Chapter Twelve Layla #3
“I broke the news to him in person. I think the only reason he’d agreed to see me was because the asshole actually thought I wanted him back.
When I told him I was pregnant, his entire behavior changed.
He pressured me into having an abortion, which I didn’t want.
Not because I had anything against it—I had actually contemplated it seriously—but at the end of the day, I didn’t see this as a punishment, but a blessing in disguise.
I always knew I was going to work with children and loved babies. ”
“I’m going to kill him,” he muttered quietly. In that moment in time, I was even a little worried he’d do something stupid. Connor’s meaningless existence wasn’t something worth throwing away Grant’s precious life for. “Sorry, please continue.”
“When he realized abortion was out of the question, he decided to bully me into reversing my decision. He sent his mother, his father, his uncle my way. First, to try to reason with me. When that didn’t work, they tried to bargain with me.
Pay me off to abort the baby. They treated me like I was a gold digger or something. Like this was premeditated.”
It hurt. More than hurting, it took a huge emotional toll on a twenty-year-old girl who was newly pregnant and crashed on her friends’ couch while trying to find an apartment close enough to college.
“I think, subconsciously or not, he knew if he put enough pressure on me, he’d be able to get rid of the baby.
So he used every trick in the book. He purposefully started dating some of my so-called friends—the ones who weren’t loyal, anyway—parading them in front of me.
He spread vicious rumors about me. The stress was too much. ”
Tears blurred my vision. I hated that the bastard could make me cry, even after all these years. He did not deserve my tears.
“Finally, he managed to break me. It was Thanksgiving. I was at my parents’ house in Harrisburg—they lived in Pennsylvania back then. He showed up at my doorstep, and when my dad opened the door, he was drunk off his ass, accusing me of stealing his sperm, of going after his money.”
“What a narcissist,” Grant said.
I nodded. “But I was just so exhausted at this point. I desperately needed a break. To remove myself from that toxic situation. I cried myself to sleep that night, and when I woke up the next morning, I was bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. The bed was soaked with blood. I thought I was going to die. My parents rushed me to the hospital, where they told me I’d miscarried.
” I worried my lip, staring at the floor.
“But, I guess not all of it was . . .” I didn’t know how to say this.
“It wasn’t a full miscarriage, so they had to go in and . . .”
Dilation and curettage. That’s what the doctors called it. A very mild name for scraping the rest of the fetus that wasn’t expelled from your body.
“I never returned to that college. I stayed home and completed my studies online. As soon as I graduated, I moved to New York to disappear and start fresh.”
He closed his eyes. Tipped his head back. Sucked in a breath.
“Come here.” He gathered me into a hug. Our beers fell to the floor. The liquid fizzled and hissed around us, but we didn’t care. Broken glass haloed our feet.
“God, Layla.” He stroked the back of my head, breathing in my hair, his voice a soft growl. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t let go,” I whimpered, burying my nose in his neck. His arms felt like a sanctuary. The pressure of his hold on me healing, like magic engulfing me. “Please.”
“Never,” he promised.
I didn’t know how long we stood there for, but at some point, we heard the whine of a door opening in the hallway, and Maddie’s footsteps. “All done. It’s a good-size room! We’ll be able to fit the crib, changing table, and a rocking cha—” She stopped in her tracks when she found us embracing.
I stepped back, wiping at my face and flashing her a smile. “Thank you for doing this, Mads. You’re living proof that not all heroes wear capes.”
“Oh, I’d never wear a cape.” She picked up her bag and tossed it over her shoulder. “I low-key suspect superheroes always wear them because their asses aren’t nice enough to pull off the tight bodysuits. We all know men skip leg and glutes day to focus on their pecs and biceps.”
“You’ve spent entirely too much time with your husband,” Grant concluded sardonically. “But I have no choice but to accept your accurate criticism.”
I mustered a weak laugh. I loved Maddie, but I also wanted her out of here as soon as possible so Grant and I could continue our conversation.
Maddie picked up on the mood in the room, because she handed me the wallpaper catalog, pretending not to notice I was crying, or the beer and glass around our feet.
