The Man I Love (The Road Trip #2)

28. Chapter Twenty-eight

28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

August

Two Weeks Later

Sam stood in her childhood bedroom, her knees weak, feeling unsteady. She wore an off the shoulder gown that flowed to her feet and stared at the hodgepodge of posters on the wall. One of horses grazing in a field, and the other of One Direction. She remembered the girl who’d hung them, whose head was in the clouds and torn between two worlds. One which would thrust her toward teenhood, and the other which clung to that little girl who never wanted to grow up. To an outsider, it wouldn’t make sense, but to Samantha it was childhood. That delicate space between youth and puberty. Where she ran headfirst toward romance while gripping stuffed animals in both fists. The desire to grow up had been so strong back then, yet here she was, seven years later, wishing she could go back.

She was due with her first child in as little as three weeks, yet she still felt like she had no idea what she was doing. Her mother and Mrs. Montgomery had even picked out the dress she wore today—not pink or blue, but taupe—perfectly matching the theme of the baby shower they’d planned themselves, since Samantha couldn’t seem to make any decisions.

For what felt like the millionth time, she peeked out the window toward the front driveway. Tristan would be here at any moment, and it would be the first time they’d seen each other since he left her apartment. It had been Renee who reminded her when she called this morning. “Are you nervous?” she’d asked.

“No, why would I be?” But then Sam froze, realizing at that moment what she’d meant.

Renee grew quiet on the other line. “It will be okay,” she said, as though she’d read Sam’s thoughts.

But that had been over an hour ago, and Sam’s eyes latched on the driveway hoping to force her mind to other things. The front yard was full of balloons and flowers. Peach mixed with an array of neutrals. Their parents must have spent a fortune, but Sam wasn’t surprised. When it came to grandchildren, the Montgomerys, as well as her parents, were more than ready.

She wished desperately that Renee was there, but she was still in New Jersey, under strict doctor’s orders not to fly until Sophia was three months old. That milestone would coincide with Samantha’s due date, and the thought of seeing her friend again gave her something to look forward to.

Guests had been arriving over half an hour ago, yet Sam couldn’t bring herself to go downstairs. What if she never did? What if she suddenly became ill?

Her focus shifted, and she found herself staring at the tree-lined street, and the sidewalk where she’d learned to ride a bike. So many things had happened here. Lemonade stands, endless games of hide and seek, scraped knees that she still had scars from––but then her eyes flicked across the street even farther, to the blue house that wasn’t her own, but often felt like it was.

The one where Tristan and Renee grew up, the one where Renee would sneak out of the second-story window and meet Samantha on the sidewalk by the street. Some nights they’d hide in the bushes and spy on Tristan and his dates.

As if on cue, Tristan’s work truck pulled along the curb and parked. She only stood there, transfixed, as though a magnetic pull kept her grounded. He sat in his truck for a full minute, then his door opened, and he climbed out of the driver’s side door. He wore a pair of brown twill pants, and a button-down cream shirt—something that wasn’t his style, and Sam knew right away that his mother had chosen for him. He looked immaculate. Like one of those GQ models found in magazines. His long strides were confident and sexy as he walked up the driveway––but halfway up, he paused and glanced up to her window.

Sam backed away—her heart instantly racing.

Did he know she’d be up here? Had he seen her?

She spun around and found her mother standing there. The door opened, and the light from the hall illuminated her slender frame. Her eyes flicked from the window to Samantha. Could she see Tristan from where she stood?

“You’re glowing, honey,” her mom said, stepping into the room. Her voice was shaky, emotional, and Sam herself began to choke up. She almost felt like it was her wedding day because there was so much anticipation buzzing around in the room.

She faced the mirror, took a deep breath, and stared at her own reflection. Her mother had hired someone to help her get ready when she arrived, taking some of her stress out of the day. They’d curled and braided her hair, making it appear boho and chic. Then they prepped, primed, and painted her face until she looked flawless.

