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I’d made a mess of things. I knew that. My parents and Izzy had continually told me I needed to tell Drake the truth. And I had tried to. I called a couple of times, but he never answered. So, I sent a text and asked him to call me; that’s when he responded, What more do we have to say to each other? That kick in the gut didn’t give me much incentive to try any harder to let him know he was going to be a father. Couple that with the memory of him dropping me off at my apartment once we’d made it back to LA. I’d gone to kiss him goodbye, but he’d put a hand up to stop me. He’d closed his eyes, not even having the decency to look at me before saying, “This weekend should have never happened. It was a mistake.” He might as well have slapped me. How could he say that after a weekend where he hadn’t been able to get enough of me? He’d told me things he’d never told anyone about his family, about himself. We’d laughed, we’d cried, we’d had picnics in front of the fire.
But once we returned to LA, I didn’t even recognize him. He would hardly speak to me, and then I saw him with Marissa and that was it. My broken heart couldn’t take it anymore, so I resigned by email, not giving any notice. Then I hightailed it back home to Florida to work as Izzy’s assistant at the interior design firm she had co-owned with her now ex-husband. He’d bought her out in the divorce.
For days, I’d waited for Drake to respond to my email or call me, begging me to come back. Or to at least explain why he’d lied to me, telling me that he didn’t want to know a life without me in it. But he’d never contacted me, except for his curt response to the text I’d sent after I found out I was pregnant. The only other thing I’d gotten from him was a substantial final paycheck direct deposited to my checking account. While I appreciated the money, it made me feel like a prostitute.
I was so devastated at the time, I hadn’t even realized I wasn’t feeling all that great. It wasn’t until I collapsed one day at work, after feeling woozy while helping Izzy hang some curtains at a client’s house, that Izzy suggested I might be pregnant. The shock of those two pink lines still got to me. But I wouldn’t change it for all the world. Jameson is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I just wasn’t sure Drake would feel the same way about him. He’d never said anything about wanting children or even settling down. I should have taken that to heart before I gave him all of me, thinking we’d be together until the end of time. I was still a little salty with George for making me believe Drake and I were meant to be. Silly old man still thought so. He loved to tell me that sometimes it takes a while for happily ever afters to work themselves out.
Well, I would show George. My life was no rom-com. And I was okay with that. Izzy, Jameson, and I were making new dreams in Fair Hollow. Speaking of those dreams, I needed to redirect my efforts and get to work on them, rather than wallow in the past.
I reached into my pocket and grabbed my earbuds. I popped them in and put on The Killers. I needed some “Mr. Brightside.” Maybe Brandon Flowers could help me come up with the right words to say to Drake. I cranked up the music before reaching up to scrape the obnoxious popcorn off the ceiling, wondering who ever thought spraying polystyrene was a good idea.
As much as I didn’t love this particular task, there was something so satisfying about making a clean slate. Unfortunately, it meant I was covered in damp white goo. I would need to shower before I picked Jameson up from school in a few hours. And before I came face-to-face with his father for the first time in over six years. I felt queasy just thinking about it.
You know something that made me feel even more ill? Singing at the top of my lungs, wearing ridiculous goggles, while covered in white goo, and turning to find I had an audience standing at the open door. A very early audience.
I dropped my scraper on the plastic-covered floor, my mouth agape. There stood Izzy, with two impeccably dressed men. One I had never seen before but found quite attractive. He had a Latin lover vibe going for him with his radiant brown skin, deep, dark eyes, and gorgeous wavy black hair. I knew the other man almost better than I knew myself. Drake stood there in the flesh, looking better than he did six years ago, in fit-me-right jeans and a blue cashmere sweater. He’d let his hair grow out a bit, showcasing those to-die-for curls he had gifted our son. Oh, did I love the curls. He was looking quite tan for January. His bronzed skin only made his incredible eyes shine more. As much as I loved his eyes, I was so happy Jameson hadn’t inherited those babies. If he had, the kid would get away with everything and anything by simply flashing those peepers at me. It was already hard enough not to fall for his five-year-old charm.
