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There’s a hole in my heart from what Cam did to me all of those years ago, and everything being hashed up again makes me want to curl into a ball. I fought so hard to beat through the barriers of being a victim of domestic abuse, and in one foul swoop, I’m right back there again.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths.
But I’m going to need more than breathing exercises to get through the next day at work, and after that, I have to go to the casino to check on Dante’s dressing.
I find myself hoping Fynn won’t be there.
I’ve nothing to say to him, until at least he offers me an apology.
I can’t stop thinking about the things he said to me.
I always thought I could live a life free and clear of him, without being tempted to be back in his arms, but if I’m being honest with myself, him demanding I have his baby hit me somewhere deep in my core, where I know it shouldn’t.
If I’m being even more honest with myself, having his baby wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. We both care about one another.
But this life with him is dangerous. I can attest to that firsthand because I’m always on call when they need someone patched up. I dread the day that Fynn needs my assistance. This is the life they lead, and it’s a road that only leads to dark places.
He’s been training to work with his brothers since he was a kid. All of those moments leading up to now were to be part of the familia. That will never change.
How would having a kid with him be a good thing? When he or she would grow up within the Medici dynasty?
I just have no idea why he’d even say it. Why he took that stance and objected so profusely to me having a baby by myself? I ponder it, as I have for most of the morning and all of last night.
The only conclusion I can come up with is… he still has feelings for me.
The rage of jealousy on his face when I admitted that I was considering the procedure will forever be cemented in my brain.
I’ve never seen him that way. Well, maybe once, when he came that night so many years ago.
Fynn is safety.
But the fact remains. If I even took him up on his offer, to have his child, it would only complicate things. We have a history. We fight. We’re many things, but compatible as co-parents? I really don’t think so. It’s absurd.
I know that one day Fynn would make an excellent father, of that I have no doubt, but us together?
How would that even work?
Would Fynn give up his busy lifestyle to come and raise our child? Would we have shared custody?
Why the hell am I even thinking about this?
Maybe a part of me knows that ever since I lost our child, I’ve had something missing. A big part of me and him that I can never get with anyone else. Even if we are still just friends.
Even if Fynn still has feelings for me, he doesn’t love me, not like I do him. But I can never admit those feelings. Not ever. It’ll only be our undoing.
I wish he’d never seen that damn brochure, because now all I can think about is being knocked up with his baby.
* * *
At work the next day, I’m glad by the time lunchtime comes around so I can blurt it all out to my best friend, Layla. My head is still spinning.
She’s a tiny little thing, with a cute blonde, choppy bob, and a mouth that never stops running.
She also works here at the hospital in pediatrics and has been since her internship. That’s how we became friends.
I’d come up to check on the newborns through the window. It's soothing to the soul some days when things have been rough down in the ER.
“You look like you’ve seen better days,” she says, tucking a blonde lock behind her ear as she sits down opposite me in the cafeteria.
