Page 59 of The Girl He Loves

Chapter 22

Late Monday night

After my friends leave,I sit on my bed changing passwords to everything possible. For all I know, Justin was even using my Netflix.

Dax lays stretched out next to me, trying to scratch beneath his cast with a pencil he found on my nightstand. We’ve been mindful to not make staying in my room a habit, careful of the message we’re sending to Tyler. When Tyler wakes up, Dax is always asleep on the couch.

“Stupid plastic hangers,” he says. “Are wire ones really so bad?” He cuts his eyes to me and frowns. Two mangled plastic hangers are on the floor, having failed at being useful in the task.

I chuckle. His phone sits on the nightstand, and I glance at it, wondering what secrets it holds.

I finish changing my passwords and close the laptop.

“Well, that’s sufficiently creepy, knowing my privacy has been invaded on all levels.”

Dax snorts in agreement. “Maybe you can start saving some money now that he’s not coming around breaking everything. And the company will be here tomorrow to set up the alarm system. I’ll take care of all that and show you how to use it when you get home from work.”

“If they come after two, I think I can leave early to be here.” Even though doing so would cause me money loss in my paycheck, it would be worth it.

“Nah, I’ll show you everything.”

He continues to maneuver the pencil around in his cast.

“We should talk,” I say, even though I don’t want to. I’m exhausted, and today’s cost has been heavy emotionally. But what little sleep I might get won’t happen if I don’t address the elephant in the room.

I slide my laptop onto my nightstand and sit cross-legged facing Dax.

He says, “Would it be better if we slept on everything?”

Having a serious conversation is kinda hard when the bare-chested man in your bed works manically at scratching his leg with a pencil, moaning occasionally when it hits the spot. And as much as I’d love to sleep on all this or, heck, not ever talk about it, that’s not an option.

“I can’t. There’s too much not being said, and I can’t pretend it’ll wait.”

“Okay,” he says and readjusts so he’s sitting more upright on the bed. He’s still messing with the pencil.

“When we hooked up, it was for one night.”

He nods, and a grin plays at the corner of his mouth. “But I had this great idea about a second night and talked you into it.”

Taking a more light-hearted route would be easier, but I fear wouldn’t be clearer. “My point is, this”—I gesture to him then myself—“was supposed to be causal. A few nights, and then we go our separate ways”

He looks up as if thinking, “I don’t remember that part. I thought we said we’d take it one night at a time.”

“Yeah, and now how many nights later you’re looking at the possibility of becoming an overnight dad and changing the whole trajectory of your life.”

He shakes his head. “The paternity outcome won’t change the trajectory of my life.”

“If you’re Tyler’s dad, I want you to know that I don’t expect anything.”

He looks at me puzzled. “You should expect something. Care to define what it is you aren’t expecting?”

Jeez, this is more awkward than I thought. I struggle to find the words. How do I tell the man that I don’t expect him to keep sleeping with me in the event that he’s gonna be paying me child support?

Like a fish, my mouth flaps open, but no sounds come out. Finally, I say, “We can sleep on it.”

He leaves the pencil sticking out of his cast, then takes my hand. “Heather, I thought we both were trying to be more open. Have better communication. Just say it. Whatever it is.”

I press my lips together, and I say the words over and over in my head. Then I close my eyes and blurt out, “You don’t have to marry me if Tyler’s yours.”

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