Page 87 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

“I don’t know, Paige. Her belly’s big.” I sigh.

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean anything. Women carry differently. She’s so skinny. Maybe she looks further along than she is, you know? I’ve known people with good-sized bellies at five months.”

“No.” I shake my head. “He wouldn’t have cheated on me.”

“How do you know? He broke up with you over an email. I don’t think you know him as well as you think you do.”

“I know him,” I protest. “The email said,It’s over. That could mean anything. Maybe his deployment is over? His mourning period for Cooper? Who knows?” I know, in my heart…I do. But what the heart knows and what it chooses to believe are two different things.

“London, you’re being naive.”

“No, I’m not. You don’t know Loïc like I do. He wouldn’t cheat on me. He loves me. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what happened over there, but he needs me. He’s probably depressed because Cooper died. Plus, who knows what else he saw? I’m not giving up on him. I won’t. Something doesn’t add up. Maybe he needs time? Or perhaps I just have to be more persistent. I’m not going to let that blonde bitch keep me from him. I know that, once he sees me and we can be together and talk things through, then it will be okay. We’ll be okay,” I say, reassuring myself more than anything.

Paige sits next to me. Her lips press into a sad line. She tucks a loose piece of my hair behind my ears and stares at me. I don’t like the pity I see in her eyes.

“London, you know that saying?If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.Maybe you need to move on and put the ball in Loïc’s court.”

I adamantly shake my head. “No, that doesn’t apply here at all. That’s a horrible suggestion.”

“London…” Concern lines Paige’s voice.

“Stop. I know what you’re thinking. I’m not weak. If I thought that Loïc had the capacity to cheat on me, then I’d be reacting differently. Yes, the baby thing threw me off-balance for a hot second…but I’m back. I’m telling you, something’s not right. Maybe Sarah’s lying, or maybe Loïc’s just helping her because she has no one else. I’m not sure, but I’ll find out,” I say with conviction.

“All right, but as your best friend, I need to say this, and I need you to hear it. You can choose what to do with it after that, but please at least just listen. Okay?”

“Say what you need to say,” I groan, expelling a breath.

She places a hand on my leg. “Loïc is the first man you’ve ever been in love with, and I know you love him a lot. I think you love him so much that you can’t imagine your life without him. I know your love is real. But you can’t judgehisfeelings based off of yours. No matter how much you love someone, you can’t make him love you the same unless he wants to. I believe you’re in denial, and I think the longer it takes you to figure that out, the harder it’s going to be when you do. I know you’re going to be heartbroken. But you have to let him go, so you can heal and move on.”

I place my hand on top of hers. “I’m so thankful that I have someone like you who loves me so much. I love you, Paigey Poo. But you’re wrong about Loïc, and I’m going to prove it. I’m going to get him back.”

I smile wide and hop off the couch. I need to go call Georgia with the recent developments and start working on my plan.

Denial, my ass.

I get what I want…especially when what I want is the love of my life.

Loïc might not know it, but he wants that, too.

Loïc

“When the mind is weak, nothing else matters.”

—Loïc Berkeley

My phone buzzes with another text from London.

I love you. Forever. Please call me.

I can’t take much more of her constant texting and calling. Each time she calls, I want to throw away my phone for good. I especially can’t handle when she stops by and pounds on my door for what seems like hours. I can’t risk seeing her. I feel like a prisoner in my own home—for more reasons than one.

I wish I could just get rid of my phone altogether. I don’t want one. I wouldn’t need one either, except to talk to Maggie. I have to have a way for Maggie to get ahold of me. She calls fairly regularly—most times, late at night, when she’s crying. I always pick up. She deserves that. Cooper deserves that. I think it helps Maggie grieve to talk to me partly because I was close to Cooper, too, and partly because I was with him when he died.

I’m leaning back in a lawn chair in our backyard. It’s a seemingly perfect May day in Michigan. A warm breeze moves across my skin. I would normally be out kayaking or hiking. But I can’t do any of that. I can’t find a sliver of joy among my darkness.

“Hey, babycakes,” a very cheerful Sarah stands beside me, casting a shadow over my chest.

“Hi.”

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