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Unable to hide the smile that played on my lips, I read the text, and as each word registered, and I pieced it together, my throat curled into a tight ball. The bile rose so fast, I was unable to breathe in any way, shape, or form.
Two words flashed on the screen.
I’m pregnant.
I’d fucked up, and there was no turning back. When it came to telling Morgan, her reaction was warranted. She called me hurtful names and threw my clothes out on the lawn. She threatened me with legal action to gain sole custody of Jessa.
Charlie stepped in, giving me a temporary roof over my head while I tried to come to terms with it. She also reassured me that she’d do everything in her power to represent me in court, so both Morgan and I had joint custody, which seemed fair.
But Morgan is anything but a fair woman. The last few months have been hell between us, her true colors coming to light. Only in recent weeks has she settled enough that we can civilly talk about Jessa. We agreed to certain days as to when she’ll stay with each parent, which forced me to find a place to live so Jessa would feel settled. We untied our assets, and fortunately for me, I still had other properties in my name, which funded my new purchase in Malibu. Jessa loves the beach, so it seemed like the perfect place for her to stay with me.
To add to the complication, I had the situation with Olivia. From the beginning, she wanted nothing from me, offering to raise the baby alone. It seemed like the only option, given that my life, including Jessa and work, is all in LA.
I’ve been floating in unknown waters without a life jacket to save me from imminent drowning. The only help I have willingly accepted is from Charlie. Being a lawyer specializing in family law, she’s seen it all. She suggested that we don’t commit to any agreements until the baby was born. Things will likely change, and my involvement in this baby’s life will become more evident as time goes on.
At least, Olivia, unlike Morgan, was rational in this respect.
Closing the door behind me, my hand rests on the doorknob with a heavy heart. And then, the whispers come back to remind me that someone else can’t escape me.
My hand slides into the pocket of my pants to retrieve my phone, and like I’d done so many times today, I open my photos to the one which has taunted me since Saturday night.
The simple picture was taken on the dance floor, drunk on expensive champagne and scotch. A selfie with Kate’s lips pressed against my cheek mid-laugh, and my face lit up with sheer joy. We laughed until our stomachs writhed in pain, and tears rolled down our cheeks while we barely were able to stand, let alone dance.
The simple moment between us is what I have been missing all along. I knew this the moment I laid eyes on Kate.
But this isn’t a simple equation. I’ve hurt her, abandoned our friendship, and now I have the excess baggage of children, which no woman wants from a man she’s seeing.
I stare at the image numerous times, willing this feeling of yearning to stop. But as the days pass with the distance between us, an entire ocean apart, it all becomes harder to control this urge consuming me.
I make my way to the kitchen, sitting on the stool as Morgan stands across from me, scraping her hands through her hair. She’s still dressed in her work clothes, and despite my intolerance toward her, Morgan will always be a beautiful woman. Though of late, I notice her dresses have been more revealing and tighter. She’s also lost weight, but our relationship is strained, so I keep all of the observations to myself. We are no longer friends, only two people trying to navigate this co-parenting thing. It’s a shame she has to be such a bitch about it.
“How was your trip to Paris?” she asks, rubbing her palms together nervously.
“Fine.”
Unable to look me in the eye, she drops her head and crosses her arms, only to uncross them moments later. Surprisingly, when I initially told her about my trip, I expected her to lecture me on abandoning our daughter, but it never came. Her mood swings are tiresome, and I have no energy to argue with her again tonight, which is where I expect to head in a matter of minutes.
The fact is—my mind is a fucking mess after my call with Kate.
“What do you want to discuss?” I question, impatiently.
“I need you to please keep an open mind, or shall I say, I don’t want to argue.”
The moment she says that, alarm bells rise. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m seeing someone.”
I lower my head, staring at the marble countertop. This moment was bound to come, and while my anger on the subject is a given, it becomes misplaced—the conversation with Kate comes roaring back to life. I should’ve sucker-punched the fucker the moment I saw him at the ball, but Lex warned me to keep my peace, knowing all too well my feelings on his so-called existence.
“His name is Callum. He’s a director. I just thought you should know.”
Silence stirs inside of me as my stark white knuckles graze against the marble. My pulse is racing at record speed, intensifying the heat of my skin beneath my collared shirt. Morgan makes a sound with her throat, waiting for my response with bated breath.
What the fuck am I supposed to say? Congratulations, you’re fucking someone else? I don’t care what she does as long as my daughter is safe. Good luck to the dick who gets to call you his. I’m sure he’ll have fun losing his balls to a bitch like you.
This anger is consuming me at warp speed, a typhoon unable to escape. Morgan is s
aying something about how she met him or where he lives, but the sound of her voice fades into the distance. The only thing I can hear is Kate’s voice telling me that Dominic loves her, and his wife is fine with her being his fuck toy on the side.
