Page 127 of The Difference Between

“I’ll name the first one,” he chides. “Reese Conway wants a genetically perfect child to control like everything else in her life.”

At my scowl, he holds his hands up like don’t shoot the messenger.

“That is not what I’m doing,” I growl out. “And I’ll tell you what I don’t want, because that list will be far easier for your uneducated brain to comprehend. I don’t want someone who’s so work shy they can’t follow through on their dreams or turns down money that could make their life easier.”

He growls—good. “Everything’s not about money!”

“And I don’t want someone who judges me for starting a family by any means necessary. I don’t want someone who tells stupid jokes or thinks they can tell me to stay somewhere. I’m not a dog. I’m a woman. A smart fucking woman.” It takes three tries to unbuckle my seat belt. “And I don’t want you. Unlock the door.”

As soon as he does, I fling the door open and spill out of the truck.

He follows suit, right on my heels as I stomp through Mom’s yard. “Reese.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Reese!”

I spin to face him, my fist clenched. “What?”

His chest rises and falls with the same rage trapped in me. “Want me to tell you what I want?”

I laugh. “I’d rathe⁠—”

“To make you happy.”

His tenderness trips me up.

This was easy when he was yelling—shouts and heated words make for a cakewalk on a battlefield—but the softness of his voice levels me, and my next words come out shaky and soft. “And how the hell do you see that happening?”

He’s the closest he’s been to me all night. Close enough he could hug me or kiss me or both. He hasn’t shaved in a day and there’s stubble across his jaw.

“You let me love you.”

All the oxygen leaves my lungs, and I so badly want to say okay. But I cannot. Not with the fresh reminder of every difference between us that we just shouted at each other. I’m going to have a baby and go back to Chicago, just like I came here to do.

My “No” cuts the night like a knife. “You are a young dreamer with no follow-through who doesn’t understand me, and we are nothing.”

His mouth opens—I’ve hurt him. Good. Now he knows how I feel. Maybe he’ll take a hint and leave me the hell alone.

I muster all the control I can and eliminate the emotion from my voice. “I’m having a baby because I want a baby—I want to be a mom. Me. Even though I wear expensive shoes and make a lot of money and am doing it differently than everyone else, this is what I want. Maybe my heart is made of ice, but someday my child will thank me for doing whatever I had to do to get them here. And they’ll love me. Not you.” Fuck my eyes for crying. “And I don’t care what you think, and I’m going back to Chicago. And I am happy. Even if I’ve never been to Big Mini Putt Club or had a single neighbor visit my condo.”

I swipe my cheeks then turn away from him.

Now he knows it all—I have nobody—and as I jog the rest of the way to my mom’s house, he doesn’t chase me or call my name. I knew he wouldn’t.

Mom meets me at the door—she’s holding a paintbrush—with a worried look on her face. “Ree⁠—”

I hold up my hand and shake my head. “No.”

I trudge up to my room, and for the first time ever, let Joshua Jackson watch me cry.

Thirty-Five

To hell with Gavin.

It might have taken me four days to be able to say that, but now that I can, I wish I would have said it my first day back in town when he zipped up on his lawnmower.

Scratch that—I should have said it when he was seven and wearing a Davy Crockett hat and didn’t know how to read. I should have taught him the wrong alphabet. He’d probably be in the same place anyway. Happy with a job he can’t grow in and a shed house he won’t finish.