There’s a difference between disliking someone and being hurt by them. My heart is in pieces, so much so, I have no idea how the damn thing continues to work.
The distance I’ve put between us is a lead weight in my chest. Every day has been a struggle. I know I’m justified in being mad at her, but time isn’t healing shit.
I don’t long for her any less.
I don’t wake up spending a few minutes in blissful ignorance because it takes a while to remember that I miss her, that I need her, that I love her.
Every second is agony.
Every breath is painful.
Every memory is miserable.
Each second I spend away from her is something I’ll never be able to get back.
“She seems to be doing okay,” he says, a sad smile on his face. “She’s not logging as many hours at work. She’s having food delivered. She manually ordered her prenatal vitamins, so I presume she’s taking them rather than them just being set up on auto delivery.”
I nod, hating that I’ve been so petty that I haven’t been at least sending the texts like I started doing.
“Have you not seen her?”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“So you’re going to skip her doctor’s appointment?”
I swallow.
“I know it’s going to be painful, but her first sonogram is scheduled, and I know you, man. You’ll regret it if you don’t go.”
I nod, knowing he’s right, but also feeling like a complete coward at the thought of seeing her. I’ll want to cave, to beg forgiveness when she’s the one who should be doing so.
“I’ll go,” I tell him because I know I will. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I just have to figure out how to be near her and stick to just being the guy who got her pregnant rather than the man that wants to love her for the rest of his life, but I can do both. I can be that man and not tell her. I can continue to suffer in silence. Hell, I should be an expert at it at this point, seeing as that’s who I’ve been for nearly half my life.
“It’s tomorrow. I sent the address and info to your cell phone.”
I nod. “Thanks, man.”
He doesn’t brag or turn my appreciation into a joke as I leave his office, and that tells me exactly how much of a miserable bastard I am. Wren never misses an opportunity to make a joke. His silence says a million things.
Brooks is sitting alone in the breakroom, his eyes locked on his phone, when I take a seat beside him.
I see a flash of skin on his phone before he locks it down.
His eyes search mine, but I just don’t have it in me to ask why he had a dick pic on his screen. Maybe his womanizing ways have finally caught up with him and he’s got crabs or something.
“Hey,” he says, stretching his leg out so he can shove his phone into his pocket.
I give him a quick nod of my head in acknowledgment, but otherwise stay silent.
Things aren’t exactly weird between us any longer. It’s been weeks since the truth came out, but we aren’t back to normal either. I think that has more to do with shit going on in our lives than any real animosity toward the other.
“How are things going with Bremen?” I ask, just trying to strike up conversation in an effort to get my mind off Jules and the baby.
“Fine,” he answers quickly. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “Just wondering.”
“He’s… Archer. So, same shit different day.”
“What did he get arrested for?” I ask, only now remembering that situation from a while back.
“Public intoxication. He got drunk and started acting like an asshole outside of a club.”
I shake my head. “Seems like Quinten has his work cut out for him.
“Archer refuses to work with anyone but me.” He scrubs his hands over his face.
“I mean, I’m not trying to discredit you or anything, but that’s not exactly your forte.”
He huffs a humorless laugh. “Tell me about it, but the man behaves when I’m around.”
“Yeah, but you can’t move in with him. At some point he’s going to have to grow up.”
Brooks shakes his head. “The man will never grow up. He’s like a child throwing a fit until he gets his way.”
“Rock stars,” I mutter.
“Fucking rock stars,” he quickly agrees.
“Hayden is—” Quinten stops at the mouth of the hallway.
“Is she okay?” I ask, Brooks and I already climbing to our feet.
“She umm… yeah she’s fine,” he says.
“What’s the news?” Brooks asks.
Quinten’s eyes find mine, and I know from that one look what his news is.
“Yeah?” I ask, my smile growing wider even though I feel pain in my chest. “A baby?”
Quinten looks like he doesn’t know if he should be happy or if he just royally fucked up, and I hate that my friends feel like they have to curb their happiness and reactions because of the shit I’m going through.