Chapter 23
IVY
ONE MONTH LATER
Marlo pulls her car into the driveway and throws it into park, and I stare at the house that already feels so empty even before I’ve set foot back into it.
My chest tightens at the thought of going in there to be alone again after spending the weekend with her.
Mostly because I know it won’t take very long before temptation comes calling again.
To text him.
To send that single little word, the only one I’ve been able to use when it comes to asking for what I want—PLEASE.
How can something so simple as that word be so complicated?
Because we’ve made it that way.
Because I have.
By repeatedly asking him to come fulfill my needs and take my pleasure while he never does himself, when I can see what it’s doing to him to keep sliding into my bed—and me—only to walk away with a hard cock and barely restrained tears shimmering in his eyes.
Yet, I can’t stop asking him to come.
I can’t stop wanting him here.
“Thanks again for coming with me.”
Shit.
I drag my gaze from the house and glance at Marlo, hoping she didn’t notice how zoned out I just was. “No, thanks for inviting me. Really, I needed this.”
When she first suggested heading to New York for a long weekend to see a Broadway show, have some great food, and sight-see, I hadn’t exactly been on board for a multitude of reasons.
Not the least of which was the thought of going somewhere like that to pretend my life hasn’t fallen apart seemed wrong.
And I hadn’t believed for a moment that I would be able to forget everything that has happened—especially recently with Cam—and actually enjoy myself.
But she had insisted.
And when Marlo sets her mind to something, she usually gets it.
She wore me down with promises of delicious pizza, Wicked, and shopping for things for the baby we would never be able to find here in Philly.
It was that last item that really hit me square in the chest and pushed me over the edge of accepting her invitation—because I haven’t been able to bring myself to begin even thinking about all the things I need to do for this baby’s arrival.
Our daughter will be here soon…
Sooner than I am ready for.
Because every time I open a website to start shopping for all the things I’ll need to convert the guest room into a nursery and all the items necessary to actually take care of a newborn, I get so overwhelmed that I feel like I can’t breathe.
And I can’t tell Nancy.
She’ll think I’m not happy about this baby, that I don’t see her for what she is—a miracle. A tiny piece of Drew and a reminder of our love that will be with me forever. And I can’t ever let her think that.
So, I went to New York, and somehow, little by little, the longer we were there, the easier it became to pretend I wasn’t coming back to this cold, empty house and for me to actually start buying things for the baby—even if it was only a handful of outfits from some fancy boutique.
But I can’t ignore what’s waiting for me inside anymore.
Not when it’s right in front of me and I have nowhere else to go.
Marlo smiles at me. “We need to do more girls’ weekends.” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively. “That guy I met on Friday night was hot as fuck.”
I snort as I reach down to grab my purse, shifting awkwardly around my stomach to get it off the floorboard. “I’m glad you had a good time.”
And I assume she did, since she didn’t come back to our room until after two am.
My eyes drift to the dark windows again, and I pull my lip between my teeth. “Do you…want to come in for a while? We could order dinner.”
She glances at the house and shakes her head. “No, I need to get home. Go to bed early. I have this real hard-ass boss who wants me at work at 6 am tomorrow.”
Rolling my eyes and fighting a grin, I grasp the door handle. “Ha fucking ha.”
I push open my door, and she climbs out, pulls my small roller bag from the trunk, and walks me to the porch.
The porch light shines above me.
Did I leave that on all weekend?
My mind has felt like Swiss cheese lately, thanks to the same hormones that are making me text Cam to come over at least once a week, so I don’t remember if I did or not.
I must have…
Maybe believing it would ensure anyone driving by would think someone was home.
I turn the key in the lock and nudge the door open, and Marlo passes me the handle on my bag.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” She gives the house one last look, and something I can’t quite place dances across her eyes—excitement maybe, though what could be so interesting that she has to rush home for it is beyond me. “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hustles to the car and backs out of the driveway, honking a few times before she drives off down the street. Despite the bite of winter air, I watch until she disappears around the corner before I step into the house with my bag and throw the lock behind me.
What the…?
Something’s off.
I’m used to coming home to Cam’s scent, left when he delivers dinners, healthy snacks, and whatever fruit the baby is the size of each week before heading to his meetings.
But this is different.
It doesn’t just smell like Cam—that leather and citrus scent that used to soothe me but now causes a whirlwind of emotions to turn inside me. This smells like his studio.
Setting my purse on the kitchen counter, I scan for any signs that he’s been here and find a note sitting beside a spaghetti squash.
The baby is the size of a spaghetti squash at 26 weeks.
Another note sits below it, as if he came back later and decided to add to the message.
If you don’t like it, I can change it.
Don’t like what?
The living room and kitchen appear untouched since I left on Thursday with Marlo, but I know he’s been here as surely as I know that whatever he did will likely throw a new emotional curveball at me I’m wholly unprepared for.
Because that’s what Cam does.
What he’s best at.
He works his way under my skin.
Through sweet gestures…
And warm, strong hands that hold me when all I want is to fall apart.
My body trembles now, anticipating what I might find, and my hands wrap protectively around my belly as I make my way past the office door, my bedroom, and toward the cracked one at the end of the hallway—the guest room.
Light streams out of it, and I know I didn’t leave that on.
There hasn’t been any reason for me to go into that room for months, when I couldn’t even bring myself to consider what needed to go into it for the baby.
My footsteps slow as I get closer, and the smell of paint grows heavier.
I nudge the door open hesitantly…
And my breath catches.
The sound of a key in the front door should drag my attention away from the room, but I’m frozen in place, my heart in my throat.
Familiar, booted footsteps approach from behind me, and then his scent envelops me, quickly followed by the heat of his body so close I can feel it at my back.
But he doesn’t touch me as I try to take in what lies in front of me.
What did he do?