Page 43 of Yours to Conquer

There is a moment of silence on the other end. “How does that work for you, Emma? You stay exclusive, and your boyfriend trots all over Dallas and Phoenix with another redhead?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mr. Wakefield. Anthony is in Dallas taking care of business, and I don’t like what you’re inferring.”

“You may not like it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. I’m sending some photos to your email now. If you change your mind about coffee, call me.”

The ping of an incoming email sounds just as he hangs up. I debate whether to delete the emails or open them. You can’t keep running from the things you don’t want to deal with. My finger hovers over the email that says, “While you were away.” I have an internal battle, and the curious girl wins. I push the button and watch as the pictures materialize.

There are at least ten of them. They start with the picture of his hand on the small of her back. I know they are at Anthony Haywood’s because of the A-H engraved on the door handles.

Picture number two shows her face, and it stuns me. She is so similar looking to me, it’s unreal. My hair is a deeper red, and my face is a little thinner.

Picture number three shows her standing by a car, and he is holding the door open.

Picture four shows her kissing him on the cheek.

Picture five is dated yesterday. It shows the girl with her arm slipped through Anthony’s. They are in a parking lot. There are circles on several license plates. I enlarge the photo and see all the cars have Arizona plates.

I can’t look at these anymore. I have to get to my doctor’s appointment, and what I’ve seen has rocked my world. Not only is he with another woman, but he has also lied to me about where he’s at. There is no excuse for that. I know things have been stressful for a few weeks, but he’s been so loving while he’s been gone.

I forward the pictures to my private email, gather my things and head out to see if I’m carrying a lying, cheating bastard’s baby.

I presentmy arm to the nurse. One quick poke, and that’s done. I look up at Dr. Clark. She has been my physician for years.

“It’s too late for me to get results today, and the lab is closed over the weekend. I’ll have them Monday morning; until then, we will assume you’re pregnant. I can do an exam if you’re eager to find out.”

I contemplate my options and decide to wait. I have enough on my plate right now. I have a unique talent for compartmentalizing, and that’s precisely what I plan to do about his situation. I’ll pretend it’s not happening until then.

“Monday is fine. I’ve waited this long, so what’re another three days? In the event I’m not pregnant, I want to go on the shot, please. I don’t want to have another scare like this. In the event I am pregnant, I’ll need to hear about all my options. My relationship with the father is in question at this point.”

“Okay, well, let’s table this until Monday. We’ll set you up an appointment. It won’t take long to read the results, and we can make some decisions based on them then. Is there anything you need for now?”

“A bottle of red wine, but I suppose that will have to wait as well.”

I set up my appointment for Monday morning and drive to Anthony’s house. I make a cup of coffee and sit down at the breakfast bar. My laptop sits in front of me and calls for me to open it. I flip open the top and watch as it springs to life. The light shines brightly in the dark room.

Is this what I want? I look around me and see my surroundings. Anthony is everywhere. He’s in the kitchen scrambling eggs. In the living room yelling at the screen when his team loses. I look out the glass doors at the surf to see the moonlight glimmering on the water. The white foam glows as it breaks on the beach. In my memory, Anthony emerges from the water after his daily swim. I wanted this. I wanted him.

I walk back to the breakfast bar, sit down, balance the cup of coffee in both hands, and inhale the aroma. I bring the cup to my lips and sip. It’s decent but not as good as he would make it.

I open my email and click on the forwarded message. The pictures pop up like boils on a baby’s butt. They’re painful to look at. I enlarge them so I can analyze them one at a time. I gloss over the first five since I’ve already seen them.

Photo six shows him dining with the girl. She is smiling, and he looks like he’s laughing. I can’t see if anyone is with them or if they are alone. Is she the accountant? I’m trying to give him thebenefit of the doubt, but the meeting looks cozy. He’s wearing one of my favorite shirts. It’s a baby-blue Henley. The cotton is so fine it almost feels like silk. Every time he wears it, I bury my face in his chest and rub my cheek up and down to feel the soft fabric on my skin.

Photo seven is almost like photo three.

Photo eight is of him entering a hotel. The photographer caught the image perfectly. I can see Anthony clearly, and the name of the property. Royal Palm Resort is printed on the door.

Photo nine shows him alone at the front desk.

Photo ten shows him alone at the bar in what appears to be the lobby.

I don’t know who this girl is. I alluded to her in our previous conversation, and he said he was probably opening the door for someone. I don’t feel like I can ask again without sounding like a jealous girlfriend. After getting on him about his jealous tendencies, doesn’t that make me a hypocrite if I display the same behaviors?

I drink my coffee, even though it’s turned lukewarm while I was studying the photographs. I decide I won’t ask him about her, but I’ll ask him how Dallas is. If he comes clean and tells me he’s in Phoenix, then at least we can talk about it. If he lies to me, then I’m done. I sit back and wait for him to call.

I watch the surf from my seat at the bar. The warm ocean breeze coming through the open door is soothing to the soul. My hair whips around my face as I lean against the chair and think about my life. I’ve come to a lot of realizations this week. I learned I could overcome fear. I’m stronger and more capable than I thought I was. My motto was always “Fake it until you make it.” I guess, in the end, I made it. My past can no longer define my future.

My weakest link is Anthony. He’s my Achilles’ heel. With him, I’m jelly. He speaks, and I get gooey all over. When he’s near, I can barely think for myself. How can one man have such an impact on me?

---