The Man I Love (The Road Trip #2)

23. Chapter Twenty-three

23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

July

Present Day

Tristan received another phone call after lunch, then a third when they’d reached the Welcome to Illinois sign a few hours later. But this time he pulled to the side of the road, answering it after he hopped out of the truck. She vaguely heard the female voice on the other side before he closed the door behind him, and her stomach dropped for the millionth time that day.

Maybe he had a girlfriend—or at least someone who was upset enough that he was driving alone across the US with the woman who was pregnant with his child. She told herself to mind her own business, to focus only on the things she had control over, but the task felt impossible.

She shifted in her seat, removing her seatbelt to get out of the truck, only to fasten it again. What was she planning to do? Follow him? Stand on the side of the road and eavesdrop?

She wouldn’t blame the woman for being upset, but Sam had every right to be upset too. Her body didn’t care that they were broken up. The fact was that his baby was growing in her belly. Shouldn’t that count for something? Couldn’t he at least wait to find another woman until his DNA had exited her body?

She grabbed the notebook out of her bag and fanned herself with it. A cold sweat had broken out on her forehead, and she was sure she was going to be sick. She could hear his muffled voice through the windows, but the whooshing of cars made everything inaudible.

Maybe it was his mother on the phone? Or possibly Renee? If it were either, why would he have gotten out of the cab? Why would he feel the need for a secret conversation?

By the time Tristan had opened the door of the truck, she’d worked herself into a frenzy. She remembered all those weeks when she’d waited for his call that never came—all the nights she’d lied awake, wondering why he hadn’t sent even a single text—and all the heartbreak from months earlier was fresh again.

His door slammed shut, and she fanned herself harder.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” She nodded, not trusting her voice to say more than that.

He climbed into his seat but made no effort to start driving again.

“Is something wrong?” She looked up.

He shook his head, grabbed the brown bag in the center console, and handed it to her. “I bought this for you at the rest stop,” he said. “Maybe it will help.”

Curious, she straightened her shouldersand set her binder on the seat. She took the bag and slowly removed an oblong brown box from it.

“It’s a neck fan,” he explained.

He took it back, opened the box, and unfolded what appeared to be a headband from a sci-fi movie.

He fiddled with the arms, then adjusted the two fans on either side. He then brushed her hair aside and looped the fan around her neck.

She didn’t move.

He flicked the fan on, and awareness pummeled her stomach. The fan started spinning. Lights of red, white, and blue began flashing like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

He covered his mouth with a finger to hide a smile. “I didn’t realize it did that,” he said, unsuccessfully hiding his amusement. “Let me see…” He reached over again, his hand brushing against her neck as he played with the controls.

Finally satisfied, he sat back, but the lights kept flashing—only now, the fan spun faster, sucking a strand of loose hair into the blade. “Ouch!” she yelled, craning her head to the side.

“Shit!” Tristan cringed, then leaned forward, trying to turn the machine off. It only made things worse, and a screeching noise sounded in her ears.

“Oh God!” he muttered.

More hair sucked into the machine, and soon his whole body came into her seat. “Fuck!” His eyes bulged.

The fan continued to struggle, making a high-pitched whistling sound, as Tristan continued to work at the controls. His face was above hers, his abdomen pressed against her belly.

Like every other time he was this close, her body reacted to him. It didn’t matter that her hair was being ripped out of her skullor that she was eight months pregnant with his child. Every cell in her body ignited.

Tristan finally yanked the batteries from the back, and the device went silent, but still, he didn’t move. His one leg pressed against the passenger side door, the other between her thighs. “Shit, Sam,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Then his fingers were in her hair again. “Let me,” he said softly, as he began untangling her hair from the fan blades.

She tried to ignore his touch, but his closeness was too much. His scent filled her nose, reminding her of sunshine, clean soap, and something that was unmistakably Tristan.

Her skin prickled, and she felt their bodies synchronize into familiar rhythms. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breath quickened.