“The guests are arriving,” her mother said. “Are you ready to come downstairs?”

She wasn’t ready in the slightest, but she nodded anyway. Without Samantha saying a word, her mother came to stand by her side and pushed her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll be downstairs,” her mother said. “Come down when you’re ready.”

Alone again, she flicked her eyes toward the window, but Tristan was gone. “I just need a minute,” she said to no one at all. But one minute turned into ten, her resolve wavering, before she finally mustered the strength to push herself out the door.

When she reached the banister of the second floor, Tristan entered the house at the same time. She stumbled, steadied herself with the railing, then moved into an alcove she knew would conceal her. She’d hidden there on too many occasions to count, listening in on adult conversations, or watching movies that weren’t appropriate when her parents thought she was asleep. Now, she watched Tristan talking to their guests, laughing and joking, proving to everyone around he was still the same man they loved. Easygoing and charismatic Tristan Montgomery.

At least twenty guests surrounded him, but all she could do was focus on his face—the father of her child and the man who could forever take her breath away.

One second passed, then another, and his eyes flicked up to the second floor, instantly finding her, as though he’d been aware of her presence from the beginning. His expression changed from ‘life of the party Tristan,’ to something that was much more intense as he excused himself and strode toward the staircase.

Her back stiffened. She placed one hand underneath her stomach and walked down the steps to meet him.

In front of everyone, he took her hand and leaned forward. “I’ve thought about it a lot, Samantha, and you’re wrong,” he whispered. “What I feel for you is more than chemistry.”

His words rocked her, and she was grateful he held her hand because she would have fallen over otherwise. There were a dozen ways she could interpret those words. Profound attraction, desire—or something deeper that she couldn’t bring herself to think about when all these people were watching them.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm.

She hesitated for a moment, but then placed her hand on his forearm, and he whisked her away toward the crowd.

Friends, family, and neighbors were all gathered around them in her mother’s foyer. Their expressions soft and endearing, as though they watched a love story unfold. A collective sigh filled the room, and Samantha lifted her chin, realizing that to them, she and Tristan were the epitome of a fairy tale. They’d grown up on the same street. They were neighbors, enemies, then lovers—and now they were having a child.

How would they know otherwise? Samantha had returned from New York less than two weeks earlier and she hadn’t yet gotten around to telling the world that they’d broken up. How did one ever go about doing that anyway? How did she tell all of these people who gathered to celebrate, that she and Tristan were no longer together.

Her eyes found her mother on the other side of the room, who happened to be standing beside Mrs. Montgomery. Their heads huddled together, whispering something Samantha couldn’t quite make out. Self-doubt climbed up her throat, and she almost felt like she was going to be sick. She could feel a conspiracy brewing, but forced a smile, and turned to greet their guests.

They all cheered in unison when Tristan raised their joined hands in a unified front. Her stomach rolled, and she glanced around the room looking for an exit, but guests began forming a line around them. People she’d known her whole life came up to tell her how beautiful she looked,then patted Tristan on the back in congratulations. Some offered parental advice, while others placed their bets on whether Samantha was having a boy or girl based on her stomach shape.

Then Tristan’s great-aunt Gretchen came and gave him a hug.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” he said to her.

She must have been close to eighty, her wrinkles so deep that her eyes practically disappeared when she smiled. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said to him. Then she turned to Samantha and took one of her hands. “Are you ready to be a mother, dear?” she asked.

Samantha had asked herself that very question daily and still didn’t have the answer. She nodded regardless. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The old woman smiledand, without letting go of Samantha’s hand she peeked up at Tristan. “Babies are like pancakes,” she said. “They’re messy at times, but they sure do bring joy to the table.”

Samantha grinned because that was the most authentic advice she’d ever received.

“I like that analogy,” Tristan stated.

