Page 56 of Baby By my Best Friend's Daddy

I shook my head. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Rebecca…” I took a step closer to her, but she spun around and glared at me.

“Don’t, Landon,” she said. “Don’t come in, don’t try to win me back, don’t hang out at my house or my work… just don’t. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough. I’m going to go inside now, and I’m going to lick my wounds in peace. Go home.”

She slammed the door shut, and I stared at it, trying to figure out what the hell had just gone wrong.

I wanted her in my life. I didn’t give a shit about the rest of the world and what they thought of our relationship.

Maybe kids was a bit of a stretch for me to wrap my mind around, but this early in the relationship, we hadn’t gotten to talking about that. I just wanted to take care of her, to dote on her, to love her. The rest could follow.

Love, marriage, kids… I could do it all with her when the time was right.

Now, though, I couldn’t.

Apparently, she was too young for me.

I wanted to knock on her door. I wanted to figure out what was going on and talk this through with her, but she’d been very clear.

So, I got in my car and did what she’d said—I went home.

17

REBECCA

“Areyouawake?”Iasked when Celine answered her phone.

“I am now,” she said in a groggy voice.

“Can I come over?” I couldn’t bite back the tears, and my voice cracked. “I think I’m going to be sick.” My stomach twisted and turned.

“Sure,” she said. “If you don’t mind the mess. The maid hasn’t been in yet. They usually wait for me to wake up.”

“I don’t care about the mess,” I said, ignoring her quip about waking her up.

I ended the call and turned toward the suburbs where Noah’s parents lived. Celine still lived at home. It was tradition for the women to stay at home until they married, although the lines for that kind of archaic thinking had started to blur. Celine had told me that back in the day, the woman also couldn’t support themselves, but that ship had sailed along with women’s rights and everyone taking care of themselves.

I stopped in front of the second gate to the Forger property, and Celine opened the gate when I buzzed. I drove in and parked in front of the cottage.

She called it a cottage, but it was the size of a regular house in the suburbs, with four bedrooms and three bathrooms, everything kitted out with state-of-the-art technology and appliances; it was a gross display of so much money that no one knew what to do with.

“You look like shit,” Celine said warmly and hugged me.

“Thanks,” I said bitterly.

“What’s going on?” She turned, and I followed her into the cottage and to the kitchen. She put on the Nespresso machine, and I glanced around.

“Vanilla or hazelnut?” she asked.

“Hazelnut.”

She nodded and put a coffee pod into the machine, pushing buttons until the machine hummed and gurgled hazelnut-flavored coffee into my cup.

While we waited, I sat in the breakfast nook and lowered my head onto the table so the marble tabletop was cold against my forehead.

“Brad caught us in bed yesterday,” I mumbled.

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