She remembered all the days and nights they sat this close, especially the first night in the woods when they’d kissed. There were a thousand memories attached to this man. The self-assured way he touched her was too familiar. He was never meek or timid. He knew exactly what he was doing. Even now, his fingers didn’t question, they just did.

The air in the cab became thick, and her mind found it impossible to think. His fingers brushed down her neck, almost like a caress, and she wondered if it had been intentional. It would be so easy to give in. So easy…

Awareness flared in her throat. What was he doing? Why was it taking so long? Was he intentionally trying to drive her crazy?

Her whole body lit up like a Christmas tree, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to be around him again without remembering what he could do between her thighs.

She pushed his chest. “Move,” she said, trying to get out from under him.

He didn’t listen. “I almost got it?—”

“Get off,” she said again.

“Just a sec?—”

“Get off of me!” She pushed firmly at his chest, and he sprang backward.

He was so taken aback by her sudden urgency that he almost looked scared. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

She yanked the fan from her hair, taking a few strands along with it. “I’m fine,” she said again, though this time her voice vibrated.

“You don’t sound fine,” he whispered.

Maybe it was his concern, or the way his blue eyes penetrated hers, but her body shook.

“God, Sam, are you okay? I was only trying?—”

She turned toward the door, grabbed hold of the handle, and opened it. She was out of the truck before she even realized what she was doing.

Cars blazed by in both directions, kicking up dust that made her cough and sputter as she walked along the highway edge. She knew it was only a matter of seconds before she completely lost it and couldn’t stand the idea of him watching her.

“Sam!” Tristan yelled from behind her, “What the hell are you doing?”

She couldn’t face him. “I have to pee,” she lied through her teeth.

“You just peed before we left the cafe!”

“Pregnancy bladder, remember?” She was fully taking advantage of the situation, but didn’t care.

His steps paused behind her. “Be careful,” he finally called. “Don’t go too far.”

She waved an acknowledgment, then made a sharp left, and headed into the woods. When she was certain she was out of his sight, she bent at the waist and took a deep breath, sure that if she didn’t, she would pass out.

Things were easier when he was ignoring her. Things were easier when he still wore those damned glasses!

Her scalp burned from where the fan pulled her hair, but she was grateful for the pain. It gave her something else to focus on, made her forget about the way his touch affected her, and about the brazen and primal way her body reacted to it.

Knowing he would come after her if she didn’t hurry was the only reason she stood upright. But the baby dropped a little lower with movement and she realized she really did have to pee.

She spotted a bush not too far in the distance and walked towards it. Tiny white flowers littered the ground at her feet, and she tiptoed around, trying not to crush them. When she reached her destination, she squatted down, and tried to maintain her balance, but it was nearly impossible. Her shorts were tight at her knees, and her belly wasn’t making it any easier. Maybe it was the pressure to perform, or the worry of peeing on her own clothes, but nothing was happening.

“Come on, Sam. You can do this.”

The first trickle began just as crunching leaves sounded in the distance. “Ooof!” She fell to her bottom as a deer jumped out into the clearing.

Startled, she took a few calming breaths and inched backward. The deer was only five feet away and didn’t seem to notice her. Sam only sat there, observing, thankful for the soft foliage that broke her fall.

The doe was relaxed and completely unfazed by her presence, even though she sat in plain sight. Then a fawn stumbled out of the bushes on unstable legs and Samantha’s heartbeat calmed. Timidly, the baby moved toward its mother, and a newfound peace washed over Samantha. “What are the chances?” she whispered to herself. She felt like this moment had been curated just for her. Like it was a sign from above. That the universe was telling her to stop worrying about Tristan and focus on their child.

Eventually the deer scurried away, leaving Samantha to dust herself off, finish her business, and pull up her shorts. After following the whooshing sounds back to the street, Sam climbed into the truck again and fastened her seatbelt. Tristan only stared straight ahead. “Everything okay?” He cleared his throat.

She leaned forward and pulled some hand sanitizer from her bag to clean her hands with. “Yes,” she answered. “Everything’s fine.” And she actually meant it.