The Man I Love (The Road Trip #2)

17. Chapter Seventeen

17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

February

Six Months Earlier

New York

“How long has she been like this?” Renee asked, standing in the doorway of Samantha’s bedroom.

“A week—maybe more,” Margaret replied. “I’m not sure.”

“Has she eaten?”

“A little.”

The conversation pounded in Samantha’s ears. Loud, booming, even though she knew they spoke in conversational tones. She removed the pillow from her head, threw it on the ground, and glared at her best friend. “It’s impossible to sleep when you’re screaming like that.”

Renee smiled, then sat on the edge of the bed, pulling one knee to her chest with ungodly flexibility. “Morning sunshine,” she beamed. “It’s eleven thirty. Don’t you think you should get up?”

“I was up, but then I got sleepy and went back to bed. Is that a problem?”

“Did you eat?”

“No,” Margaret interjected. “And she only got up to pee.”

“Why didn’t you eat?” Renee urged.

“Because I’m not hungry.” Samantha glared at her roommate, then threw the covers from her legs, and turned to sit on the opposite side of the bed. Which was a big mistake. Nausea pummeled her abdomen, and she sprinted for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before last night’s dinner made its ugly appearance at the bottom of the porcelain throne.

“Holy shit,” Renee said from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

Samantha stood, wiped over her lips, then hunched down over the sink, letting the water fall into her mouth as she rinsed it. “I’m fine,” she said after spitting it out. “Why do you ask?”

“She’s been like this since the gallery opening,” Margaret interjected. “I think she’s getting worse.”

Ignoring the comment, Sam pushed past Renee and headed to her dresser where she pulled a fresh sweatshirt from the drawer and tugged it on.

“Have you talked to him?” Renee asked, not bothering to clarify who she spoke of.

“No.” Sam’s chest tightened as she faced Renee. “I told you. I’m not calling him. I searched for him for hours, missed my whole damned gallery opening, and as far as I’m concerned, the ball is in his court. He knows where to find me.”

“God you’re stubborn!”

“Yep!”

“And so is he.”

Samantha brushed her hair, picked up a pair of jeans from the floor, and turned to her roommate. “Did you really have to tell on me?” she scolded, pushing her legs through the openings one at a time.

Margaret shrugged. “I was worried about you. You really don’t look well.”

Renee frowned. “How long have you been like this?”

“Stubborn?” She struggled with the zipper. “Pretty much my whole life.”

“Tired, throwing up…” Renee’s eyes narrowed.

Samantha looked out the window, not really focusing on anything. “Does it matter?”

“When was your last period?” Renee asked.

The question came like a jolt of electricity up Samantha’s spine. “Why?”

“Do you think?” Margaret whispered, turning wide-eyed toward Samantha. “Is it possible?”

Samantha sat heavily on the edge of the bed, days and weeks whipping by like flashes of light. The Gallery opening, Tristan’s father, endless calls from reporters asking where she’s been, why she’d disappeared the night of the opening, needing to know if she was the woman in the tabloid photos titled: Starving artist, runs barefoot down the streets of DUMBO .

Bad publicity turned into good publicity, and the more she ignored them, the greater the buzz became. She had more sales and recognition than she knew what to do with, but she didn’t care anymore. A sob escaped her from deep in her soul and she turned toward Renee, jaw loose, eyes wide. “I don’t know…” But more importantly. “I haven’t even talked to him, Ren.”

Renee sat down on the bed, gently placing her forehead on Samantha’s shoulder. “It’s okay; it will all be okay.”

Margaret was standing in the doorway now, her hands in fists like she was ready to fight. “Do you want me to go get a test?”

“Yes,” Renee said quickly.

Samantha could feel self-resolve crumble to a puddle at her feet. Fear, panic, and anxiety made every limb in her body tremble. “No. Please, no.” She shook her head. “Please.”

