Something life-changing. My stomach swooped with nerves as I practiced the words again, as I imagined how I would say them to my man.
Neither one of us had timed this.
But life had a way of shocking you.
I’d had a few days now for the news to sink in. It wasn’t news that could be delivered over the phone or via email. When I’d received his email that he couldn’t make it to London, I’d decided to head to Los Angeles to surprise him.
Was he ever going to be surprised.
Those nerves skittered upward in me, lodging in my throat, as I imagined how this brief reunion might play out.
Even though this was uncharted territory for us, I believed in our foundation, in the love that we’d shared for the last two and a half years. We had an unbreakable bond. He was my rock and my sunshine, and I was his woman, his one and only. That was what he always said, and I knew it. I felt it. I was his.
I knew, too, that somehow we’d figure out this next hurdle together.
When the plane landed, I grabbed my bag, shouldered it, and made my way through the Los Angeles airport, amidst the throngs of other travelers. I passed a sundry shop, stopping briefly when I noticed a World’s Greatest Dad hat.
My throat tightened.
A lump formed in it.
Holy shit. Those hormones were serious.
A tear slid down my cheek as I stared at the hat. No two ways about it. I had to get it for him. It would go perfectly with the two photos in my purse. One was an ultrasound. The other was a photo of me, taken mere hours after the ultrasound.
That hat was everything else I needed right now.
I headed into the shop, bought it, and dropped it into my purse.
I drew a deep breath as I left the airport, believing in the hat.
Brent would be a great dad. He was a great man.
Even though the last seven months had been hell—we’d seen each other only once a few months ago—somehow that one visit had managed to produce something inside me.
But life was all about the unexpected. That was what I’d learned as a teenager, and that was what I still knew to be true.
It was all about how you handled the punches.
Tonight, I was going to handle the unexpected by surprising him. I’d tell him the news, then let him know I’d be willing to move here with him so we could have a family together.
We wouldn’t have to do the London-to-Los Angeles haul.
I’d give up my dream to be with him. I’d find work here somehow so we could raise our kid together.
Nerves swelled in me once more, and a tear formed at the corner of my eye. But I could do this. I could definitely do this.
Outside the airport, I caught a cab and checked my email.
Working late. But the show’s almost over. Thank God. How are you? Missing you. Wish we were together this weekend.
I whispered to the screen, “Your wish is coming true.”
But as the car pulled into traffic, my emotions gripped me tight again, wrapping me in fear, worry, and so much uncertainty.
Our emails had grown shorter over the last few months. Less frequent too. We used to write long, detailed missives. Now, they were haiku-length.
I understood why. He’d been so wrapped up in work, putting in endless hours.
He couldn’t say no to rewrites, to late nights.
Then there was that woman at the show who’d hit on him. The blonde. Dimples. Friendly.
Too friendly, in my opinion. A plume of jealousy flamed in me as the cab weaved through the nighttime traffic.
And I hated that she saw him every day and I barely laid eyes on him.
But now wasn’t the time for envy.
I talked back to this too-strong cocktail of hormones in me. I’d been a yo-yo these last few weeks with out-of-nowhere fits of tears and laughter, worry and happiness.
Tonight would be for happiness, I decided, as the cabbie pulled up to Brent’s apartment. I hadn’t seen his place yet, and I was excited to check out his digs. But from the curb, I could tell no one was home. No lights were on.
Weird.
Even for him and his crazy hours. Traffic had taken long enough that I figured he’d beat me here.
My stomach dropped, that worry cycled through me again.
But I leaned on logic.
He was probably still at work, or with the show over, maybe he’d gone to that bar near the studio with his colleagues.
Fred’s—that was the name.
Yes, that had to be it.
A night out with the other writers to unwind.
I found the address, gave it to the driver, and arrived twenty minutes later.
A rush of excitement spread through me when a man stepped through the doorway outside. A smile spread across my face as I took in the cut of his jaw, the shape of his shoulders, that handsome smile. The one who had turned my life around.
Brent Nichols.
My fiancé.
The father of my child.
My love.
But then, wait. What was that?
Or rather, who was that? A woman?
I peered from the dark of the back seat as the driver told me the fare. But I didn’t grab my purse.
My eyes were glued to the sight in front of me.
A woman was walking away from the bar with him.
A blonde.
With dimples.
Freaking dimples.
My skin crawled.
My stomach churned, roiling.
And my head hurt.
Her arms were around his waist and he leaned in to speak close to her ear. He smiled. That smile was poison inside me.
My ears rang. My chest squeezed. Something new surfaced inside me. Shame, chased by jealousy. And a whole new world of pain as she lifted a hand, cupped his jaw, and stroked his cheek.
My mouth fell open, and I croaked out a “No!”
And then it hit me.
What a foolish thing I’d done.
What an awful decision.
That was what you got when trying to surprise your guy—the truth.
The terrible truth of why we were falling apart.
Because he didn’t push her away. He didn’t laugh it off. He walked her to his bike. He handed her a helmet. He helped put it on her head. He buckled the freaking buckle under her chin.
Then he got on, helping her slide on behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, settling in, cozy and snug.
I burned everywhere.
I hurt in every cell.
A torrent of misery whipped through me.
As he pulled away, the look on her face when she glanced back was one of adoration.
The look on mine?
It had to be nothing but horror.
I’d never felt more stupid in my life.
And no way was he going to see me.
Obviously. Since he was busy with his new woman.
I whipped my head away from the scene, fighting off tears.
He didn’t deserve them.
“Airport,” I choked out.
I could barely see the departure board. My eyes were red, my throat was raw. But there was only one place to go.
Home. To see my family. To see my brothers. Most of all, to see Michael, my oldest brother.
I boarded a flight to Vegas, and through tears and pain, I wrote him an email, doing my best to be as adult and mature as I could be. I didn’t want to let on that I knew the cruel truth, that I’d done something as stupid as fly across an ocean to surprise a man who was two-timing me.
Nope. I was keeping that part of our breakup my secret and my shame. He would never know what I’d been willing to do for us, because if he knew, I’d be an even bigger fool.