And once again, a glass-shard-sized piece of my shattered heart wants to believe him.
“I have to go in now,” he says. “They’re waiting on me. Just … think about what I said. And maybe stay off social media for the next few days. We’ll talk more when I get back.”
I scrape myself off the wall, toss my phone on my desk, and shut my laptop lid.
I could barely concentrate today as it was—now the rest of the day is shot.
Shuffling to the kitchen, I pull up a seat at the table where Carina and Lucia are eating lunch, and I stare at my beautiful daughter, reminding myself she’s all I ever wanted and all I’ll ever need.
“What’s wrong? You look sad.” Carina says. “Like sadder than this morning. And you looked pretty freaking miserable then.”
“Fabian’s ex is pregnant,” I say, monotone.
Carina drops her spoon into her cereal bowl. It lands with a splash, splattering milk over the sides. “Um, excuse me, what?”
“He just called,” I say. I hadn’t filled her in on the text thing yet, mostly because I didn’t feel like rehashing it since I’d already re-lived it a million times in my mind. “Apparently she’d been harassing him since she found out he was here with someone else. He claims he went back home to take care of a few things and decided to have a face-to-face talk with her while he was there to get her to back off.” I pick at a hangnail until it bleeds. “Which is when she informed him she’s pregnant with his child.”
Carina claps a hand over her open mouth. “No.”
“Yep.”
“So what’s he going to do?”
I pick at a loose thread on a nearby placemat. “He says we’ll talk about it when he gets back. But I don’t know what there is to talk about. That’s his ex. I’m basically a stranger. He doesn’t owe it to us to stick around. He should be there with them. That’s where his life is anyway.”
“Is that what you’re telling yourself so you don’t get hurt?” Carina asks.
I don’t tell her we’re way past that.
“Just trying to be rational about it.” I rise and push the chair in. “Going to go for a walk, try to clear my head.”
A minute later, my sneakers are laced up and my ear buds are playing Funky Town, which normally puts me into a good mood, but for some reason today the song grates under my skin. I tap the right bud to shuffle to a new song and within seconds Ann Wilson is crooning in my ear, a depressing eighties ballad about a woman who has a one-night stand with a handsome stranger for the sole purpose of having a baby.
Next …
By the time I get to the sidewalk between my house and Dan’s, I settle on Prince’s Little Red Corvette.
“Hey!” Dan waves the instant he spots me, bending to place his giant soapy sponge into the five gallon bucket by his trunk. I swear he’s been washing his car for an hour now, but it doesn’t surprise me because meticulous is the man’s middle name.
I pause my music and trot toward him.
“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” he says. “I thought maybe you were upset with me about the other night.”
“No, sorry.” I’d almost forgotten about that fiasco. “Just been really busy.”
Sliding his hands in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels. “You mind some company on your walk? Such a gorgeous day—I’ll use any excuse I can to stay outside.”
“Sure.”
We hit the pavement, taking our usual route down Berkshire Street, then north on 17th, around the cul-de-sac on Preston Circle …
“Haven’t seen your friend around the last couple days,” Dan says after killing the first few minutes of our walk with mundane small talk.
“He’s back in California, taking care of a few things,” I say as we turn back toward our street.
“You don’t sound too thrilled …”
From the corner of my eye, I feel the weight of his stare.
“Trouble in paradise?” he asks as we cross at a four-way stop.
“Can trouble even be in paradise when there never was a paradise to begin with?”
He chuckles. “You’re a terrible liar, Rossi. You two couldn’t keep your hands off each other at dinner last week. I saw all the looks and the nudges and the way you two looked at each other. Reminded me of teenage love or something. And you two thought you were being sly … that’s the funniest part.”
“There’s definitely some attraction between us,” I say.
“Clearly. Because neither of you are blind.”
“But I think we got ahead of ourselves for a while,” I continue. “And I’m not looking for a boyfriend or any kind of commitment at the moment. I had to give him the just friends spiel the other day.”
“Not going to lie. Feels good knowing a famous, handsome multi-millionaire got the same line I did,” he teases, nudging my arm.