The old woman continued. “There will be times in parenthood when you make mistakes. When you look back and wish you’d handled things differently. But give yourself grace. Growing up is never easy, and you must realize you both are still growing up too.” She grinned. “We’re meant to evolve, to change our minds, to make mistakes, and to learn. When in doubt, when you’re getting so much advice you don’t know where up is, remember to trust your instincts. They’ve been guiding parents since the first caveman sang his baby his first lullaby.”

The old woman turned away then, and the next guest was in front of them, but Samantha was barely listening. Aunt Gretchen’s words were replaying in her head over and over. “We’re meant to evolve, to change our minds, to make mistakes, and to learn…” Her eyes met Tristan’s profile. Was she giving him enough grace? Or had she locked him in a cage with his mistakes with no way to escape?

Within an hour, the remaining guests were outside and had disbursed into the backyard. Sam excused herself to the kitchen, needing to clear her head. She found herself at the sink guzzling down a full glass of water before refilling it again. In truth, she wasn’t sure what instincts were anymore because her instincts had wanted to take Tristan into the other room and tell him to forget everything she’d ever said. But could she do that? Can you ever fully take words back? They were like posts on social media. You could erase them, but they’d already been seen. They’d possibly already been screen-grabbed, recorded, and locked away on someone’s hard drive. She stopped at the kitchen window and looked out to the backyard at all their guests. There were close to a hundred people. All family, friends, or people who’d watched them grow up.

Flowers and balloons were everywhere, covering the tables, the bushes, and suspended from the trees. Their parents had really gone all out, and despite the sadness she felt in her heart, she realized how much their baby was loved. She vowed to collect some of the items from the tables and put them in her baby book after the party. Someday, she would want them. Someday, she would look back on this day and find peace.

Then, out of her peripheral vision, she noticed a small boy running with a peach-colored balloon. She set the glass of water on the counter and moved closer to the window. He looked familiar. She was sure she’d seen him before. His hair wasa messy white-blonde mass, seeming almost feral. His movements were so wild that at any moment, she was sure he was going to crash into someone’s legs and fall over. The boy continued to run in circles, his energy seeming to grow by the second, until suddenly he shifted direction. As though someone had called him. A man scooped him up from behind, and the boy squirmed in his arms and kicked his feet. The man blew on his belly, and Samantha nearly choked, because it was Mr. Montgomery who held him.

Panic settled into her chest, and she turned to go find Tristan—but it was too late. She watched in slow motion as Tristan walked out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. He scanned over the space, taking in all the decorations for the first time. The balloons that were too many to count, forming an arch of browns, tans, and peaches. The chocolate fountain that had gathered a crowd of small children, and the Teddy bear that was as large as he was. Then his eyes locked onto his father, and her heart raced. She watched as he walked across the lawn, his jaw tight when he pulled his father in for a hug. Samantha covered her mouth, unsure ofwhat she’d just witnessed. They hugged for at least ten seconds. Tristan’s little brother stuck between them like honey between two slices of bread before they finally broke apart.

She then watched as the two men began to talk, carrying on a conversation that seemed civil and kind. She thought they spoke about Liam because they kept looking down at him and smiling. His illness had been a tragedy, yet somehow, it appeared to have healed wounds Samantha had never thought would mend. She was transfixed, unable to pull her eyes away from the window.

Then Tristan took his baby brother from his father, put him on the ground, and grabbed his hand. He guided him toward the chocolate fountain, and Samantha smothered an emotional laugh with her fingers.

Someone moved in the background, and she whipped around, finding Tristan’s mother standing in the doorway. Her shoulders were square, her blond hair twisted in a perfect French knot.

Her eyes were on the window, her expression unreadable, and Sam knew Mrs. Montgomery had seen the same moment she had.

“Did you know about this?” Sam asked her, unable to stop herself.

Mrs. Montgomery nodded and stepped closer. “Yes,” she said softly, stopping beside Samantha. Her hip leaned against the counter as her gaze shifted toward the window. “Tristan asked me to invite them.”

