Chapter 62
Chapter sixty-two
Izzy
“About the baby.”
What the hell?
“Why? Is this about the panic attack? Look, I’m okay. I’m truly happy for Via and Ander and their pregnancy. I just—”
“Our baby, Izabel,” Jett says, disappointment and aggravation ruminating from him.
My face falls, and immediately, I can feel the color draining from my cheeks.
“O-our...” I attempt to stutter out, but the words refuse to form.
I fucking told him?
He knows?
At that moment, it feels as if I’m being crushed to nothing. However, it’s also like a weight is lifting from my shoulders. So many years. So many years of carrying the burden of that secret around. Alone.
Now, it’s no longer my secret to keep. Relief and fear waft through me simultaneously.
What did I say? Why did I drink so much? What the fuck did I get myself into?
Here I was, moments ago, ogling his dick, and now we’re about to have the conversation we should’ve had eight years ago—the conversation I’ve always dreaded.
Once the truths are all laid out on the table, I know he’ll never forgive me.
While my feelings for him are rising to the surface because, let's be real, they’ve always been there, lying dormant and never fading, I haven’t taken the time to consider this conversation changing everything between us.
I’m such a fool.
“I. Need. Answers. Izabel.” Jett's voice is dry and angry. I can feel his pain in each slow, calculated word as it forms.
Without putting up a fight, I nod reluctantly and nervously murmur, “Okay.”
Jett's jaw ticks, face morphing into surprise as if taken aback by my compliance.
“Talk,” he demands as his attention shifts to me. Our eyes meet, and the tension in the air between us is thick, making it hard for me to catch my breath.
“What do you want to know?”
Jett scoffs, letting out an incredulous laugh that sounds more like a gasp. “Every. Fucking. Thing.” The words come out slowly and precisely, each one stabbing a bigger hole into my heart at his obvious pain.
Nodding, my eyes drop to the floor, unable to hold his intense gaze any longer.
This is it. This moment holds the power to change everything.
“I found out after... After—”
“After you pushed me away?” His voice is a tad softer now, but the pain... The pain remains, and that guts me.
“Yes,” I whisper softly.
I can feel the tears begin to form behind my eyes, but I hold them back with savage force, refusing to let them fall.
“Where’s the baby, Iz?” His simple question barely comes out audibly as he is getting choked up.
He kneels before me, grabbing my hands in his, forcing our eyes to meet again, and forcing me to see his pain.
The pain I already know all too well. I’ve lived with it for all these years.
However, seeing it on him, it’s different.
I never wanted him to feel the physical ache in his chest that I still feel.
I can’t. The words won’t form. I can’t break his heart. So, instead, I simply shake my head.
One tear. That’s all it takes for the entire energy in the room to shift. One tear trickles down his cheek as he squeezes my hands a little firmer.
“Tell me,” He commands firmly.
“The b-baby... The baby wasn’t healthy. The chance of survival was incredibly slim. For the baby’s sake and my own, the doctor and I agreed on an abortion–” My voice catches, and there is no more holding back the tears. They fall relentlessly without pause.
This is the first time I’ve ever been able to speak of my baby openly, and the words feel foreign as they leave my mouth.
Jett’s head falls on my lap as a heart-wrenching sob leaves him. Coursing my hands through his short-cropped hair, I can feel his anger leave him as heartbreak takes its place.
A few moments pass, and we stay like this. No words were spoken, just soft sobs and tears shared between us.
Finally, he lifts his head, meeting my eyes again. “How many weeks?”
“It was early. Eight weeks,” I choke out. “We conceived on the night Via’s family…”
“Eight weeks… You had eight fucking weeks, and I had none,” he speaks up as he pushes away from me, standing, and begins to pace.
“Why. The. Fuck... Why didn’t you tell me when you found out?
Why did you choose to go through this alone?
Why the fuck wouldn’t you let me be there for you?
For our baby?” His hands are coursing back and forth over his face as he processes everything.
“Why, Izabel!? I deserved to know! I was the father!” he shouts, startling me, and I jolt back slightly.
“I already hurt you. What was I supposed to do? Hurt you more!?”
“Yes!” he shouts, loud and angry, voice reverberating off the walls.
Then he stills, chest heaving, staring at the floor. Completely silent.
After a minute, I ask, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking…” he says simply as he reaches for the doorknob, which I suppose leads to the hallway.
“That I’m so fucking mad at you. That I’m so fucking disappointed.
Yes, you were supposed to hurt me more. It was our baby, but you didn’t think I’d want to be involved, even in the worst-case scenario.
You took that away from me, and I‘m not sure what to make of that.”
Opening the door, he crosses through the threshold, exiting the room, and panic bubbles up in my throat.
“Where are you going!?” I shout my question as fear overtakes me.
“I need to breathe, Izabel,” he says softly, painfully, as he walks out and begins to close the door.
“No!” I shout, rushing to stop him, and I grab his arm. Jett’s shoulders slump forward, and his movements halt in defeat. “It’s time, past time. And I know it’s my fault. But please, let’s just fucking talk. Don’t run away.”
He huffs out a sarcastic laugh that catches me off guard, and I take a step back. “That’s fucking rich coming from you. I’ve never run from you. Let me process in my own way, and we’ll talk after.”
He turns and walks out of my view. Part of me wants to chase after him, but the other part just needs to escape.
I’m begging for a conversation I’m not sure I’m even ready to have. A conversation I’m not sure I even deserve at this point.
He hates me. He has to hate me, just like I hate myself. And I fucking deserve it.
He doesn’t need a monster like me in his life.
I don’t deserve a good man like him in mine.
It’s settled, then, everything I never wanted to accept clicks into place. I need to fucking leave.
So, after I’m certain he’s gone, I do exactly what I begged him not to—I run away.