Page 37 of One Big Little Secret

But is he really expecting me to answer? To throw my hands up and forget?

No chance.

Because his little ‘mistake’ changed my life forever and made everything ten times harder, even if I’d do it all again for Arlo infinity times.

Meanwhile, he’s been grumping along, getting rich with his brothers, and slurping fancy coffees every morning that would make me bankrupt.

I’m stuck grinding with a kid—his kid—all alone in this city. Desperately trying to get off the ground before I’m thirty and figure out a stable life.

He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to say something profound, to save us both from suffocating in the awkward silence.

Something better than one-word answers, which really are about the extent of my vocabulary right now.

My chest hurts like it’s swarming with angry hornets.

The same ache I felt when I found out I was pregnant and alone.

It tastes like stress and fear and it promises to crush my organs if I can’t make it stop. If I let it get the better of me, I’ll forget how to breathe.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

Not in front of Patton Rory. Jesus, don’t do it.

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s letting him know what he’s done to me.

I honestly can’t fathom how he seems so unaffected beyond losing his words.

But I push at the ache, forcing every raw emotion into a condensed ball at the pit of my stomach, and let numbness replace feeling.

That’s what helps me look back at him, feeling my face go safely blank.

If he wants a few pointless platitudes, fine.

“Sure. I wondered if you remembered,” I say, my tone too flat. An expression crosses his face that I can’t quite read. “You’re right. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“And I don’t want ours getting in the way of our business relationship. That’s why I’m dropping this on you—on us. Sorry if it makes you feel like shit.”

Yikes.

Frustration reaches through the numbness and pulls at my heart.

I’m still in disbelief.

Because if he knew he had a hidden son, that woulddefinitelyget in the way of any relationship we’ll ever have. I nod like a sagging puppet.

“It’s fine. Really. It’s whatever. It was a long time ago and we’re clearly different people now.”

“Salem—”

For a second, I close my eyes, willing myself to end this conversation without a full psychotic meltdown.

“No, no, I promise we’re good, Mr. Rory. Just don’t call me Lady Bug!”

Boom, there’s my exit.

I fling the door open again and make my escape before my lungs seize up.

I’ve forgotten how to breathe and I’m drowning more by the second.

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