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Lyla comes in from the bathroom. She’s wearing bright turquoise and pink pajama shorts and a matching tee. Flamingos wearing sunglasses and drinking what looks like a sangria are plastered all over them. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail and she doesn’t have any makeup on. Her gaze locks on mine and I see regret on her face. I guess that’s something. Hell, it’s probably more than I deserve. That doesn’t make me feel any better, though.
She stares at me for a minute, but she doesn’t say anything. I guess after what I’ve done, this doesn’t warrant an apology. She gets in bed and pulls the cover up over her. I rub the tension in the back of my neck, looking around the room for a place to set up for the night.
“I gave you the side of the bed closest to the window,” she mutters, not looking at me. “Dad said you were on security detail, I guess.”
“I’ll be f-fine over here on the floor. Just throw me a couple pillows. Y-y-y-you have thirty or m-m-more.”
“I don’t have that many,” she argues. “There’s no sense in you being uncomfortable on the floor. It’s a king size bed. There’s plenty of room on it, Thomas. You can lie on your side, and we won’t touch.” She lets out a breath that just sounds like she’s exhausted physically and mentally. I recognize it because that’s exactly how I feel.
Maybe that’s why I give in and go to the bed. I lay down on it and stretch out, my body tense.
“You’re going to sleep in your clothes and boots?” she asks, going up on her elbows to look at me.
“You want me n-naked?” I ask and I know it’s all kinds of wrong, but I feel my dick flex out against the jeans. I shouldn’t want to lie in the bed with Lyla, skin to skin…
But I do.
“No,” she immediately denies and my dick jerks again. I want to prove she’s lying. The problem is, I doubt she is. “Don’t you have sweatpants or something? And how does anyone ever sleep in boots?”
“I’m n-not here to sl-sl-sl-sleep. I’m here to p-p-protect you.”
She stares at me, then settles back down on the bed. She turns over, giving me her back. I stifle a sigh and just lay still, looking up at the ceiling.
“What are we doing, Thomas?”
“The best we c-an,” I whisper, miserable.
“I mean, what do you foresee happening here? You’re going to protect the baby from this unknown threat and after it’s over, then what? You go back to Kentucky and have weekend visitation with the baby? A baby you never asked for or wanted?”
“Y-you didn’t plan on g-g-getting pregnant either, L-lyla,” I point out.
“No, I didn’t. I was naïve about a lot of stuff. Still, I want my baby.”
“Is it s-so h-hard to b-b-believe I do, too?”
“No, because despite what happened, I do believe you’re a good person, but you shouldn’t be trapped having to deal with me because I’m having a baby.”
“You’re having our b-b-baby. I don’t feel trapped. Do I wish sh-shit was different? Yeah, but this is the way it is,” I respond, saying it all wrong and glossing over what I’m feeling. The thing about having emotions is that when you’ve spent a lifetime bottling them up, you keep them that way. Sharing isn’t something you want to do. Besides, Lyla hates me. I doubt she wants to hear about the confusion and shit floating round in my head.
“Yeah,” she responds, her voice sad. “I wish shit was different, too.”
“Lyla—”
“It’s okay, Thomas. I understand. You’re just trying to protect the baby. I shouldn’t be so angry and I’m sorry I threw something at you. It was wrong. It’s just you’re just not the man I thought you were. Which, I mean, is kind of ironic, since I’m not the woman you wanted. Looks like we both fooled ourselves into believing in things that weren’t there.”
Dad’s words come back to me—telling me to let Lyla know that I never once mistook her for Gabby besides that first night when I first approached her. I open my mouth to do that very thing but stop short.
She wouldn’t believe me, anyway. Lyla never seemed to mind my stutter, but I swear sometimes when she looks at me when her dad is around, I see shame on her face.
She regrets being with me. She’s ashamed of me. That’s really the only thing I need to remind myself of.
I lay silently listening to her. Eventually, her breathing evens out and I know she’s sleeping. I stare at the window. I won’t be sleeping. I’m just praying whoever has an axe to grind with Ford makes a mistake so I catch him before he can hurt Lyla or my child.
Chapter 16
Lyla
I wake up alone. That doesn’t surprise me. It’s not like Thomas and I have much to say to each other. Last night proved that if nothing else. I kept waiting for him to tell me I was wrong, that he never saw me as Gabby. I knew better, but I think it would help to hear him deny it. I can’t be sure, though. It doesn’t matter because he’ll never say what I want him to.
