32. Amanda
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
AMANDA
When I get to the restaurant, Diego’s already in a back booth near the windows.
The afternoon drizzle streaks the glass behind him.
His hair’s dripping wet, pupils wide in the dim light.
He grabs his beer the second the waitress sets it down, mutters a distracted thanks, and downs half before I even sit across from him.
“Hey,” we both say at the same time.
“How have you been?” he asks with a hesitant tone. The lunch crowd hums around us—silverware clinking, low conversations bleeding together.
I shrug. “I’m okay. The house is quiet. We got this mahogany dresser for the baby, and I keep expecting Eric to walk in and start bitching about it.”
“He will.” The certainty in Diego’s voice makes my chest tighten.
He drags a hand through his damp hair, droplets dripping on the wooden table.
“When we were looking for him…” His jaw flexes.
“Fuck, Mandy, I got scared. Truly scared. I was two seconds away from dragging him somewhere myself.” He studies me carefully.
“I didn’t think you’d ever agree to this. ”
I flinch at the accusation behind his words, nails catching against the grain of the counter. I lean back, putting distance between us. “I’m not afraid of him being better.”
He nods, opens his mouth. The waiter interrupts to take our order, and Diego waits until she’s gone before speaking again.
“Maybe not. But you’re afraid anyway,” he counters.
I look to the side and watch the trails of rain form on the other side of the window.
I’m afraid distance will give him clarity and realize that choosing me means parenting with me.
Never unburdening himself from all the history, both good and bad, that we share.
Maybe it’ll be too much trouble for just… me.
“Mandy.” He covers my hand with his. His palm is warm and rough, but his dark eyes infuse warmth in his gaze.
Up close, he looks exhausted too, with dark circles under his eyes and a beard grown past the carefully maintained shadow he usually keeps.
“The way you two love each other is honestly a little unhinged.” A tired smile tugs briefly at his mouth.
“But you’re both finally rising above fear and choosing each other. ”
Diego lets go of my hand to accommodate the waiter bringing our dishes. He tags his napkin at his collar like an overgrown child and bites his burger. A trickle of juice trails down his chin, and he rushes to wipe it.
He points at my dish. “Are you no longer boycotting meat?” I arch my eyebrow in confusion. “Eric wants me to track of your food choices.”
I glance down at my serving of pulled pork and rice. I shrug. “Pork is okay now, I guess.”
Diego nods, rolling the cold beer bottle between his palms. “Good to know. He’ll be glad to hear when I see him next weekend.”
I take a long breath in through my nose, but it catches halfway down my lungs. I don’t get to see Eric. The realization keeps ambushing me in strange moments, sharp and disorienting every single time.
Diego watches me carefully before exhaling hard himself. “Mandy… do you forgive me?” His thumb traces the condensation on the glass. “For not believing you’d put him first?”
“Diego, there’s nothing to forgive.”
His shoulders sag, as if weight is lifted off them.
“I just wish he’d trusted me.”
“He trusts you,” I say. “Just not himself.”
Diego devours the rest of his meal, and I pick at mine. “When are you meeting Daray?”
“Eric told you?”
He grins. “Officer Camacho needs to hand in extensive reports on you, lady.” He winks, then signals for the waiter to refill his water. Diego’s features harden. “Seriously, Amanda, I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Try telling that to Eric. If he hears I let you do this alone—”
“You don’t need to babysit me to appease Eric.”
He barks out a laugh. “Of course not. I need to babysit you because you get in trouble.”
“I’m serious, Diego. I need to do this alone.”
He studies me for a long second before finally nodding. “Alright. I’ll back off.” He points at me with a fry. “But you should still tell me when. I can wait nearby or something.”
The waitress drops off the check. We argue over it automatically, both reaching at once. Diego wins, but I still slip a twenty into the back pocket of his jeans while he’s distracted signing the receipt.
Outside, the air smells of wet pavement and summer rain. Diego pulls me into a tight hug goodbye, careful around my stomach. Right before he leaves, he slips a folded sticky note into my palm.
All loops and sharp angles. Eric’s handwriting.
Twenty-six weeks. He’s the size of a spaghetti squash.
Think names.
I smile, even when my throat tightens. I tuck the note inside my purse, in a zipped pocket, because it’s precious. A reminder that he’s still reaching for us.
