Screwed
Page 42
Her brows pinch together as she glances between me and Emery. Emery is visibly upset, with her hands balled up tightly by her sides and her face red.
“Sure,” Dottie says slowly.
“You can take the rest of the day off. Paid. Take your grandson to the beach or something,” I suggest.
She nods, and scurries out the door moments later.
Then it’s just the two of us left alone in my condo. Bright sunlight streams in through the windows, and it’s too quiet.
“You’re going to move out?” I ask.
“What did you expect me to do, Hayden? Continue living here where I have to see you every day? No thanks. I have more respect for myself than that.” She plants her hands on her hips. “But I didn’t come up here to explain myself to you. You said you had something you needed to tell me.”
“Right.” I nod. “Please come sit down.”
We go into the living room and Emery takes a seat on the couch, her posture as straight as an arrow. She watches me warily. I wonder if the real reason she wants to move out is because being near me is painful to her, which would mean she has feelings for me. Or maybe it’s just that she’s pissed off and hates my guts. Either way, I have to take a chance.
“This isn’t easy for me, but there are some things I need to get off my chest.”
She crosses her arms in front of her. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“Roxy and I have a past.” Fucking understatement of the year.
“No shit,” she mutters under her breath. “You think I’ve just now figured that out? I saw her sneak out of your place late the other night—just after we had been together. She ducked out of here so fast, clearly doing the walk of shame.” She rolls her eyes for dramatic effect.
“That night, I asked her to come over to set things right between us. Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re implying. I haven’t slept with anyone else since you.”
“And you just expect me to believe you? Take that at face value?”
“I’m an asshole and an idiot, but I’m not a liar. I’ve never once lied to you.”
She works her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I have to start at the beginning, or I won’t get this right.” Rubbing one hand over the back of my neck, I take a deep breath. “Her real name is Naomi. Roxy’s just a stage name. I knew her before she was Roxy, long before she was a stripper. We met in college. She was a dance major, believe it or not.”
I look up to see Emery’s reaction. Her mouth is hanging open.
“We dated for three years. I was crazy about her. I loved her free spirit, her straightforward outlook on life. She always seemed wise beyond her years, nothing like the bubblegum-chewing sorority girls who would give me doe eyes and then whine when I didn’t ask them out. Naomi was confident. Fun. She didn’t need a man. It made me want to be around her even more. Honestly, the way she was back then . . . kind of reminds me of you.”
I meant it as a compliment, but I have no idea if Emery takes it that way. Her expression remains impassive as she waits for me to continue.
“Our junior year, she broke her ankle in three places in a bad roller-blading accident, and had to have a couple of surgeries. It ended up costing her the dance scholarship that paid for her college, and she eventually dropped out of school. Things changed between us after that. She became . . . resentful, even though I tried to be as supportive as I could. I even had her move in with me, because she needed extra help getting around while she was recovering. But being together twenty-four/seven only seemed to make things worse between us.”
I take a deep breath, knowing this next part of the story isn’t going to be pretty.
“A few months later, Naomi told me she was pregnant. I was over-the-moon happy. I figured it was exactly what we both needed—I thought it would get our relationship back on track and give her something positive in her life to focus on, since her dance career had been effectively ruined. And even though I was young, I was excited about the baby. I bought all the books on parenting, and little rattles and blankets. It was nuts, but it was the only positive thing in my life at that time.”
Emery leans forward, her fingertips on her lips.
“She hated that I was happy about that baby. She said she didn’t know if she ever wanted kids, and certainly not when we were just twenty years old. It drove an even bigger wedge between us. And then . . .” I blow out a big breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Two weeks later, she told me that she’d lost the baby—had a miscarriage. Part of me didn’t believe her. Knowing how she felt about the pregnancy, I didn’t put it past her to just go off and have an abortion without telling me.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I have to take a minute to collect myself. In my mind, I see a life that could have been, but never was. A little boy with my dark hair and her brown eyes toddling along beside me. I can see it so clearly, and it cuts like a knife through me. As he grew, I would show him everything I knew, all the ways to be a man. I’d take him with me to the properties we were renovating, let him help as much as he wanted. A paintbrush in his chubby fingers by the age of four. He’d learn responsibility, and I wouldn’t have to miss a minute of watching him grow. Working alongside me, he could learn a trade if he was the type who wanted to work with his hands, or if he preferred to be behind the scenes like me, I’d show him the finance side of things.
