Page 48 of The Man I Love

Two, four, then five seconds passed. His face lifted, and his expression was so contorted she hardly recognized him.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, nodding once. “Eight weeks on Monday.”

His eyes narrowed as though he couldn’t see, and he gripped the handrail, as if needing its support.

She braced herself on the counter. “I found out a couple days ago. I was going to call you. I just didn't know…”

He stepped closer, his expression bleak. “What do you want from me, Samantha?” His voice was soft, broken—barely more than a whisper.

She’d imagined this moment at least a thousand times. Every time a pregnancy reveal came across her social media feeds. Never in all her dreams would he react this way. Never would he have asked that question.

“Nothing,” she said softly, though she didn’t cry like she wanted to. She didn’t yell. She held it all in because her heart was too dried up for more than that.

He moved toward the window, raking his hands through his hair. “So what? You live here, I’m in L.A., and I visit on Christmas?” He was pacing now, his hands running through his hair over and over.She could see the pain on his face, and hear it in his voice, which was raspy and thick.

“My assignment is over in July. Mr. Covington is opening another gallery in L.A. that I’ll oversee,” she stated. “That’s two months before the baby is born. I’ll move back to L.A., close to my parents.” She’d thought everything through, every detail, she even secured an apartment in the same building she’d lived in before they’d moved in together two years earlier.

He stopped pacing. “Samantha—” he turned to face her, his voice shredded, “—I’ll Marry you, I’ll?—”

“STOP!” She pivoted toward the window, her heart seizing up, chest moving up and down with slow, painful breaths.

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he began again. “Just tell me. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. What do you want from me?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, staring at him for a long time, hoping for some magical sign to fall from the sky and tell her what to do. He was making these promises now, but they’d hit one road bump in the two years they’d been together, and his first instinct had been to run. She’d stayed in a relationship forsix yearsignoring flags not nearly as red. Maybe she could handle this again, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much in the future, but she wasn’t thinking about herself any longer. She was thinking about their baby, and what would be best for their future. “Nothing,” she whispered. The single word made her want to double over and grip her stomach, but somehow, she remained upright.

She had no doubts that Tristan would be a good parent. He’d provide for his child until the bitter end, but every time she thought about their future together, all she could think aboutwas the way he looked at her the day of The Gallery opening. She didn’t know if she could forgive him for that. If they could build a relationship when she still felt so much resentment.

He was silent for a long time, then he turned toward the stairwell again. “I guess there’s nothing more I can say.”

He was giving up. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but she thought he’d fight harder than this. He’d given her all the power to stop him, but she couldn’t force herself to speak. If he stayed it would be because she said so, not because that’s what he actually wanted. It would be out of guilt, obligation, because of his unwavering dedication to his responsibilities.

She didn’t want that.

That wasn’t the ever after she’d always dreamed of.

This felt like the end, and every fiber of her being wanted to crumble to the floor. Unshed tears slipped to her cheeks, and she pivoted toward the window. She heard a floorboard creak, and thought he moved to comfort her, but then the sound of his steel-toed-boots echoed in the opposite direction.

He was leaving. Down the same flight of stairs he’d fled the night of The Gallery opening. This time, she didn’t try to stop him. This time she wouldn’t chase him down the streets of New York looking like a fool. This time, she let him go and fell to the kitchen floor on her knees, praying the whole time it was the right thing to do.

20

CHAPTER TWENTY

July

Present Day

New York

It tookSamantha only ten minutes to realize the air conditioner in the moving truck was shit. By thirty, a band of perspiration had dampened the hair at her temples. She cracked the window open, hoping the fresh air would clear away some of the heat, but the summer sun had cooked up all the foul odors of the city, and wasn’t refreshing in the slightest.

Tristan hadn’t spoken to her since they’d left the apartment. Back when he’d packed her remaining luggage into the cab, and she’d typed Renee’s new address into GPS. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected. For them to pick up like old friends, or to hash out all the unspoken words they’d left behind in the kitchen months earlier, but this wasn’t it.

They were on their way to meet Renee in her new home for lunch, but now seated in the truck, with the smells of the city burning Samantha’s nostrils, the last thing she wanted to do was think about food.

Morning sickness had passed months earlier, yet the odor that whirled around in the cab made her want to hurl. She rolled down the window, causing her hair to whip wildly around her face and neck, adhering to her sticky cheeks.

She wiped the sweat that beaded at her hairline, then glanced over at Tristan as she pulled her thick braid over one shoulder. He only sat there, his hands braced on either side of the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road.

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