Page 83 of When love and Hate Collide

“I can’t,” Paxton repeats, “I can’t fucking stop; I wish knew how to, Jeyla but I love you with all your imperfections and your mistakes.”

“Pax, I can’t be the girl I was with you before, I can’t,” I cry, and he cups my face and brushes my tears away. “I don’t even like the person I’ve become.”

If he knew all the lies I’ve been telling everyone, how many times I’ve betrayed Ashlyn, he would never stomach touching me again.

“You’re still that beautiful intelligent girl I know and love Jeyla.”

Intelligent? I can’t scrape together an iota of my intelligence if I tried. Would an intelligent girl make the same mistakes again and again without purpose? No, she would learn the first time and not go back there knowing nothing good will come of it.

There’s a darkness inside me that is hopelessly drawn to the toxicity between me and Dean, despite the deeply infiltrated abhorrence I feel for him there’s a flaming connection between us that I just love to burn in, and it’s not healthy.

How am I supposed to bring a child into such a hate fuelled, toxic relationship—no, it’s not even a relationship, it’s a disaster, like a volcano meeting a tornado and wrecking everything in its wake. Destructive, that’s Dean and me.

* * *

Paxton drives me home after we spend a couple of hours talking and honestly, I’m still stunned he’s willing to fight for us. I thought he would have run for the hills the moment he found out I’m pregnant with another man’s baby. Like, seriously, how much more noble can the man be?

“Think about what I said, okay?” Paxton says, and I nod mutely. I get out of the car and so does Paxton, leaning against the hood of his black Range Rover, he hugs me. “I forgot how good you smell,” he mumbles, burying his nose in my neck.

I smile, albeit sadly, and press my nose against his shoulder. He smells like he always does, fresh linen, and his sporty body spray. Unlike Dean, Paxton doesn’t wear aftershave often. Which is a shame, because for me, when a guy walks past me and the smell of his aftershave lingers in air, it’s arousing as hell. Also when they drive with their palms, that’s also an odd kink that gets me all hot and bothered.

I open my eyes when I hear the rumble of an engine approaching. A sound I’ve become very accustomed too over the last few weeks.

Bloody hell, of course he would choose that exact moment to come home. I catch his gaze as he drives by toward his garage and veer my gaze, stepping away from Paxton.

“Thank you for driving me back home, Pax. And I’ll let you know about my mum’s dinner invitation later.”

Paxton smiles and lifts my hand, brushing a kiss over my knuckles. I hear a car door slam shut and my insides clinch, making me wince inwardly, “I look forward to it.”

Avoiding looking in the direction of Reyes manor I make my way into my house, close the door and lean against it for a minute to gather my thoughts. It’s stiflingly hot and muggy outside and I want nothing more than an icy cold bath to cool myself down… externally andinternally. The house is empty, everyone is still at work which means I can enjoy some peace and quiet before I’m coerced to go out with Ashlyn tonight to some party or another.

It's going to be fun trying to avoid drinking all night. I run the bath and while the tub fills up I stare my reflection in the mirror on the wall. My mascara has run where I’ve spent the day sobbing. Using my sister’s make up remover that she’s always leaving around in the bathroom drawer, I remove what little make-up I have on. My ears pick up on a creak which sounded like it came from the stairs, so I move to investigate. Poking my head out the door I strain my ears to listen out for any noise to indicate anyone is home.

Nothing.

“Get a grip, Jeyla.” I utter under my breath and get undressed while the bath fills. My breasts and nipples are so sore that when I remove my bra, they ache enough to make me hiss. Glancing down at my bare breasts I notice the love bite that Dean left on my left breast that night at his place is starting to fade away. I brush my finger over it, images of that night flashes through my mind. The feel of his lips on my flesh and the way my body shook and arched up into him.

I’ve got to find a way to resist him, because not only are all these mixed feelings for him starting to worry me, I also don’t know how long I can keep going around in this vicious circle with him.

“Jeyla, I love you and I really believe we have something worth fighting for. You don’t have to quit school, sweetheart. I can help you with the baby until you graduate and get your degree. My proposal to you still stands. I want you in my future, and the fact you’re pregnant doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

I sigh, closing my eyes when I replay the conversation I had with Paxton earlier in his car. I would be foolish to walk away from him, especially when he’s willing to step up and support me with this baby, a baby that isn’t his. What man in this day and age would ever accept another man’s unborn child as their own? He’s a good man with a good heart and I know I’ll always be loved and secure with him, he’s the stability I need in my life. It’s easy and uncomplicated… sort of. The only complexity with him is that he’s my professor, but he mentioned many times before that if he informs them of our relationship, it wouldn’t be a problem. I’ll only need to transfer out of his class for the next term. And of course he’s married, but not happily, and that won’t be an issue for long.

And what about Dean? The biological father of the baby? Where does he fit into this picture-perfect life you’re envisioning?

I sink into the free-standing bathtub, the warm water swirls around me while I lay back immersing myself in the water and stare up at the ceiling pensively. I’ll never stop Dean from seeing or being involved in his baby’s life. I just have to keep him out of mine, because there is not a snowball’s chance in hot hell he and I will ever be anything romantic.

We absolutely will not.

I lay in that bath contemplating deeply and weighing my decision for over forty minutes. When I finally force myself to get out—before I shrivel up like a prune—I’m no clearer on what I’m going to do than I was when I got in. The floral scent of my bath salts lingers in the air while I wrap the big blue towel around myself and walk out of the bathroom, rubbing my neck in frustration.

Walking into my room I kick the door shut with my foot and yelp when I see a reflection through the mirror on my dresser. Dean is standing in my bedroom behind my door, burly arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall beside my wardrobe.

“Jesus Christ!” As I spin to face him I press my hand to my chest to calm my poor terrified heart that is thrashing against my chest. “What the hell are you doing in my room?” I hiss irritably when he straightens and continues to watch me intently, his jaw ticking, those deep green eyes stern, clearly agitated about something again.

“Having a picnic,” he drawls condescendingly, “I’m waiting for you, you’re lucky you came out because I was starting to lose my patience waiting for you.”

I hold the towel tightly against my body just in case he decides to be a dick and pull it off like he’s done in the past. “Oh, well excuse me for keeping you waiting, I wasn’t aware that you were lurking in my room like some psychotic stalker.” I throw back with an incredulous roll of my eyes. “How the hell did you get into the house anyway? I locked the door.”

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