Harley watches his daughter in Em’s arms as if looking away will make her disappear, too, and I see relief wash over his face when she finally settles and accepts the bottle Em is offering. The man clearly loves his child, but he’s also used to being a two-parent household, sharing the duties with his wife.
Harley stands and approaches as Em gently bounces Aria while walking around the kitchen.
“Can you—I mean—Do you mind if I run to get a shower?”
Em gives him a soft smile. “I’d love to. In fact, why don’t you get some fresh air or take a nap. I’d love to spend some time with this sweet angel.”
Harley’s head immediately begins to shake, rejecting the idea. “I just need a shower. Ten minutes?”
“Take your time, Harley. She’ll be full of breakfast and ready for daddy snuggles when you get done.”
Emotions clog my throat when he walks away, and I have to look down at my now cold plate of food to keep from letting the tears fall. Some around the room aren’t as strong because I hear sniffling around the room. One woman gets up and leaves, but she’s gone too fast for me to see who it is. I still don’t know everyone well enough to remember all the names.
Feeling like I’m intruding on a personal moment, I stand from the table, scrape my plate into the trash, and grab my new phone before leaving the room.
I regret not grabbing a flannel or something from Trenton’s closet before walking outside because the air is frigid, but there’s no turning back. What if I run into Harley in the hallway on his way back to get Aria? I have no idea what I would say to the man, but just sliding past him would be rude.
I can’t help but wonder as I let myself into Misty’s house and shoot up the stairs if that’s how other people at the clubhouse feel about approaching me as I remember all the soft smiles that come with no words. Am I making people uncomfortable? Am I just too in my own head right now?
I plop face-first on the bed, cursing from the pain in my ribs. I need rest, especially after only getting a restless sleep last night, but I can’t seem to manage it. My head is racing with a million and one things, all of them preventing me from sleeping.
I keep coming back to the same thought, and of course it’s about Trenton. The past doesn’t matter. The regrets won’t get me anywhere, but I don’t want to stick around New Mexico if I’m not wanted. I know I can’t stay here if all he wants is sex from me. The act itself is incredible, and I struggle to think of anything else while we’re together like that, but when it’s over and he shuts down, it kills me.
I need to push harder and see where this is going to go as quickly as possible, but I also can’t just rip off the bandage and get it over with either. If I do that, if I sit him down and demand he talk to me about what’s going on between us, if I challenge the looks I’ve seen in his eyes, he’ll just shut me down like he did back at the hotel. I have no doubt that he wanted to believe the words he said and his insistence that he’s not looking for anything more, but I also can’t negate how relieved he was to see me alive when he first laid eyes on me nor the way he cared for me at the hospital.
The man must still have feelings for me. Can you propose to someone and almost profess your love, only for it to all die away? If it was true love, then I don’t think that’s possible.
I’m terrified of finding out that it was a heat-of-the-moment choice, something he would’ve ended up regretting had I said yes.
All of this means I have to find out once and for all, and although I hate playing games with the man’s emotions, I just can’t think of a different way to approach it.
Sitting with my back to the headboard, I access the apps screen and download a popular dating app, setting my location to Washington state because I’m not a fool, and create an account.
I freeze when I get to the part that requires a profile picture. I don’t want my face out there, so I take a photo of my legs from the knees down and my feet before continuing to complete the profile information.
Crazy enough, the second I click complete and start swiping, I get matches. So many that the chime of success with each one begins to get on my nerves.
Then the message notifications begin to roll in.