I’m standing once again in front of 3C, Daray’s apartment. Maybe Cassie’s too. The hallway still reeks. It’s a kaleidoscope of nastiness that churns my stomach. I knock, and after minutes without an answer, I tap on the door endlessly until it opens—Diego’s style.
Daray’s in nothing but his boxers, the outline of his hard dick pressing against the fabric.
Behind Daray, lying on the couch, I catch a glimpse of Cassie’s blonde hair and bare breasts.
He does nothing to hide her, a malicious smirk forming on his lips as he eyes me from head to toe.
I’m not hurt or humiliated. I’m actually a bit relieved that I don’t depend on him to feel whole.
Daray doesn’t hold that kind of power. For better or worse, Eric does.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.” I press my palm against the door so he doesn’t close it on my face.
“And I’m not done fucking my girlfriend.”
“Finish later. She’ll probably enjoy it more on her own anyway.” I check the time on my phone. “Meet me at the corner coffee shop in fifteen minutes.”
He scoffs behind me, padding back inside, then his door closes when I get to the elevator.
I tell myself he won’t show, but fifteen minutes later, we’re both at the corner coffee shop.
He leans back on the chair in front of me, head angled up and looking to the side.
His shirt is so tight that his nipples show.
He cuts me off when I open my mouth. “You can’t act like I didn’t make you come harder than anybody.” He slides into the seat next to me rather than across, then leans in and whispers. “You can’t fake that.”
I curl my lips into a smile. “Ask Cassie. I’m sure she has her own opinion on the subject.”
He rolls his eyes, then turns his nose up at me. “Is this because your new boyfriend can’t shoot?”
Heat flashes up my neck, and I fold my arms tighter across my chest. “Do us both a favor and stay away from Eric next time.”
Daray smirks, his teeth showing more on the left side. I pull the legal envelope from my bag and place it on the table between us. The yellow paper contrasts with the dark, old wooden surface.
The espresso machine hisses beside us, drowning out the clatter of his sunglasses when he knocks them from his collar as he reaches for the envelope.
“This is a declaration of intent to relinquish your parental rights to my child,” I explain with a flat tone. “It’s not binding until after the baby’s born, but it’s the first step.”
He leans back, opens the envelope with his brows lifting. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
He barks out a laugh. “You spent months telling me the kid was Eric’s, and now I’m supposed to take your word for it?”
“I’m not the liar here.”
His grin sharpens. “Oh, but you lie. About being wet and desperate for me. You miss milking cum out of a cock?”
I stare at him for a second, amazed that he’s smirking. “You created this mess, Daray. What the fuck were you thinking?” I look him in the eye. “Sleeping with both of us for months?”
He shrugs lazily. “I’ve got a healthy appetite.”
I ignore his comment so we can be done with this. “We didn’t use condoms. The pill failed. I’m twenty-seven weeks.” I let the number settle between us. “It’s yours, doesn’t have to be. Sign the papers.”
He taps the packet without touching it. “Why push this now if it’s not binding yet?”
Because Eric is finally trying to heal, and I won’t let you poison that.
Instead, I shrug. “What’s it to you? You can barely afford the kid you already have.”
“How expensive can babies be?” He scoffs. “They sleep all day.”
A cold wave of disgust rolls through me. I want him away from my child. “Look, Daray. Do your research, or the math. You haven’t been to a single appointment. Haven’t called. You’ve done nothing.”
“I thought it was Eric’s!”
“And it helped your white lie about the timing between Cassie and you a pretty penny, didn’t it?”
He tightens his jaw, and I force myself to exhale. Fighting isn’t the point. “This isn’t punishment, Daray. This is mercy. For all of us.”
For the first time, he actually looks at the papers instead of me.
I exhale. “I don’t want my son to be born in the middle of this mess.”
His head snaps up. “It’s a boy?”
I stand, smoothing a hand beneath the weight of my stomach. “Yeah.”
“Cassie’s having a girl.” His gaze drops to my belly, calculating now, tracking size and shape like he can solve paternity by looking hard enough. “Twenty-seven weeks?” His mouth curls. “Either my kid’s built like a tank, or you’ve really committed to the whole eating-for-two thing.”
My mouth parts, not from hurt, but from exhaustion. Of course that’s where he goes. Predictable. Small. So textbook.
“Just sign the papers,” I say, and I walk out before he can answer.
There’s nothing left in him for me except cruelty, and I’m done confusing endurance for strength. Eric is getting better for me—for us. And for the first time in years, I’m ready to put the hurt and fear aside. For a future we both choose.