“Is it hard for you?” Sam asked her.

“Yes, and no,” she answered. But then she faced Samantha again. “I guess it will always be hard for me. He broke our agreement. He betrayed me by stepping out on our marriage, but I was wrong to ever get Tristan involved.”

Samantha pulled in a breath, shocked by Mrs. Montgomery’s realization. Samantha remembered all the phone calls Tristan had made trying to persuade his father to come to Renee’s wedding without success. In part, the phone calls were because his own mother had asked him to do it.

“I’ve blamed myself for their broken relationship for years, Samantha. In truth, Tommy was never a perfect husband, but he always loved his kids. And as much as Tristan denies it, he loves his father too.”

Samantha knew it was true. That was why he had been hurt so much, why he could never seem to talk about his father without getting upset.

“I can’t make him choose between us,” she said looking into Samantha’s eyes. “He deserves to have us both.”

Samantha swallowed hard, unable to stop herself from making the comparison between Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery’s failed relationshipand her own.

“It’s always the people we love the most who can rip our hearts apart, " she added. “It’s the people we love most who we hurt, and who get to see all of our broken pieces in the process.”

A lump formed in Samantha’s throat, and she turned toward the window again. It was true. The people we loved most were the ones who witnessed our mistakes, and who sometimes were hurt because of them.

Mrs. Montgomery placed a hand on Samantha’s back and leaned in close. “Don’t give up on him, Samantha. You may not see it now, but he loves you more than he loves himself.”

Samantha shook her head and blinked away tears because this was the first time Mrs. Montgomery had acknowledged their breakup. She was like a second mother to Samantha and talking with her about her son was always so confusing.

“No matter what happens,” Mrs. Montgomery whispered, “no matter how things end up between the two of you, be good to each other.”

“Of course”—Samantha choked—“I would nev?—”

Mrs. Montgomery placed one finger on Samantha’s lips. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you wouldn’t intend to, but sometimes pain makes us blind. Things are never one-sided, Sam. Remember that.”

Sam shook her head, wanting to ask what she’d meant by that.

“You’ve always been like a second daughter to me. No matter what, that will never change.”

Samantha squeezed her eyes shut and her lungs constricted. Until that moment she didn’t realize how much she needed to hear those words.

Mrs. Montgomery placed a soft kiss on Samantha’s cheek and picked up a bottle of sparkling cider from the counter. “Take your time, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I know this hurts.”

She disappeared into the living room, and Sam’s gaze followed her through the sliding glass door to the backyard. Mrs. Montgomery’s eyes locked immediately on her ex-husband.

Sam held her breath as the woman, who had been bitter for far too long, crossed the lawn and stopped directly in front of Mr. Montgomery. He extended his hand—a tentative gesture—but Mrs. Montgomery ignored it. Instead, she reached forward and pulled him into a hug.

The embrace lasted a full minute, and in that time, Sam felt her heart skip a beat. She braced herself against the counter, hardly able to process what she was seeing—a moment she had never imagined witnessing in her entire life.

With shaky hands, she lifted her glass of water to her lips and took a slow sip. Things are never one-sided, Sam. Remember that.

It was twenty minutes later when Sam’s nerves finally settled enough to go outside. They ate a lunch of tiny beignets, mini quiches, and sandwiches that were all bite-sized. She was in awe of the thought and care that went into each detail and was filled with gratitude. Tristan kept his distance, charming their guests from the other side of the lawn. With distance she could breathe easier. With distance, she could forget about Mrs. Montgomery’s words in the kitchen and find joy inreminiscing with old friends.

Their mothers gathered in the middle of the yard around noon and announced it was time to start the games. No one was off the hook, and guests of all ages seemed to line up willingly—even their grandparents and great Aunt Gretchen, who were eager to play along.

