Page 27 of Escorting the Bodyguard
I can’t.
Because she’s right, and we both know it.
Instead, I turn and walk away, each step feeling like it’s tearing something vital out of my chest.
I tell myself this is what protection looks like. That distance is safety. That walking away is what men like me are supposed to do.
But as the traffic swells around me, all I can hear is her voice. Soft, stunned, asking me not to disappear.
And the echo of my own footsteps, walking away from the best thing I’ve ever had, knowing I’ll never outrun the sound.
9
Gemma
It’s beena week since Ford walked away.
The first three days, I didn’t leave my bed. I’d just lie there staring at the ceiling, replaying that moment on the street corner over and over. How quickly he became a stranger. The sound of his footsteps walking away while I stood there, pregnant and alone.
I ignored Rae’s calls. Ignored Victoria’s texts. Lived on the sleeve of crackers I kept by my bed and told myself I’d deal with everything tomorrow. Then tomorrow. Then tomorrow.
But on day four, I couldn’t stand the silence in my head anymore.
That’s when I dragged myself to my sewing machine.
For the past few days, I’ve been cycling between creating and falling apart. Stitching until my eyes blur with tears, then crying until I’m empty enough to pick up the needle again. The rhythm of the machine is the only thing that stops my mind from spiraling—watch the needle move, guide the silk, focus on keeping the seams straight. For twenty minutes, maybe an hour if I’m lucky, I can forget that Ford chose to abandon us.
Then exhaustion hits, or I think about how I’ll explain to our child that daddy chose not to stay, and I’m back on this couch sobbing until there’s nothing left.
The apartment looks like a luxury fabric store exploded. Silk scraps cover every surface, my cutting table is buried under half-finished pieces, and thread spools have rolled under furniture I’m too exhausted to retrieve. I’m still wearing the same leggings and oversized sweater from yesterday—or maybe the day before. My hair is a greasy disaster, and I can’t remember the last time I ate.
But I have two completed lingerie sets and one half-finished bra to show for my breakdown, each piece more beautiful than anything I’ve ever made.
And my savings account is hemorrhaging money I don’t have while I sit here making beautiful things I can’t afford to create.
My phone sits on the coffee table next to cold tea and a tangle of measuring tape, Victoria’s number pulled up but not dialed. I’ve been staring at it between crying jags for hours, knowing I need to make this call but unable to press the button that makes everything official. Finally, I force myself to hit dial before I lose my nerve again.
Victoria answers on the first ring, like she always does. “Darling, how are you holding up?”
“I’m...” My voice cracks on the first word, and I clear my throat, hoarse from crying. “Victoria, I need to quit. I’m done escorting.”
There’s a pause, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in Victoria’s head. “Is this about Tim? Because I have excellent news on that front. He pled guilty this morning. Stalking and attempted kidnapping. Three to five years, plus a permanent restraining order. It’s over, Gemma.”
Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy, and I feel fresh tears start. “He’s really?—”
“Locked up. For a long time.” There’s satisfaction in her voice. “You’re safe. I promise."
I press my eyes shut, long-held tension finally easing from my shoulders. But it doesn’t change what I need to tell her. “It’s not about Tim. I’m pregnant.”
The silence that follows feels endless. When Victoria speaks again, her voice is softer, warmer.
“Oh, darling. And the father?”
“It’s complicated.” My throat tightens, and I have to swallow hard to get the words out. “He’s not in the picture.”
“I see.” There’s ice in those two words now. Victoria has strong opinions about men who abandon pregnant women. “What a fool.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. Victoria’s loyalty is fierce and immediate. “It’s fine. I’m fine. But I can’t keep working. Not like this.”
