesterday, when Libby came home in the middle of the night smelling like it, I had to run for the bathroom.
“No, thank you.” My face scrunches up.
“You haven’t been eating much. Maybe you should ask your doctor about prescribing you something for the nausea.”
“I’ll call tomorrow,” I agree.
She nods as she puts on her coat. “See you later.”
“Later.” I watch her shut the door, and then I lie down on the couch and feel sorry for myself while watching garbage TV. Eventually, I fall asleep.
WESLEY
After knocking, I take a step back and wait for someone to answer.
“Wesley! What are you doing here?” Katie asks, opening the door for me and then ushering me inside and out of the snowstorm that started about an hour ago.
Leaning down, I kiss her cheek. I’m half-surprised she doesn’t smack me upside my head. I deserve to be smacked, and I also deserve to have my ass kicked.
“I stopped by to see Aiden. Is he around?” I follow her down a long hallway that’s lined with photos of all three of the Reed girls.
“He’s out back, in the shop.” She stops at the glass double door in the kitchen and points to the backyard, across toward a large metal shed. “The snowblower is acting up, so he’s trying to fix it before we get too much snow.” She smiles. “Go on out, but make sure you stop back in before you leave. I made Mackenzie’s favorite cookies—you can take her some,” she says.
Pain rocks through me at the mention of her name, but so does a little bit of hope. Clearly, she still hasn’t told her parents about our fight, which means she hasn’t completely given up on me—or us—yet.
“Sure.” I open the door, then head across the snow-covered lawn toward the shop. I can see Aiden inside, bent over a wooden workbench.
“Don’t tell me you took my daughter to the courthouse and eloped,” Aiden says by way of greeting when he spots me.
I smile for the first time in days.