Their mothers had come up with the silliest things—such as waddling like ducks across the yard while carrying an egg between their thighs. The goal was to drop the unbroken egg into a waiting basket, but the hilarious part was how people got it there. Samantha had tears running down her face with laughter by the time it was over. Her father, who had duct-taped pillows between his knees, had won the whole thing.

Then came the “dirty diaper game.” All participants gathered in a circle, passing the “dirty diaper,” round and round to nursery rhymes until the music stopped. The person still holding the dirty diaper was “out,” causing chaos to ensue each time.

It was the final game that was Samantha’s favorite, possibly because Tristan was the guest of honor. Mrs. Montgomery made him sit at a table blindfolded, where at least a dozen baby food jars had been set in front of him. His task was to taste them allandthen guess the flavor.

His priceless reactions gathered the attention of every kid in attendance. They giggled so hard that some of them appeared to almost stop breathing.

Tristan didn’t disappoint them with his faces and seemed to thrive off their laughter and squeals. With each new flavor, his response became a little more animated and the kids began rolling in the grass with glee.

When he finally finished the last jar, he ripped the blindfold and found Samantha across the yard. “We will never”— he said between gulps of water— “feed our baby pureed chicken with peas.”

The crowd erupted in waves of laughter, and Tristan’s newfound groupies charged him with a million different questions. Samantha felt a sense of peace as she watched him with all the kids. They clung to him like magnets, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy every second.

When it finally came time for the gender to be revealed, Samantha’s stomach came alive with tiny butterflies. She and Tristan were led out into the center of the yard and “Haven’t Met You Yet” by Michael Bublé began playing through the speakers. A sense of calm had settled over her until this point, but now her throat was so tight it was hard to pull in a breath. Tristan was handed a large white umbrella, and they were instructed to stand together beneath it. Someone then began a countdown on the other side of the lawn, and she closed her eyes with anticipation. She’d waited months for this, wondering and dreaming about who this baby might be.

All day, she’d avoided eye contact with Tristan, but now she glanced up, needing to see his reaction. He looked nervous and pale, and her heart ached for him. She placed one hand over his on the arm of the umbrella, and his eyes instantly met hers, crystal blue, unable to hide all the thoughts and fears that were tearing him up inside.

She flashed him a smile of reassurance. “Are you ready for this?”

His eyes were cloudy when he nodded, and the countdown became louder.

“THREE …”

He lifted the umbrella over their heads.

“TWO …”

He pulled her close with one arm.

“ONE!”

The umbrella popped open, and in slow motion, hundreds upon hundreds of soft pink tissue paper hearts came fluttering down to the earth. It was a rainstorm of pink that littered the ground at their feet.

“Isn’t she lovely” began to play through the speakers, as more hearts began to blow from the rooftop, where she could see her father pumping his fist into the sky. Tristan’s arms tightened at her rib cage, and his chin rested on the top of her head. She could feel him shakingbut knew that if he wasn’t holding her, she wouldn’t be strong enough to stand.

Even though a hundred people surrounded them, it felt like they were all alone. Children rushed the lawn, giggling and twirlingand snatching hearts from the sky, but all she could focus on was him—his heartbeat, his breathing, and how perfectly she fit in his arms.

She pushed away so she could look up at his face. “Are you happy?” she asked.

He seemed deep in thought, but his eyes dropped down to hers. “Yes,” he whispered. She had a sense that it was more complicated than that. Yes, he was happy, but he was lost, and her heart hurt because she knew why.

This was not the plan.

This was not the ideal situation.

At that moment, she knew it was too soon to be here like this. Too soon, and a million emotions were buzzing throughout their bodies while everyone watched. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she looked to the ground, suddenly unable to face him. She hated the pain she saw in his eyes, and hated the fact that she was, in part, responsible for it. All the doubts she’d been struggling with for weeks tumbled into her subconscious.

People continued to yell and scream all around them, and she became hyper-aware of their presence. She had to get a hold of herself because she didn’t want to cause a scene—not here, not now, in front of all of them, in front of all the people who had watched them grow up.

