“So, why are we here?” He nudges my bicep. “Something has you knotted up inside. Tell me what it is?”
“Do you remember that conversation I had with Erin about Jimmy Ferguson?”
His eyebrows perk. “Jimmy fucking Ferguson? Her first? I remember Erin was pissed off that you told her she wasn’t in love with him. You called it sex love or something…no, fuck love.” He laughs. “You told her she was in fuck love and needed to fuck other guys to prove it to herself.”
I confided way too fucking much in my brother back then.
“With Faith, I’m worried that…”
“You’re her first?” he asks in a quiet tone. “Are you her first, Matt?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’ve pretty much blown that secret out of the water, but the thought of actually uttering the words feels like a betrayal of the woman I love.
“You’re not Jimmy Ferguson.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “You’re Dr. Matthew Hawthorne, a man who has given more of himself to the people around him than he should have. You’re the best man I know.”
I look at him. “I’ve done what was needed to be done.”
“You went over and above what anyone would have done,” he says, squeezing the back of my neck. “You stepped in when Mom couldn’t. You kept everyone fed, you made sure Callum and Delia made their grades, and you helped me raise my daughters when their mother fucked off.”
“You’re my family, Rome.”
“You’re my brother.” The words come out in a strangled tone. “It’s time for you to think about you. Be goddamn selfish for once. Chase her, Matt. Make her yours. Give her your all because love is the best thing that can happen to a man.”
“What if she needs more experiences?”
“What if she doesn’t,” he counters. “What if that woman is as in love with you as you are with her? What if it’s not fuck love, Matt? What if it’s real, sustainable, until the day you die love?”
“It could be.”
“My money is on it being exactly that.” He finishes his beer. “Talk to Faith. Tell her how you feel and let her decide if what she feels is everything she’ll ever need.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Faith
Why is fate so cruel sometimes?
I’m standing in the elevator, holding onto a laundry basket filled with my freshly cleaned bed linens.
I had to throw them in the washing machine in the basement of the building because they still held Matthew’s scent. Our scent. I could smell his cologne and our sex on them.
I cried myself to sleep on my pillowcase last night after my dinner with Gwynn.
Matthew loves Professor Stein.
It all makes so much sense. He was curious about her interest in Dr. Presbury, and he took her flowers. He kissed her. Add to that the fact that he hasn’t reached out to me in days.
My love affair with my secret crush is officially over, and until I can afford to move, I’m going to be subjected to seeing him or someone from his family on a regular basis.
That’s what is happening right now.
The elevator car stopped on the lobby level, and Matthew’s very pregnant sister-in-law is boarding with a chocolate bar in her hand.
I smile at her.
We met briefly months ago when she was rushing through the lobby with a bag of groceries in her hand. The bag tore apart, her food went everywhere, and I helped her scoop it all up.
That’s the extent of my interactions with Bianca Hawthorne.
“Hey, Faith,” she says as the elevator doors slide shut. “ You remember me, don’t you?”
“Of course.” I smile. “How are you, Bianca?”
“Tired and craving chocolate.” She blows out a breath. “This baby is almost due, and I have to admit, he’s not a good sleeper. He’s up at all hours kicking me.”
I smile as I gaze down at her stomach beneath the dress she’s wearing. “Maybe he’ll be a soccer player.”
“My husband is counting on him being the star pitcher for the Mets.” She laughs. “I’d be happy if he plays for the New York Yankees.”
Her husband. Roman. The twin to the man I love.
“Ohhh,” she lets out a sharp noise as the chocolate in her hand tumbles down. “That one stung.”
I watch as her hands fall to the sides of her belly as the elevator climbs toward my floor.
“Are you all right?”
She huffs out a few quick breaths. “It’s been happening all day. I’m getting used to it. My doctor told me to expect false contractions in the last few weeks of my…oh God.”
The laundry basket in my hands drops to the floor. “Can I help?”
The question barely leaves my lips before we bump to a sudden halt. Bianca lurches forward, so I grab out to her, clinging to her arm before the elevator goes dark.
“Please,” I try my best to keep my tone even. “You need to get this elevator moving. There’s a woman with me who is about to have a baby.”