I place the flowers on the iron and wood accent table, open a window behind it, the air stale. Or is it just that I can’t breathe? Turning, I see Troy watching me. “Are you really leaving?”
He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. “I don’t know.” Pacing in a circle he demands, voice rising, “Do you know how hard this is for me?!”
“I can tell it is.”
Troy looks at Jack. “You understand, don’t you?”
Jack nods.
Troy runs his hand through the long black hair I love so much, hair with a scent so familiar I’ll never forget it no matter how long I live. “I’m going to stay in the guest room tonight. I need some time to think.”
We watch until he’s gone.
My gaze drifts to Jack, my Jack, the man I’ve known most of my life and have loved in ways that grew.
Fear is in my heart, and Troy put it there. I’m so angry at him for that.
“You can leave if you want to, Jack. I know you said you wouldn’t, but I also know you don’t want a baby.”
Quick strides bring him to me and he gently takes hold of my face forcing me to witness his sincerity. “I want you. I want this baby. I meant it when I said I would’ve raised it even if it was his.”
My lungs burn with hope. “Would you have really?”
“Yes!” He kisses me, and I can feel the determination to convince me in his lips. He holds me, breaking free and burying his face in my hair as I stare at the door Troy vanished behind. “Mar, I didn’t plan this, but hear me now. I’m going to be one hell of a father to that child. I promise you.”
I close my eyes and relax.
At around three o’clock in the morning, I’m awakened by Troy. Glancing back to see Jack asleep, I slip out of the bed in my panties and tank top to follow the Viking into our shadowy hall.
He says, tone dead, “I’m leaving.”
“I know.”
This takes him aback, but he explains anyway, “I can’t be low man on the totem pole anymore. If it had been my child...” Staring at me, Troy waits for me to say something. Does he want an argument? We have fought over this already and still this is his solution.
Why fight him?
You can’t make somebody do something they don’t want to do. They might stick around for a little while but sooner or later they do what they wanted to anyway.
Touching his face I memorize it one last time. “I love you.”
Tears jump to his eyes, and I can tell he didn’t expect to get emotional, but he covers my hand with his own and presses it into his cheek. “I love you, too. I just can’t.”
He releases me and my fingers float to my chest as I watch him leaving. I’m a glutton for punishment, so I follow him out and see his suitcase packed. Fuck that suitcase and fuck this memory.
“I’ll get the rest of my stuff later.”
“That’s not necessary. Jack will have it sent to you.”
Troy looks over his shoulder, a funny look in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure he will.” Taking out his keys, he slides two off the chain and places them by my roses, one finger pushing them toward the graceful bouquet in an ungraceful way.
As soon as he’s gone, I run over, pick them up and fling them across the room with all of my strength. They skip across the kitchen island, clattering to the tile floor.
Jack appears in the doorway to our hall, naked, hair messy, eyes trying to focus on reality rather than his interrupted dream. “He’s gone.”
I nod.
Blinking a few times, Jack glances around our home, imagining how things were and how they will be. “How do you feel about that?”
“I didn’t want him to stay.”
“Really?”
Despite my emotions, and the fact that I already miss him, I just shrug and nod because my voice hurts.
Jack walks to me, investigating my face. “You sure?”
I nod again.
“I didn’t really see how it was going to work. I’m too much an Alpha male. Add a child and I would not have wanted another man around for long.” My jaw slackens. Jack cups my chin with his index finger. “I love you. So I gave you what you wanted. Another man. But I’m going to be enough for you from now on. You watch.”
He picks me up so fast I gasp, latching my hands around his thick neck as he grunts, “Time for bed.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
MARION
Samantha looks down at my seven-months-pregnant belly. Her gaze darts back up to my face as she blurts, “Something I never thought I’d see!”
Waving her statement and all of its obvious causes away, I walk inside the small studio, checking out black-and-white framed photographs of dancers from eras long gone by, a waiting room crammed with cute chairs lining the perimeter and a couple of small tables, where parents can watch their kids if they want to through a large glass window. Hooks are screwed into the south wall, a forgotten green jacket on one, with empty cubbies stacked below.
“So, you and Lexi run this place?”
Samantha follows me into the space where they teach kids. “I don’t know if you’ve met our cousin’s wife, Paige?”
“Haven’t met her,” I answer while looking around. “But I know of her.”
Who doesn’t?
Paige is married to Gabriel Cocker, hugely famous rockstar heartthrob. When he went off the market about a million women cried. At least.
Samantha explains in her usual no-big-deal sort of way, “She has a few yoga studios. Om This?”
“I’ve seen them around.”
“Lexi used to run the books, so she’s doing that for us now, since numbers aren’t really my thing. But dancing is. I mean,” Samantha hurries to say, “Lexi loves to dance, too, but…”
So she doesn’t keep hanging herself with awkward-rope, I finish her sentence. “But she gave up dancing when we were kids and you are the real dancer so you’re spearheading classes. Do you think I don’t know this? You don’t have to cover for her.”
Sam’s brown eyes narrow with loyalty. “I’m not covering for her. Lexi is a very good dancer, even though she gave it up a long time ago. She still teaches some of the classes and she’s very good.”
Touching my belly subconsciously, I shrug, “Not as good as you. Very few people are as good as you.” I meet Samantha‘s look with impatience. “Oh don’t be so shocked. I gave you a compliment; it’s not that big a deal.” Walking to the mirror I soften. “It is though, isn’t it?”
She walks over to look at the reflection with me. “Don’t recognize yourself, Marion?”
“Do you?”
Our eyes are on the stretched fabric around my middle. Samantha smiles, “I like your T-shirt. Life’s a bitch unless you’re a bigger one,” she reads. “This part I recognize.”
I laugh, “Yeah, I had to get a bigger size, but it was worth it. Do you remember that recital we did when we were kids with the horrible cowboy outfits?”
She registers the memory, smile dropping open before she covers her mouth. “They were awful! Lexi and I promised that when we have recitals we will not put our students in terrible costumes. That was the first rule we made.”