“I’m sorry. Is that a problem?”
“Says the guy who brought a random girl home two nights ago,” I return.
He scrubs his hand over his face. “Look, I shouldn’t have done––”
“Damn right, you shouldn’t have. It was disgusting. Completely reprehensible. And repulsive. And disrespectful. And juvenile, I might add.”
“Which is why I’m making it a new rule.”
“Yet, I notice you haven’t apologized for it in the first place.”
“Look. I screwed up. What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to say you’re sorry.”
“I was trying to set some boundaries––”
“Boundaries?” I screech. Penny stirs against him but doesn’t wake up. I drop my voice a few octaves lower and glare back at the bastard who’s holding her.
“What kind of boundaries were you trying to set, Milo?”
“The kind reminding us we’re through even though we have a kid together.”
“Trust me. You made it abundantly clear when we broke up.” I choke back the angry tears threatening to fall.
“I made it abundantly clear?” He scoffs, utterly oblivious to the fact I am this close to breaking. “Are you shitting me right now?”
Biting my quivering lower lip, I shake my head. “It’s a moot point, anyway, okay? I won’t be having sex with anyone for the foreseeable future, so can we drop it?”
“What? Now you’re a saint?” he mocks, eyeing me up and down, making me feel naked. Vulnerable. Dirty.
I fold my arms across my chest. “No. I’m a woman with a baby, and stretch marks, and a mom bod I don’t see anyone wanting to touch anytime soon, but thanks for the reminder. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be sure not to rain on your orgasm parade.”
Keeping Penny pressed to his chest, he sits up further, his lithe body poised for battle as if I’ve personally offended him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m done having this conversation.”
I reach for Peanut, but Milo stops me and grabs my wrist, pulling me closer to him until only a breath of air separates my mouth from his.
“Too bad,” he growls. “I’m not.”
I used to love this game. The push. The pull. The need blossoming in my lower gut. The electric current pulsing between us.
But I’m too hurt to appreciate any of it.
Besides, it’s not mine to appreciate in the first place.
He isn’t mine anymore.
I tug my wrist away from him, and by some miracle, he lets me.
As if I’ve been burned, I rub at my forearm and seethe, “I don’t care if you’re not done having this conversation. You don’t own me. You can’t control me. Now, let me take Penny so I can feed her from my saggy mom boobs, all right?”
This time, he doesn’t stop me as I peel Penny away from him and march back to my room, slamming the door behind me and collapsing onto my bed.
Why?
Why does he have to make everything so damn difficult?
Why does he have to affect me on so many levels? Striking at my pride, my self-worth, and my ego right after doing something so selfless. Hell, we even had a conversation not involving verbal daggers for a few minutes. He gave me a glimpse of the guy I fell in love with before the reminder dissipated into thin air, leaving me with no one but a stranger.
And I hate him for it.
10
Maddie
It’s been quiet for over an hour. Blissfully quiet. Except for my grumbling stomach, anyway. Gnawing on my lower lip, I tiptoe down the stairs, rounding the corner to the kitchen. Thankfully, it’s empty, but it’s missing its pristinely bare countertops, piquing my curiosity as I inch closer to what’s left out for me.
Milo never leaves anything out. He’s too OCD for messes. Hell, he’s too OCD for most things. He likes order in every area of his life, which is why we could’ve never worked in the first place.
I’m a mess.
It makes no sense why there’s a jar of peanut butter and a fresh loaf of Wonderbread on the white granite countertop taunting me.
No note, though. No apology. No explanation. Simply peanut butter and white bread.
My chest twinges in pain as I glance behind me, confirming I’m still very much alone. After rubbing at the sore spot between my breasts, I sigh and untwist the polka-dotted bag holding soft and squishy, overly processed white bread as the memories of us assault me.
No toasting, I remind myself, my mouth curving up with amusement. Milo’s gritty voice growling the instructions for the perfect, most simple sandwich on the planet echoes through my mind.
“And don’t you dare cut off the crust,” he ordered.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s the best part.”
I shake off the thought, search for a plate and knife in the dark cabinets, and slather some gooey goodness onto the bread. A bit of the peanut butter gets on my thumb, and I lick it off, staring at the sandwich for a few long seconds. Finally, I take a giant bite of Milo’s apology in its simplest form.
And it’s exactly what this is. An apology for being an ass. A peace offering after overstepping his bounds. It’s his ever-backward way of being thoughtful. And even though I’m still hurt, I do appreciate it. Probably more than I should.
I swear, I’m like the pathetic nerd in high school who’s drooling over the quarterback, feeling giddy when asked to clean his jockstrap or something.
Do quarterbacks still wear those?
My phone dings with an incoming text, and I set the sandwich back onto the white ceramic plate, grateful for the distraction. Digging it out of my pocket, I tilt my head to one side as I take in the unknown number.
555-434-2971: Hey, babe. Miss me?
I stare at the random text for a solid thirty seconds, trying to decipher who sent it. No one has this number. Or at least, no one who would refer to me as babe. I changed my number after Milo and I broke up. I wanted a fresh start––needed it––and the easiest way to leave my past behind me was to remove myself from Em and all the mistakes she’d made.
So, who is this, and how did they get my new number?
I shove away the feeling of opening Pandora’s Box, my curiosity getting the best of me as I type my response.
Me: Who is this?
555-434-2971: Why, it’s your Baby Daddy, of course. Wanna explain why I had to hear about it through the grapevine?
Shit.
Marty.
As if it contains the devil himself, my phone slips through my fingers and crashes to the ground. The clatter is like a blow horn, making me jump a few inches into the air as I push my long hair away from my face and cover my mouth. Adrenaline, fear, and absolute rage pulse through me, but I’m still lost. Still confused. Still so damn helpless.
How did he get my number?
How did he find out about Penny?
It doesn’t make sense. I haven’t gone out. I haven’t talked to anyone from my old life. I’ve been hiding away––wasting away––behind closed doors as soon as I found out I was pregnant. The only person who knows I was involved with Marty is Dove, but there’s no way she would’ve told him.