Page 44 of All In
Three months later, I was late, and the pregnancy test told me that my life was now forever going to be tied to Nate Connelly.
The simple truth is, I have no control over anything in my life, just like it was with Chad.
At least Nate doesn’t beat me.
Granted, my life could have been different … and better. If I just had left the shed hand in hand with Sam. Still, I couldn’t help but feel scared. Not of how Sam felt about me. That much, I was sure of. But scared of how my family would react. I knew what the consequences of choosing Sam would do. And I couldn’t do that to them. So that meant sacrificing my own happiness. And Sam’s. Yet, again.
Recently, I heard that he relocated to Georgia and got married. I’m happy for him. I am. When I heard the news, though, it felt like a sharp, painful stab to my heart. And the wound is still healing. Not that I have any right to feel that way.
This is my life. The one I chose. I know I should accept it. But the guilt about what I did to Sam will always be there. And so will the love.
I shake the thoughts of Sam from my head. I can’t think about him right now because I need to walk out of this bathroom and face my husband. With determination, I take the cold doorknob into my hand, but not before checking my appearance in the mirror. I fix my hair, trying to smooth out any out-of-control strands, suck in a breath to calm my nerves, and step out.
As soon as I open the door, Nate’s eyes find me. “There you are.” He strides in my direction and places his hand on my stomach. “Are you feeling okay?” he asks, his voice dripping with genuine concern as he places a kiss on my temple, his lips cold from the outside air.
It’s in these small moments that I see his tender side. They are brief, but I cherish them. Ever since I got pregnant, Nate has been more attentive and sweeter. At night, he rests his head on my stomach and talks to our baby. I’ll run my hands through his hair as he does. It’s easy to overlook his controlling tendencies and witness the husband I had hoped he would become. The small amount of love I have for him will spark. Then I’ll look up and see a thin layer of dust forming on the dresser, and I remember.
Because there can’t be dust. Ever.
Right now, though, he is being sweet Nate. Some days, I’ll take what I can get. I rest my hand on top of his, both of us cradling our child through my body. “This little munchkin is doing a number on my stomach today.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” Nate smiles as he gets on his knees and takes my small, protruding belly into his hands. “Now you listen here, little one,” he says, talking to his child. “Your momma needs to make us dinner, so calm down some. We can’t have dinner being late all the time now, can we? Listen to your Dada.”
And Control Freak Nate is back.
He places a small kiss on my stomach and gets back to his feet. Taking my chin in his hand, he lifts my mouth to his and kisses me. “Take your time withdinner, Maria. I can hit the treadmill while I wait.” He slaps my butt as he walks away, heading to the workout room in the basement. Relief washes over me that he’s going to work out because now I can race upstairs to straighten up while dinner cooks. I head to the refrigerator, the cool air hitting my face as I reach in to grab the chicken I bought earlier in the week.
“Oh, and Maria,” Nate calls from the basement. I hang my head in defeat as I walk over, and he’s standing at the base of the stairs. I make sure to flash him my fakest smile. “Remember, don’t eat a full plate. We don’t want you gaining too much weight during this pregnancy. I’m going to want my hot wife back sooner rather than later.” He winks and disappears.
Little does he know that he never had the real me to begin with.
Chapter sixteen
Summer 2004
Sam
“Are you ready for this?” Erica asks, her voice filled with readiness as I lift the trunk open and retrieve our two suitcases, setting them down on the ground before slamming it closed.
“I guess so,” I reply nonchalantly with a shrug as I study the house I grew up in. I grab both bags. It still looks the same, just more dated. My mom tries her best to keep up with everything, but I can tell that it’s becoming more difficult for her as she gets older. The paint of the light blue cape cod is chipping, and there are more weeds in the flower beds than normal. I make a mental note to help her with some things while I’m here.
Taking a quick sip from her water bottle, Erica joins me in walking toward the front door. She nudges me in the side. “Oh, come on! It won’t be as bad as you think.” My eyes briefly meet hers, and she responds with a sly wink.
Erica is under the impression that I don’t want to take a vacation. And that’s because I lead her to believe that. She is the one who pushed for the trip home. I would have preferred to go camping and relax on a hike during the day and Erica in my arms at night.
Nevertheless, she insisted on meeting my mom, curious to see where I grew up and get a glimpse of my childhood. Her eagerness to learn about my life before we met is evident.
After we were married almost two years ago, I told her about Maria. Of course, there was some jealousy, which was to be expected. But oddly enough, ever since we decided to take this trip, her curiosity about my past life with Maria has been growing. Which is unusual since Erica is always so self-assured. The woman exudes confidence in spades, which is so sexy. But this is different. There seems to be no end to her questions about Maria.
And to be brutally honest, I wasn’t keen on coming home for a week this summer. This town, this place, is filled to the brim with countless memories … all of them tied to my past relationship. Thanks to Ricky’s updates (which I started listening to … don’t judge), I know she still lives here. Still married and now with a kid, no less. Nate’s kid.
And how does Ricky know this information? I have no clue. He is worse than a bitty old church lady with gossip. More than likely, it’s from mutual old high school friends, who I’m sure he still parties with. But I don’t ask. Mostly because I don’t want to look too interested (even though I am) and give myself away. Besides, it’s better that I don’t know.
And something else about Erica that has changed. Her drinking. I stopped completely (other than some whiskey shared with Big C) because it was interfering with my PhD work, and I can’t let that happen. I’ve worked too hard for this to let hangovers and partying get in the way. Plus, I’m thirty years old. There comes a time when it needs to stop.
But Erica has compensated for my lack of the bottle. In the past, we would only drink when we were together and out with friends. But now, I’ll see her occasionally slipping something into her coffee in the morning. When we grocery shop, she always has some form of alcohol in the shopping cart. And, for example, like right now, I’m pretty sure the bottle she just took a swig out of isn’t full of water. It’s tucked away in her bag, and she pulled it out when we had about an hour left on the road.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her. But I’m worried.