It took exactly five minutes before Samantha could muster the courage to look at the test, before she could build up enough bravery to face what she already knew was true. She’d never been regular in her life, but the last time she had her period was two months ago. Two weeks before she’d gone to surprise Tristan in Los Angeles. Long enough for her to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was pregnant.

Renee and Margaret had left her alone in the bathroom, giving her privacy to come to terms with her new reality. She’d always wanted to be a mother, to have Tristan’s children. She’d named each of them at least a thousand times. But that was before… They hadn’t spoken in weeks, each day making it scarier to have the conversation once they finally did.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself to stand and held the edge of the counter for balance. The test was a fancy digital type that left little room for interpretation. “Pregnant.”

The word stared up at her without apology. In less than a second, all her plans changed. Her heart, lungs, and body seemed to heave for air. As though suddenly realizing it was responsible for two.

Pregnant. The word sang like a kettle inside her head.

Her hand immediately moved to her belly, and tears rushed to her eyes. Tristan’s baby was growing inside of her. Their baby. She’d dreamt of this moment more times than she could count, but it was never like this. Never anything like this.

She blinked a couple of times and tried to push away the sadness. What kind of cruel joke was this?

She opened the door, finding Margaret and Renee sitting on the edge of the bed, whispering unintelligibly to one another. Their words immediately stopped when they noticed her, meeting her eyes as clarity showed on their faces.

This should be a joyous moment, one of the happiest of Sam’s life, so why did she feel like her heart was being ripped out of her chest?

She held up the positive test, but the magnitude of the situation caught up to her and all the strength left her knees, making her fall forward. Renee caught her before she hit the ground, cocooning her in a hug of protection. “Sam!” she sobbed. “Oh, Sam!” They both crumpled to the ground, where Renee rocked her like a small child.

Sam’s breaths came faster and faster as she struggled for air. “How did this happen? I’m on the pill. I’ve never forgotten a single dose.” But then she remembered the day she’d flown back to LA, when she’d stayed up practically all night. She’d been thrown by the time change, and there was a possibility … Maybe it was a change in routine that caused it? Maybe it was fate. But all the maybes didn’t really matter now because no matter the reason, she was pregnant. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

Renee stroked her back, and Margaret came over to squat in front of her.

“Everything happens for a reason, you hear me?” Margaret said. “Everything will be fine.”

“I know you’re scared,” Renee added, “but you need to breathe. Listen to me, Sam, you need to breathe.”

Samantha nodded her head, focusing on taking one breath, then another. Taking all her concentration to accomplish this simple task.

“It will all be okay,” Margaret soothed.

Sam closed her eyes, latching onto the words of her roommate.

The song “Wild Thing” blasted into the room, coming from her cell phone that lay on her bedside table. A fresh wave of nausea rolled in Samantha’s gut. “Did you tell him?” She looked at Renee. “Did you call him?”

Renee shook her head. “I would never do that. I promised that I wouldn’t talk to him about you, and this is no different.”

“It’s been three weeks.” She shook her head. “Why is he calling now?”

“Maybe you should answer?—”

“No!” Sam yelled. “No, I can’t...” Her body shook. “I can’t do that.”

“Okay.” Renee grabbed her shoulders, forcing Sam to look into her eyes. “Listen to me.” She gently shook her head. “You don’t have to answer. You don’t have to talk to him now, you hear me? It’s okay.”

“Wh-wh-why? Why did it take him so long?”

“I don’t know,” Renee smoothing away hair that was stuck to her cheek.

“Wh-what does he want?”

“I wish I knew.”

“I- I ca-n’t talk to- him now.”

“You don’t have to.”

Samantha sat back on the bed, laid her head on her pillow, and closed her eyes. “I-I-I’ll call him back l-a-ter.”

“Okay,” Renee whispered.

The song ended, and the room fell into silence again, but Sam’s thoughts were now filled with Tristan. Where had he been? Why was he calling? And more importantly, how would she tell him about the baby?