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“Is this the first one you got?” I turn the phone to her. Isla quickly looks away, and I see her hand is tremoring while she smooths Saint’s hair. “Isla?”
“I’m not looking at the picture that sent me into pre-term labor.”
“What?” Now I’m shaking too. Not with fear, but with full-on rage. “Explain everything, Isla. No more fucking around. I need to know what I missed.”
“After our breakup, I still intended to have a real conversation with you about my pregnancy. At least to let you know I was keeping the baby,” she starts, her body slumping further in the cushions. “The first time I tried, I unblocked you from Instagram. I wanted to scroll through the time I’d miss while I worked out what to say to you. But your profile had so much of her in it. I had a breakdown. My therapist thinks I hadn’t grieved the end of our relationship because I was so concerned about the pregnancy and seeing you and her together prompted it. Which then led to a panic attack. Not that I knew what it was then.”
“Jesus, Isla. Is that when you started seeing a therapist?”
“No,” she shakes her head, still not looking my way. “A couple of months went by and though I was still very emotional, I hadn’t had any more episodes like that. Thankfully, because I thought I was having a heart attack or something. It was terrifying. But then on my birthday, I woke up to that picture. By the end of the day, I was having these sharp pains about every thirty minutes or so. Like someone was sticking a long needle up my hoo-ha and stabbing me with it. That was the night I spent in the hospital wondering if after everything, I was going to lose her too.”
Too. She thought she was going to lose Sadie on top of losing me. All while I was off living my dream career and fucking around with whatever woman I felt like, whenever I felt like it.
I don’t deserve to be forgiven.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m not even sure what to say. There’s no way for me to make that right but know that I wish I could. If I could take away all the shit I caused, or was the reason for, I would,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She snuggles in the tiniest bit more, and Saint purrs in her lap.
The next few pictures I pull up are not as intimate. They do show the progression of mine and Trina’s relationship though. She quickly became a bigger presence in my life, even if there was never a commitment there. I didn’t want to be committed to her. Maybe my heart knew the truth my head couldn’t see.
Trina cost me the woman I was always meant to be with.
“Okay, this one is plain insulting,” I say when a picture of dick pops up on the screen. “No way would you have believed that was my cock.” To this, she looks up. After a brief glance, she starts shaking with silent laughter.
“Right? It’s way too big to be you.” She laughs harder now, still trying to keep it quiet. Saint pops her head up in protest.
“You’re an asshole, Cole. That thing is borderline a micro compared to mine.”
“In your dreams, Mr. Egomaniac.” That’s not the nickname I want. She used to call me Superstar. I miss it.
“You need a reminder, then. You’ve properly fucking forgot.”
“Never going to happen, Wylder.”
Don’t fucking count on that.
I stay up until I’m finished viewing every one of the uncalled-for messages she’s received. There are a handful more of me in bed, but not a single one am I awake in. You can’t be sure of that when you look at them. Trina knew what she was doing, where to place the camera to keep my closed eyes just out of the frame. Or maybe she cropped them later, I don’t know. What I do know is that I wouldn’t have agreed to any of them.
By the time I finish and get everyone blocked again, I’m too tired to move. Not that I want to. So, I don’t. Instead, I pull the blanket off the back of the couch, drape it over a sleeping Isla and close my eyes.
* * *
“Daddy,” Sadie whispers, her tiny hand patting my cheek.
“Hmm?”
“Daddy? Can I pet the kitty?”
“What kitty,” Isla says. She’s draped atop me as I lie flat on my back. This couch is too damn small for me, let alone the both of us. We made it work, apparently, since neither of us woke up and moved off it in the middle of the night. Saint is curled up at my shoulder, licking the finger Sadie holds out for her.
“Sure, baby. She’s a nice girl.”
“She’s sooo soft,” Sadie coos at her.
“What’s happening?” Isla says, groggily.
“Looks like you all had a slumber party,” Willa pipes in, walking into the living room, holding a cup of coffee out to her sister.
“Oh god,” Isla groans, scrambling to get off me. Her effort only dumps her onto the floor.
