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He didn’t know why. He didn’t ask again.
He just lay there, holding me against him, stroking my hair until I fell asleep.
Even this morning, he kissed my forehead before leaving the hotel for his shoot.
With Carmen Dallas. Model extraordinaire.
And I’m just Liv. The model who never was.
I stop in front of the ceiling-high mirror and drop my towel. I look down at my body—my slightly swollen breasts, my tender, enlarged nipples, and my barely bloated stomach.
I turn to the side and look in the mirror. My chest heaves as I brush my fingertips over my lower stomach. I know it’s bloat. I’m not seeing things that aren’t there, but my stomach isn’t flat.
Gas, water, whatever.
I curve my hand below it, holding it, and rest my other just over my belly button.
Beneath it all is a baby.
In this second, I’m not Liv, the model who never was.
I’m Liv, the mom who will be. And that’s more important.
I don’t care if this baby defines me. I don’t care if he or she becomes the reason I am who I am. I just care that they matter to me.
And they matter enough to know that the way I feel isn’t healthy. To know that the way I feel will eventually destroy them, too.
With one more look in the mirror, I turn to my suitcase and get dressed. I tie my wet hair on top of my head and take the elevator downstairs.
Tyler is shooting at the beach directly across from us, and when I look out of the lobby, I can see the people everywhere. They’re never quiet, the shoots. They’re always busy and bustling with life.
I don’t know why I’m coming down here. Perhaps it’s because the torture of watching him watch another woman will be less than the torture of imagining him watching another woman.
I cross the street and turn onto the beach path. The sand slips between my toes, spilling over my flip-flops, and I look around for Tyler.
My eyes find his dark head leaning next to an even darker one. My gaze drops—her hand on his bicep, his hand on her back…
I turn before I look any more.
Innocent.
I know that.
But my addiction doesn’t.
This is why we’re not good. This is why I should have fought it from day one. Why I should have punched him in the dick instead of fucking it.
He’s my kryptonite and my trigger.
He’s my good and my bad.
But this can’t be about him anymore. It can’t even be about me. It has to be about our baby. And having parents who are so hopelessly fucked up isn’t going to be good for them.
It won’t be good for us.
I slam the hotel room door behind me and call the hotel we’re staying in for Day’s bachelorette party. By some crazy stroke of luck, they have a room spare. Not the one we’re staying in, but a room is a room.
I shove all my things into my case and set it on the bed.