“I put annotation tabs on patterns I think would work for the room. Mostly pastel yellows and greens. I’m gonna go back home now before Chase sends a search party to look for me. ”
Grant glanced at his watch, cocking an eyebrow. “A search party? You’ve been here for over thirty minutes. Try the entire NYPD.”
Maddie beamed, gave both of us half a hug, and asked me to call her when I was available.
And then it was the both of us again. Just Grant and me.
“Layla?” He turned back to me.
“Yes?”
“Jessica is just a colleague. Not even a friend. Our work overlaps sometimes. We only went on one date, back in February, and the minute you gave me a sign of life, I dropped everything and ran to you. Then, after that, I told her I was emotionally unavailable. Because I was. Am.
“The second you told me you were pregnant, I sat her down and told her there’d be no more flirting, and certainly no more dating. You’ll never have to compete over my affection, because there isn’t anyone else in the race. You’re not in the same league, not even in the same sport. It’s . . .”
His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow.
“Yes?” I hedged, feeling my pulse thrumming along the side of my neck.
“She’s just someone. But you? You’re the one.”
“You have feelings for me too?” I breathed out.
It had never actually occurred to me. Not because I didn’t think of myself as worthy, but because on paper, we were so different.
He was mature and serious and a little on the introverted side.
I was reckless and spontaneous and could make friends with a streetlamp.
I was teaching little humans colors and seasons while he was finding the cure to cancer.
His family had a summer castle in Portofino, and my idea of experiencing Italy was eating penne with ketchup in front of 365 Days.
“Yes.” He scowled, like the answer was obvious. “Of course. I’m not in the business of wasting my time on someone I don’t admire. Why do you think I always send you memes? And Instagram videos of people reenacting Sims scenarios? And movie fails? Why do you think I have a Gloss subscription?”
“Because your mom—”
“Please. My mother thinks they stopped printing coupons in the eighties.”
“I always thought you talked to me because we have the same sense of humor and because I’m awesome.” Where was he going with this?
“No, Layla. I’m pebbling you.”
I squinted. “That seems way too kinky for me not to notice. Is that that thing where you tap your di—”
“No, pebbling is a nonverbal communication—one preferred by neurodivergent people—to show others that they think about them and want to connect with them. It’s called pebbling after penguins who drop pebbles next to ones they love for nest-building.”
I bit down on my lip. “Are you saying you want to connect with me, Grant Gerwig?”
“I’m saying I want to nest with you, Layla.
” His gaze was trained on mine, unwavering, like the man it belonged to.
“And that I’ve been wanting to nest with you since way before we found out we were going to be parents.
I understand you’re not in a place to consider a relationship right now, and I’m not going to push you on the subject.
But just know that you can always have me in any capacity you want—a baby daddy, a friend, a lover, a boyfriend, a partner, a husband.
Well, maybe not a wingman.” He licked his lips.
“Definitely not a wingman. But I can wear many, many caps. Sometimes simultaneously. I mean, look at this head.” He gestured to his crown. “Perfect, right?”
“Brilliant.” I beamed so hard my cheeks hurt. “You’re really selling it to me, just so you know. And I never thought I’d give love a second chance.”
“We’re no strangers to each other, Layla. We’re two people who have been slow-burn dating for years. We work.”
“I know.” I bit down on my lip. “We just squashed a minor miscommunication trope in five seconds. The ladies at my book club are going to be so impressed. We’re so good together it’s ridiculous.”
He grinned. “How about we make a deal?”
“I like deals.”
You’d like waterboarding, too, likely, if he were the one inflicting it on you.
“Let’s commit to not dating anyone until the baby is one year old. That’ll give you peace of mind, and me time to win you over.”
“I really love this idea,” I admitted. “And you won’t be mad if I end up choosing not to be with you at the end?”
“Devastated? Yes. Mad? Not even a little.”
“Or frustrated about not being able to hook up with other people for basically a year and a half?” I cocked my head sideways.
“Yup.”
“That sounds way too perfect.” I shook my head, laughing a little. “What’s in it for you?”
“Simple.” He smiled. “You.”