The Man I Love (The Road Trip #2)

27. Chapter Twenty-seven

27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

July

Present Day

Charged with emotion, they sat beside each other in the truck for seven hours. Miles passed, their clothes dried, and eventually they parked in front of her apartment back in Los Angeles.

It was almost midnight when Tristan carried her bags upstairs. “Where do you want them?” he asked, standing at the front door looking disheveled.

She’d gone up firstand now stood in her empty living room, with an empty space in her chest where her heart used to live. Her sculptures would be moved to the new gallery in the morning, leaving only a bed, some dishes, and the rocking chair she’d had delivered that morning. “Right there would be great,” she said softly.

He set the bags down by the chair, then slowly turned to face her. His messy hair had fallen to his forehead, but when he lifted his head to look at her it appeared as though all the light had been sucked out of his pale blue eyes. He looked exhausted.

She took a step backward, wrapping her arms around her belly because the urge to go to him was so great. She wanted to take back all the words she’d said back at the lake, but deep down, she knew she couldn’t. Things needed to break before they could rebuild. The pain would eventually fade. They’d grow stronger. They’d build a new kind of relationship. One as mother and father, as parents to the child they would love and support their whole lives.

He glanced toward the window, and the light from the overhead lamp glistened in his eyes, making it appear as though there were tears in them. “Do you need anything else?” he asked, his voice deep and lifeless.

She took a breath, praying for strength to get through the last moments. “You’ve done more than enough,” she said softly, and it was true. He’d flown to New York, rented a truck, and drove with her for three thousand miles. He didn’t need to do any of that.

“Have I?” He turned to face her, and his face was so broken that she couldn’t take it any longer.

She rushed toward him, her heart breaking as he lifted her off the ground. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled, as though it would be the last breath he would ever take.

They fit together so perfectly, like two pieces of the same puzzle. Even pregnant, he had a way of holding her that made it feel like she was made just for him.

She closed her eyes, hoping to lock the moment into memory for eternity.

He’d hugged her so many times before, a million times, but something about this hug felt different. This hug felt final. Like the biggest goodbye she’d ever experienced in her life.

A lump formed in her throat and tears burned her eye sockets, but she blinked them away, not allowing them to slip. It would be too painful, but she wouldn’t make this any harder than it had to be.

It took a full minute, but his grip eventually eased. “I’ll see you at the baby shower,” he said into her hair when her feet finally hit the ground.

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding. But neither of them moved.

“Okay,” he said softly.

She tried to memorize everything—the curve of his muscles, the way he smelled, how their breaths had been perfectly synced—but before she could, he turned away, opened the front door, and stepped out of her apartment.

She spun in the opposite direction, straining to hear each of his footsteps as he descended the stairs. Part of her hoped he’d turn back. She listened for at least five minutes, waiting, until there was no doubt in her mind: he was gone.

It was over.

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, letting the emotion she’d held onto for the last four days seep into the rug. “Goodbye, Tristan,” she whispered. “Goodbye.”