On top of all that, I’m struggling to decide if I should tell Ryder about Maggie’s lie. Telling him he was forgiven even felt weird. After all, he left me that night because Maggie manipulated him, not because he wanted to. Still, he’s been an asshole in other ways. He’s been sweet, too. I guess Ryder Merrick can be summed up in two words.
Sweet asshole.
Knowing our night really did mean something to him made forgiveness easier. He’s been telling me that the whole time, but finally knowing the truth, hearing what really happened, helped me let go of some the hurt and anger I’ve been holding onto. If I’m honest, I wanted to give us another shot from the beginning. I mean, who would turn down another shot with Ryder Merrick? It just scared me.
It’s easier to be angry than to love.
When you’re angry, it’s certain. In fact, there may not be another emotion that is more certain. I’ve been happy and had no clue why. I’ve been sad for no particular reason. I’ve even felt fear and anxiety without cause. Love, too, is an uncertain emotion.
Love breeds uncertainty.
While self-love is certainly important, love isn’t typically an emotion of self. I can be angry alone. Happy alone. Sad alone. But love involves another. And let’s face it, other people let us down.
Take Maggie, for example. I know she loves Ryder. She thought she knew what was best for him, so she lied, manipulating a situation she had no business involving herself in. I know that’s going to hurt him. Still, I don’t want to keep this from him. Love and trust go hand in hand, and if I expect either from him, I have to offer both in return. If I’m going to give us another chance, I need to start with a foundation built on honesty.
“Ready?” Ryder asks.
I look up at him, having almost forgotten he’s up to something. “I’ve got to say something first,” I say.
“It can’t wait?” Ryder says, gently pulling me to my feet and leading me down the hall.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but I certainly didn’t expect that whatever he cooked up would take place in the master bathroom. He pushes open the door, the bathroom covered in at least twenty candles, all lit.
“What’s this?” I ask. It seems a little soon to have a romantic bath by candlelight. Taking a few steps, he motions to the counter of the bathroom vanity, to a pile of rose petals. Three unopened pregnancy tests lay on top. “I don’t understand,” I say.
“I wish I’d been there when you found out,” Ryder says softly. “Finding out you’re pregnant should’ve been a happy day.”
“I cried,” I say, quietly, hating to admit that I wasn’t happy—not at first. “Not happy tears.”
“A do-over,” Ryder says, lightly stroking my cheek.
My heart melts. I look back at the room, the candles, the flowers, the tests waiting there, remembering the pretzels he left me to make me thirsty so I’d drink the water he left. I love that he thought to do this. I don’t care how crazy it is. I’m in my second trimester, have had an ultrasound. We know I’m pregnant. That’s not the point. “Shoo!” I say, flicking my hands at him. “Go wait in the bedroom.”
The last thing I see before I shut the door between the bedroom and bathroom is his grin. His excitement melts my heart even more, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to pee before in my life. I also don’t think most people take pregnancy tests by candlelight, but I’m not going to turn on the lights and ruin what he worked so hard on.
Last time I did this, I was scared out of my mind, praying for it to be negative. This time, I know the result, but can’t wait to see the little plus sign appear, knowing he’s waiting for me outside. I only take one of the three he left me. It’s utterly charming how he bought me more than one. Did he think I’d mess it up? Or has he heard most couples take multiple tests?
Everyone has a different story of how they told their husband. Some couples take the test together, sweating out the wait together. Other women find out on their own, then find cute ways to tell the father of their baby. Women have the advantage in this situation. We suspect and take the test. A man can be totally blindsided with the news. Still, I didn’t think Ryder’s reaction backstage at his concert was all that bad. He looked shocked as shit, but what man wouldn’t have been in his situation?
I wash my hands and wait. The plus sign appears sooner than the three minutes the box says it takes. No surprise, of course. Still, I smile and I pick up the test, holding it behind my back. Opening the door, I find Ryder sitting on my bed, anticipation on his face. I realize this little role play isn’t just for me. He wants this moment, too. Quickly, I try to imagine how I would’ve told him if we’d been a couple when I found out.
Pulling the stick out from behind my back, I say, “You’re going to be a Daddy!”
Taking hold of my waist, he pulls me to him, kissing my belly over and over again. I can’t help but laugh. He looks up at me, his blue eyes soft. “Thank you.”
Feeling my tears stealing my voice, I struggle to speak. “I just peed on a stick.”
“No,” he says, getting to his feet and running his fingers through my hair. “Thank you for tracking me down, telling me about the baby. I never thanked you.”
“Think I turned your life upside-down,” I say, placing the test down on the nightstand.
“I wouldn’t call myself a good man,” Ryder whispers. “But you—our baby—that’s the one thing I did right in my life.”
I feel like I just collected a little piece of his heart. Wonder how many more there are. This is what Maggie was warning me about. He doesn’t think he deserves love, happiness. Is this why he doesn’t use the word? He’s not even good enough to let it pass his lips?
His lips.
I reach up, lightly running my fingers across them. His hand slides through my hair, urging me closer. It’s slow. This is our second chance, and we have to get it right. We have our baby to consider.
Every cell in my body wants him to kiss me, but there’s something I need to tell him first. Talk about a mood breaker. Turning my eyes away and taking a deep breath, I say, “I need to tell you something.”
His chest inflates as he takes a huge breath. I’m sure talking is the last thing he wants to be doing. Anxiety has me pacing a little circle around the room, my mind is racing. How to tell him? I want to make sure I’m spilling the beans about Maggie for the right reason. She hasn’t been nice to me, and I don’t want to make her any more of an enemy, but I can’t keep something like this from him. It’s not the right way to start, or re-start, any kind of a relationship.
“Stop pacing,” he says. “You should lie down.”
“You’re so bossy,” I say.
He chuckles and snaps his fingers at me. “Shoes off, feet up.”
“I’m not wearing any shoes,” I say lifting my foot and wiggling my toes at him.
“Then you’re halfway there,” he says, pointing to the bed.
I bet if I was kissing him right now, he wouldn’t have a problem with me being on my feet. Come to think of it, he’d probably prefer me on my back then, too.
Laying down, I scoot over, making room for him to sit next to me. I hate giving people bad news. I haven’t had to do it very often, thank goodness. My degree is in communication disorders, but since I haven’t had a real job yet, I’ve been spared from having to tell a parent their child has hearing loss.