Page 64 of Second Chance Ex
Joey nods. “Yeah, we are. But we can get through this, Prue.” He reaches for my hand, the one that’s holding the test, his thumb stroking my knuckles. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Pulling me into his side, I go willingly, nestling into the crook of his arm. I feel his lips press against the top of my head in a lingering kiss. “Do you have any idea how far along we might be?”
I don’t miss the way he sayswe, and my heart swells. “At least eight weeks by my count, which means I’ll be pretty much full-term by graduation?—”
“And I’ll be there, front fucking row, cheering on my girl in her cap and gown with her big old belly full of our baby,” he assures me, pressing another kiss to my head.
I smile, moving in closer, breathing him in.
“I’ll always be there, Prue, right by your side, througheverything,” Joey says, his arm around me squeezing me a little tighter. “I know football is taking up a lot of my time right now, but you will always come first, second and third, you know that, don’t you?”
I nod, because I do know that. Tonight, and the fact that Joey jumped straight into his truck and drove almost three hours to come and see me when I told him we need to talk, is further proof I didn’t really need that no matter how dedicated he is to his career, he will always put me first.
“It’s always you and me, baby. Forever, remember?”
“Forever.” I smile up at him.
His hand moves from my shoulder, down my side,coming to splay over my stomach. “You, me, and… TBC, forever,” Joey whispers.
I place my hand over his, and we sit there together on the bench, in the cool night, just existing, and in that moment nothingandeverything is perfect.
Icheck my phone for about the hundredth time. It’s been three hours and still no response from Prue after my sneaky message about missing my girl in a pretty dress by my side. It’s the truth though. I’d love nothing more than to have Prue here by my side at these types of events. Not only do I want to spend every waking minute with her, show her off, tell the world she’s mine, but Prue centers me. She always has. I hate this side of being a professional athlete; I hate the fame and the spotlight. But when I’ve had Prue by my side, I don’t know… she somehow manages to make all the bullshit fade away into the background.
“You okay, JT?”
I look up to see Marcus, one of the League’s top-ranked QBs, approaching me. There are a few of us here tonight; top ranked players from all different teams, brought together off the field to help raise money for kids’ cancer research. These are the events that I willattend, no questions asked, no matter my anxiety levels, because I lost my little sister to cancer, and I’ll do anything I can to help the cause.
I tuck my phone away, focusing my attention on Marcus. “Yeah, man, all good.”
We shoot the shit for a while, talking about what our plans are for the off-season; Marcus, a married father of two with one on the way, is taking his kids down to Disney World, dropping them off with the in-laws and then he and his baby mama are flying down to the Bahamas for a week-long babymoon. And as he tells me this, he’s far from gloating but I can’t help but envy the guy.All I’ve ever wanted is to spend my summer vacation with the woman I love, somewhere hot and secluded; just the two of us.
“I think I’ll probably just hang out at home,” I say with a shrug. “Might take my little brother camping or something.”
“You’restillsingle huh?” Marcus laughs.
Despite my curious grin, my brows knit together in confusion at the thought that a top-ranked QB for a rival team has any knowledge or interest in my relationship status.
“When I told my wife, Cassie, that you were going to be here tonight, she gave me the running commentary onJoey Tanner,” Marcus thankfully explains. “Apparently you’re one of the League’s most eligible bachelors.” He chuckles, poking me in my chest.
“Don’t remind me.” I roll my eyes, tipping my head back with an emphasized groan. “My buddies are constantly sending me links to all the thirst-trap TikToks dedicated to me. It’s embarrassing.”
Marcus tilts his head to the side contemplatively. “I mean, I could think of worse things in life, but I get how it could become a little disconcerting.”
I tip back the remainder of my beer right as my phone vibrates from the pocket of my trousers. I take it out and can’t even try and contain my smile at the sight of Prue’s name.
“Uh oh, I know that look,” Marcus says. “And, if I’m not mistaken, it sounds like a million women’s hearts breaking at once.”
I scoff, shaking my head at him. He winks before walking away to go talk to someone else, and I step off to the side, out of the way of people networking and milling about, grinning as I open the message from Prue. But the second I see the sheer size of the text message—an essay, if you will—my smile falls because this can’t be good.
Prue: Hey, Joey. I’m sorry, but I can’t meet with you tomorrow. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. We cannot get back together. What happened between us at Tahoe, and at my house, well, I don’t really know what that was, but I put it down to being caught up in the moment, swept away with the memory of what we once had. But we can’t ever have that again. We can’t go back there. This was all a mistake. And, I’m sorry, but I think it’s best if we just go back to how things were. I know with Ryan and Maddy’s wedding we’re going to be forced to see each other, but that’s it. Nothing more. I can’t do it. My heart can’t take it. I’m sorry.
What the fuck?
I blink hard, my vision blurring with the confusion and anger that’s rolling through me in waves. I re-read the message at least two more times, trying to make sense of Prue’s words. Trying to understand what the hell happened during the last few hours for her to do a full one-eighty.
Sure, she was a little one-worded in a few of her replies this week, but this is something else. I’m forced to excuse myself before I lose my shit in a ballroom full of rich assholes and sick children.
Outside, the night air is alive with the type of energy you only find in a city like New York. Tourists and locals alike tread the pavement. Yellow Taxis are banked up on the Avenue. Car horns bleep. Somewhere in the distance a siren wails. And I’m right here, in the thick of it all, listening to Prue’s dial tone, begging her to pick up. But, of course, it goes to messages. I curse under my breath, ending the call without leaving anything.
