Chapter 33
Cameron
“This feels great,” Trevyn huffs as he does another pull up. He’s hanging from the bar, dripping sweat, and shirtless. It’s making me nauseous.
“Does it though?” I ask as I sprint on the treadmill. “Because my legs are screaming.”
“That’s because you’re old,” he says with a cringe as he goes for whatever number of pullups he's on. Probably like six hundred and forty two. The man is in impeccable shape and loves to show it off. Hence the lack of shirt right now. “We should come to the gym more often.”
“I prefer working out outside,” I tell him, my stride steady now that I’m catching my second wind.
“And miss the opportunity to meet your significant other in a natural setting?” he asks, making duck lips at a blonde with a pony tail as she walks by.
“Yes,” I say. “I like going for runs in parks. Along the beach. Alone.”
“What about your fiancée?” he asks, putting all the emphasis on the word that makes my jaw clench.
“I didn’t agree to come here with you to talk about her,” I warn him, amping up the speed.
“Why not? You’re thinking about her…”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Because when I’m right, your voice gets louder.”
“It does not!” I bark then bite my tongue.
Trevyn hops down from the bar and wipes the sweat off his body with a towel before reaching for his water bottle.
“I have an idea,” he says as he leans against my machine.
“How about we try something new. Like I ask you questions on a topic of my choice, a topic I think would benefit you to talk about, and you try answering those questions honestly.”
“Or you could mind your own fucking business and let me get in a good workout before I go work a nightshift,” I say but Trevyn ignores me as usual.
“Question one. Do you love her?”
“Who?” I snap, like I don’t know. I just really don’t want to have this conversation. It’s stressing me out. I speed up even more.
“Your betrothed, of course.”
“What kind of question is that?”
“The foundation of all the other questions,” he says, creepishly pretending he needs to stretch his back and flexing all his exposed muscles in the process.
“I have an idea,” I say as sweat begins to drip down my temples. “How about you get to your point?”
“Cut and dry, I like it. Alright, brace for impact.
“Would you still love Riley even if Noah isn’t your biological son?”
I give him a look but answer anyway. “Yeah.”
“Alright. If Noah isn’t your biological son could you still love him like he was?”
“Yes,” that question I answer so quickly it almost surprises me.
“Okay, okay. Honesty, I like it. Looks good on you. Level two. “Do you care about Riley because she’s Riley? Or because marrying her would have been a ticket to the clinic if your brother hadn’t gone all PI on you and fucked everything up?”
“I care about her!” I snap at him, gaining what seems to be a third wind. “I have always cared about her, ever since I saw her that night cold and upset and–” I stop but not in time to prevent the knowing smile on Trevyn’s face.
“You’re talking about the rooftop. Not Halloween. So that sets the foundation for my next question. Did you know this whole time?”
“No. I mean sort of. I connected the dots.”
“But she doesn’t know that you know?” he presses.
“No. I mean she asked about it…”
“Hold up! She asked about it? And you denied it?”
With that, I punch the stop button and come to a screeching halt. I grab the rails to brace myself (and so I can clench my fists without looking like psycho) and lock my eyes on his grinning face.
“I figured it out. But she was only asking because she claims whoever fucked her on that rooftop that night is Noah’s bio dad. And that can’t be right. Because I’m the one that fucked her and I am not his dad!”
A couple girls who are obviously walking by to flirt suddenly look a little disturbed and keep walking.
“I want you to go backwards, brother,” he says. “Back to the answers of the first questions. You said yourself that you would love Noah whether or not he is yours.”
“And I mean that.”
“You also said that you love her whether or not being with her gets you access to the trust for the clinic.”
“And I mean that too. But–”
“No buts, my man. You answered correctly to the questions that matter most. Your heart is in it. Deep from the sounds of it. And once your heart is in something, there’s no abort mission button.
I think you need to consider what that means for you.
Trust money aside. Lawsuit aside. Paternity test results aside.
Your heart wants something. I think you need to listen to it. ”
“And what is it I’m supposed to do when I figure out what it wants?” I ask.
But Treveyn just gives me a knowing look. It’s a look I hate because it’s usually right. “Fight for it.”
With that he walks off in the direction of the girl he shot duck lips at earlier, helping ‘spot’ her as she pretends not to know how to lift weights, leaving me alone with a brain of swirling thoughts.
He makes it sound easy, like everything else in his life is easy. But for me, it’s not. It’s complicated and sticky and a balancing act. And no matter what I do, I feel like I am inches away from losing my footing.
I don’t know what I’d do if I took the test and it came out negative, which obviously it would.
I have already had that let down once when I was with Emily.
We met, we fell, we moved in together and we started trying.
We weren’t even married yet and we didn’t care.
We just knew what we wanted and that was a family.
So I worked to build us the needed lifestyle for the family we wanted to have and she began planning our wedding.
And at night? We got to work. Day after day… week after week…month after a month.
When it became year after year, that’s when things changed.
We lost our light, lost our lust and I could see it in her eyes.
She was starting to lose hope. Nothing is as emasculating as that.
But also, I wanted it as bad as she did.
My heart was breaking too. So we both had check-ups, running all the tests to get answers.
Hers came back formal for a woman in her late twenties.
Mine, however, had abnormal results all the way down the chart.
My T was okay, don’t get me wrong. But other factors, genetic factors, weren’t adding up. And while the real cause isn’t fully known, one thing was blatantly for certain– me getting a woman pregnant was highly, if not absolutely, unlikely.
It’s why I don’t date. Why I don’t pursue women. And why I don’t fall in love.
Until her.
The idea of taking that test and seeing those results again would hurt more than I can say. But the idea of not being with her? Of not being there for him after what he said the other day? It would gut me.
So I pull my phone out and dial her number. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders before hitting the call button. And I hold my breath. But I don’t have to hold it long. It rings twice and goes to voicemail.
She doesn't want to talk to me.