Page 60 of My Sweetest Obsession
The last thing I want is to leave her like this—or leave her at all. Ever. For the rest of my fucking life, I would stay on my knees and beg for this woman’s forgiveness.
But that isn’t an option.
That isn’t the reality.
I slide open the shower door and step out onto the mat, soaked to the bone, dripping wet, with my heart in my throat and my cock straining in my jeans.
She watches me as I snag a towel from the rack and run it over my hair and face, then unbutton my shirt and tug it off. I wipe down my chest, then wrap the soaked clothes in the towel.
But I don’t dare touch the waistband of my jeans or the zipper, because if I do, I might be tempted to do something with my hard, aching cock, like take it in my hand as I have so many fucking times over the years thinking about this woman.
She needs me to go.
And I need to leave.
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to turn away from her, bend down, grab my socks and shoes, and stalk toward the door in my soaked jeans with my cock begging me to go back.
I pause just outside the bathroom door and glance at her—looking seriously well-pleasured and yet somehow distraught, standing in the exact same spot I left her. “Sorry about the water on your floor.”
And so many other things.
19
IVY
Hours have passed since Cam disappeared out the bathroom door.
His wet footprints dried from the floor before I even managed to pull myself off the bench in the shower, where I collapsed and sat for God only knows how long after he left.
The only evidence he was here is the way my legs still tremble, the food in the fridge, and the bag of bright red fruit sitting on the counter.
The baby is as big as a pomegranate at 21 weeks. They’re one of my favorite fruits. Try them with the vanilla Greek yogurt.
Dammit…
Tears blur his words, making them impossible to read anymore, but nothing can wash away this feeling that settles squarely in my chest each week when I find his notes.
Because it’s precisely the type of thing Drew would be doing if he were here…
Tracking the weeks and the size of the baby.
Ensuring I’m eating even when I don’t feel well.
Taking care of me the way he did in the shower…
And I’m lying to myself when I say he didn’t leave something else when he walked out—a reopened gaping wound in my chest.
It was created when Drew died.
When the love of my life was ripped away from me without warning and with no explanation.
It almost killed me.
Every second, every minute, every hour felt like I was bleeding out without Drew.
But then I opened that door to the storm churning outside, and I saw him.
The man who shared his face but has proven to be so different in so many ways.