“Sure,” Dottie says slowly.
“You can take the rest of the day off. Paid. Take your grandson to the beach or something,” I suggest.
She nods, and scurries out the door moments later.
Then it’s just the two of us left alone in my condo. Bright sunlight streams in through the windows, and it’s too quiet.
“You’re going to move out?” I ask.
“What did you expect me to do, Hayden? Continue living here where I have to see you every day? No thanks. I have more respect for myself than that.” She plants her hands on her hips. “But I didn’t come up here to explain myself to you. You said you had something you needed to tell me.”
“Right.” I nod. “Please come sit down.”
We go into the living room and Emery takes a seat on the couch, her posture as straight as an arrow. She watches me warily. I wonder if the real reason she wants to move out is because being near me is painful to her, which would mean she has feelings for me. Or maybe it’s just that she’s pissed off and hates my guts. Either way, I have to take a chance.
“This isn’t easy for me, but there are some things I need to get off my chest.”
She crosses her arms in front of her. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“Roxy and I have a past.” Fucking understatement of the year.
“No shit,” she mutters under her breath. “You think I’ve just now figured that out? I saw her sneak out of your place late the other night—just after we had been together. She ducked out of here so fast, clearly doing the walk of shame.” She rolls her eyes for dramatic effect.
“That night, I asked her to come over to set things right between us. Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re implying. I haven’t slept with anyone else since you.”
“And you just expect me to believe you? Take that at face value?”
“I’m an asshole and an idiot, but I’m not a liar. I’ve never once lied to you.”
She works her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I have to start at the beginning, or I won’t get this right.” Rubbing one hand over the back of my neck, I take a deep breath. “Her real name is Naomi. Roxy’s just a stage name. I knew her before she was Roxy, long before she was a stripper. We met in college. She was a dance major, believe it or not.”
I look up to see Emery’s reaction. Her mouth is hanging open.
“We dated for three years. I was crazy about her. I loved her free spirit, her straightforward outlook on life. She always seemed wise beyond her years, nothing like the bubblegum-chewing sorority girls who would give me doe eyes and then whine when I didn’t ask them out. Naomi was confident. Fun. She didn’t need a man. It made me want to be around her even more. Honestly, the way she was back then . . . kind of reminds me of you.”
I meant it as a compliment, but I have no idea if Emery takes it that way. Her expression remains impassive as she waits for me to continue.
“Our junior year, she broke her ankle in three places in a bad roller-blading accident, and had to have a couple of surgeries. It ended up costing her the dance scholarship that paid for her college, and she eventually dropped out of school. Things changed between us after that. She became . . . resentful, even though I tried to be as supportive as I could. I even had her move in with me, because she needed extra help getting around while she was recovering. But being together twenty-four/seven only seemed to make things worse between us.”
I take a deep breath, knowing this next part of the story isn’t going to be pretty.
“A few months later, Naomi told me she was pregnant. I was over-the-moon happy. I figured it was exactly what we both needed—I thought it would get our relationship back on track and give her something positive in her life to focus on, since her dance career had been effectively ruined. And even though I was young, I was excited about the baby. I bought all the books on parenting, and little rattles and blankets. It was nuts, but it was the only positive thing in my life at that time.”
Emery leans forward, her fingertips on her lips.
“She hated that I was happy about that baby. She said she didn’t know if she ever wanted kids, and certainly not when we were just twenty years old. It drove an even bigger wedge between us. And then . . .” I blow out a big breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Two weeks later, she told me that she’d lost the baby—had a miscarriage. Part of me didn’t believe her. Knowing how she felt about the pregnancy, I didn’t put it past her to just go off and have an abortion without telling me.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I have to take a minute to collect myself. In my mind, I see a life that could have been, but never was. A little boy with my dark hair and her brown eyes toddling along beside me. I can see it so clearly, and it cuts like a knife through me. As he grew, I would show him everything I knew, all the ways to be a man. I’d take him with me to the properties we were renovating, let him help as much as he wanted. A paintbrush in his chubby fingers by the age of four. He’d learn responsibility, and I wouldn’t have to miss a minute of watching him grow. Working alongside me, he could learn a trade if he was the type who wanted to work with his hands, or if he preferred to be behind the scenes like me, I’d show him the finance side of things.
