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I’d wanted to call her every day for the past four weeks, and I’d resisted. I’d forced myself not to do anything. Fuck it, how many times had I picked up the phone and put it down again, wanting nothing more than to dial her number and hear her voice?
Countless.
This was bullshit.
And now, she needed help. With what?
My curiosity got the better of me, and I brought my phone out of my pocket and dialed her number. The phone rang, but she didn’t pick up.
“Hi, this is Summer. I can’t answer the phone right now, but leave a message, and I’ll for sure get back to you.” Her voice was so fucking sweet, it knocked my breath out of my lungs. Fuck. I missed her.
Memories washed over me, and I hung up, stunned by how intense they were. The truth was, I’d barely fucking been eating anything, working out, thinking about anything other than her and work. And the work part had been in a desperate attempt to distract myself from her.
“Fuck.” I dialed her number again. The phone went to voicemail a second time. I listened for the tone. “Summer,” I said. “I want to talk. Call me back when you can.” And that was it. I hung up and put my phone down.
The urge to call again nearly overwhelmed me, and my fingers twitched. No. She would get back to me. I wasn’t about to act like a desperate asshole.
What the fuck?
I cared too much already. I’d tried pretending that I didn’t, but one hint of trouble, and I wanted nothing more than to swoop in and save her. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t in a panic thinking that she might be in some sort of crisis. And I’m the asshole that didn’t call her back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Summer
I needed time.
To think. To breathe. To eat. To be myself.
And I hadn’t gotten any of that in the past while. All I’d done was work and save. I had enough savings to take a trip, maybe, to pay a tiny amount of my fees for drama school, but that didn’t matter. Drama school was not happening now.
The money was for something else now.
The baby.
I’d called work this morning and told them I couldn’t come in, then switched my cell to silent and put it in my bedroom. I’d drawn myself a bath and soaked in my cracked-ass tub, wallowing and pressing my hand to my stomach once in a while, imagine the life growing inside my womb.
You’re going to be a mother.
There were several moments in my life that had driven a stake of fear through my heart.
Being abandoned by my parents was one of them. They had left me out to dry and never contacted me again.
The one thing I had sworn I would do when I met a man, settled down, and had a baby, was that I’d be the best mother possible. I would do whatever I could to make sure that my child had the best opportunities available.
Even if that meant I had to suffer now, I would still do it.
Having sex was great, but pregnancy was always a risk, and I’d made that choice. I would own up to it. I would take responsibility for what had happened, and I would raise this baby the best I could.
I finished up in the tub and watched the water swirl down the drain like a mini-tornado. I pressed my finger into the eye of the storm and laughed at myself.
Finally, I got out, dried off, and dressed.
I had never been so down. The pressure of what this all meant had settled around my shoulders like a weight. I vacillated between wanting to do the best for my baby and the gut-wrenching realization that I had no prospects whatsoever.
Obviously, I would have to contact Matt and tell him what had happened. But what then? He would help me financially? Or he would want to be involved in his child’s life? Maybe he wouldn’t want to be involved at all? The questions kept streaking through my mind, and I despised them. They made me beyond uncomfortable and my anxiety was at an all-time high.
Calm down.
I put my hair up then walked through to the living room and sat down. I opened my laptop and resumed my browsing. I needed baby books, and a crib, and clothes, and a whole host of things that made my palms sweaty and my heart beat a little faster.
But browsing made this a lot easier. Every item I added to my wish list drove home the point that this was an actual thing that had happened. That it was happening. That I was about to be a mother to a child who would not have opportunities.
But he would have me. Or she. The baby would always have me. And that would be enough for now.
