Page 18 of Not Because You Loved Me

I leaned in, checking her pulse at her wrist; it was thready and far too fast, and I noticed the subtle tremor in her fingers. This wasn't just panic. Her blood pressure seemed to have plummeted out of nowhere.

I grabbed my phone off the counter and dialed Davis's cell. He picked up on the second ring.

"Kat?" Davis answered, sounding confused.

"Davis, you need to come pick up your wife," I said directly, holding Cynthia's shoulder to keep her grounded. "She's at my house."

A heavy sigh sounded over the line, laced with profound exhaustion. "Oh, Cynthia... I'm so sorry, Kat. I told her not to bother you…"

"I don't care about that right now," I interrupted softly, watching Cynthia take a weak sip of water. "She just had a pre-syncopal episode. Davis, she almost passed out on my kitchen floor. She needs to be examined, and then off her feet."

"I'm ten minutes away," Davis said, his voice instantly sharpening with concern. "I'm coming right now."

I hung up, leaning back into the couch while Cynthia sat quietly, sipping her water and staring at her lap, looking thoroughly defeated.

The ten minutes passed in awkward, heavy silence. I kept a watchful eye on her vital signs, ensuring her colour slowly returned, but I kept my distance emotionally.

I was tired. So deeply, profoundly tired. First, I had to call Gideon to haul a broken Trent off my porch, and now I was calling Davis to collect Cynthia. My house was supposed to be my sanctuary, but it felt like a staging ground for the Prescott intervention.

A quick knock sounded at the door, and Davis hurried in without waiting. He looked aged, lines of stress carved deep around his eyes as he immediately went to his wife's side, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you, Kat," Davis said softly, his eyes full of apology as he helped Cynthia stand.

"She should really get looked at by her doctor," I said, opening the front door for them. "Her blood pressure shouldn’t have dropped out of nowhere like that. Keep an eye on her."

Cynthia paused in the doorway, turning back to me one last time, her eyes swimming with fresh tears. "Kat, please... just promise me you'll talk to him..."

"Cynthia, stop. Please," I begged, the exhaustion cracking through my calm facade. I looked at her with an aching, heavy heart. "I know he is your son, and I know you love him. But he doesn't love me. And I... I loved the illusion of the man he presented to me. To Trent, I was just an obligation. I'm not going to be that to anyone, not anymore."

Cynthia opened her mouth to argue, but Davis gently squeezed her shoulder, giving me a somber, understanding nod. "Let's go home, Cyn."

I watched them walk down the porch steps. As soon as the truck pulled out of the driveway, I closed the door, locked it, and rested my forehead against the cold wood, letting out a long, shuddering breath.

CHAPTER 11

Trent

The Same Day

For the first time in weeks, I looked like a human being again. I’d showered, shaved off the ragged, overgrown stubble on my jaw, and thrown on clean clothes. The ones I knew were some of Kat’s favourites. I’d been talking through everything with Gideon, mapping out a plan. No overbearing pressure or frantic demands. Just me showing up, laying my heart completely bare, and proving to Kat that I loved her, no matter what our future looked like.

Gid had plenty of helpful ideas on how we could show Kat she was one of us. Team ‘Kitty Kat’ posters with an obnoxious amount of glitter littered my apartment kitchen. His big plan included our family showing up at a home game with a Prescott jersey to replace the Sterling one the team gave her, cheering her on instead of the team.

Her ring was in my jean pocket, and I had a fresh cup of her favourite hazelnut coffee in my hand as I walked up her porch steps, a small smile teasing my lips as I caught a flicker of glitter on my boot. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but for the first time since New Year's Eve, I felt a flicker of real hope.

I knocked twice, holding my breath.

From inside, I heard a heavy, irritated sigh, followed by fast, sharp footsteps heading toward the entrance. "If that is another fucking Prescott, I swear to God I’m calling the police!" Kat’s voice drifted through the heavy oak door.

I froze, my hand hovering mid-air. Another Prescott?

The door yanked open, and Kat stood there, looking absolutely exhausted, her hazel eyes blazing with irritation. When her gaze landed on me, and then dropped to the coffee cup in my hand, her jaw tightened into a hard, unforgiving line.

"Oh," she said, her voice dropping, "the ringleader."

"Kat," I stammered, my carefully rehearsed speech instantly evaporating. "I... I brought you coffee. Wait… What do you mean, another Prescott?"

Kat let out a harsh, humourless laugh, stepping back from the door and folding her arms tightly across her chest. "Your mother was here, Trent. A few hours ago."