He seemed to read her mind because he took hold of her hand and squeezed it. Then he lowered the umbrella, and her chin lifted with the help of his finger which forced her to look up at him again.

All the emotion she’d seen earlier was there, but now a little sideways grin played at the corner of his mouth.

He winked at her, letting her know that she wasn’t alone. She could do this. They could do this. Then his head bent lower still, until his face was by her ear. “I’m just glad we’re not having a Barkley,” he whispered.

A laugh exploded from her insides. So deep and honest that she knew he was the only one who could evoke that reaction. Her legs weakened and she fell into his arms. He hugged her fiercely, but for some reason, she didn’t resist the comfort and love his embrace offered. He always knew how to turn things around for her. He knew the exact words to say, so she didn’t take life too seriously. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Never.”

All the guests were standing around them waiting, and Samantha finally pulled away when a line began to form for each of them.

Samantha’s father was at the front, pulling her into a hug that almost crushed her. “Congratulations, honey.” He kissed her forehead and cried into her hair.

Then Tristan’s old football buddies came and slapped him on the shoulder, pulling him into a hug that lifted him off the ground. “You know what they say about daughters, man. They’re God’s punishment for the hearts we broke when we were young.”

Everyone laughed in unison, and the lines flowed.

After at least twenty minutes, Sam went to get a drink at the juice bar. There were a dozen different bottles to choose from, but she settled on a peach lemonade that reminded her of summer. Tristan’s father was standing behind her when she turned around.

“Excuse me,” she said, stepping around him. It had been over six months since The Gallery opening, but his presence still triggered a fight-or-flight response in her chest.

“I hoped we could talk,” he sputtered out, his voice low and hesitant, making her freeze. Liam was held in his arms and smears of chocolate still covered his cheek from the chocolate fountain.

Sam’s eyes flicked to Tristan, who was still talking to guests across the lawn.

“Is a baby willy in dare?”

Liam’s raspy voice made Samantha take a deep breath and shift her attention in his direction. “Yes,” she said, finding him staring at her belly suspiciously. “Isn’t that crazy?”

He scrunched up his face and nodded, then squirmed out of his father’s arms and ran across the yard, launching himself at the life-sized teddy bear at the gift table.

Sam let out a strained laugh, then glanced back at Mr. Montgomery. He looked so different than he had at the gallery. His face was clean-shaven, making him appear at least ten years younger. He’d even put on a few pounds, which rounded out his face and wrinkles.

“How is he?” she asked, shifting her attention to what mattered most. Liam. The little boy who was fighting for his life, and now made Samantha believe in miracles.

Mr. Montgomery shifted his attention to his son, who was gleefully bouncing on the bear’s belly. “He’s great. As you can see, he has more energy than we know what to do with.” Then his gaze met Samantha’s, and all the emotion of a father who had fought for his son’s life flickered in his eyes. “He’s wonderful.”

Samantha’s vision blurred as her eyes drifted to Liam on the other side of the yard. If she hadn’t known better, she never would have guessed he had ever been sick. He was so vibrant, so full of life, that watching him now felt almost like a dream.

Mr. Montgomery then went on to tell her how lucky they’d been that Tristan had been a match, and how quickly Liam had responded after the surgery. “His battle isn’t over just yet. There are still lots of tests, and we’ll monitor him for years, but he’s overcome the worst of it now, and he’s doing better than anyone expected.”

For so long, she had imagined that the next time she was face-to-face with Tristan’s father, she would confront him about what happened at The Gallery. She would tell him everything he’d cost her—the torment she’d endured for months afterward. But as she watched Liam run across the yard, the weight of the past seemed to fade.

The pain, the anger—it didn’t matter anymore. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened, and in some inexplicable way, the events of that night had led to a kind of healing she never thought possible.

“Yes,” she whispered to herself, her voice soft with conviction. “The worst is behind us now.”