Chapter 13 #2
"I don't know what I believe!" Her voice cracks. "I don't know anything anymore. I came here for Tessa's wedding. A good plan. And then everything fell apart, and I ended up staying here, and you've been wonderful and kind and perfect, but—"
"But what?"
"But what if it's all just because I'm pregnant?
" She's crying now, tears streaming down her face.
"What if you're just doing what you think you're supposed to do?
And six months from now, when the baby is screaming at three in the morning and I'm exhausted and gross and you're tired of playing house, you'll realize this was all a mistake? Kick me and the baby out."
"That's not going to happen."
"You don't know that!"
"Neither do you!" I run my hands through my hair, frustrated and desperate. "You're making up scenarios to justify running away!"
"I'm not running away!" she shouts.
"Then what do you call it?" I shout back. "You booked a flight, packing your bags, and leaving! That's literally the definition of running away!"
"I'm going back to my life!"
"This is your life now!" I gesture around the cabin. "This is where you've been living! Where the baby will be born! You can't just—you can't just leave!"
"Watch me." She heads toward the bedroom.
"Patrice, wait—"
"I'm done talking." She doesn't look at me. "I need to pack."
"You're not seriously doing this."
"I texted Tessa while you were making breakfast. She's coming to pick me up."
The words land like a punch to the gut. "You—when?"
"In about ten minutes." She pulls a suitcase out of the closet. "She's going to take me to her place."
"So that's it? You're just leaving?"
"I'm going to stay with her and Gage for the night. And then tomorrow, I'm flying home."
"And the baby?"
She freezes, her back to me. "What about the baby?"
"What about—" I can't even find words. "You're going to have our baby in Florida? Without me?"
"You can visit. We'll work something out."
"Work something out?" I'm so angry I can barely see straight. "You're talking about custody arrangements! We're talking about our child!"
"Our child will be fine!" She spins to face me. "Children have divorced parents all the time!"
"We're not even together and you're already planning the divorce?"
"We were never together!" she yells. "We had one night seven months ago and two weeks of forced proximity! That's not a relationship, Trace! That's just—that's just circumstances!"
The words hurt more than they should. More than I expected.
"Is that really what you think?" I ask quietly.
She doesn't answer. She just turns back to her packing.
"Fine." I head toward the door. "If you get on that plane, I'll follow you to Florida. I'm not missing the birth of my child."
"Suit yourself." Her voice is cold. Distant. Like the Patrice I fell in love with is already gone and this is just a stranger wearing her face.
I leave before I say something I'll regret. Before I beg her to stay. Before I do something pathetic like get down on my knees and ask her why I'm not enough.
I go to the workshop because it's the only place I can think clearly. I grab a piece of wood—something I was planning to carve into a mobile for the baby's crib—and I stare at it.
Was she right? Was I just playing house? Was everything I felt last night just some misguided sense of obligation?
No.
No, I love her. I know I do. I've known it since the moment she walked back into my life. Maybe even before that. Maybe I've loved her since that first night in June when she made me laugh and challenged me and looked at me like I was someone worth knowing.
But she doesn't believe me. Or she does and she's too scared to accept it.
Either way, she's leaving.
Through the window, I see Tessa's car pull up. I watch Patrice walk out with her suitcase, moving carefully, one hand on her belly. Tessa gets out and helps her load the luggage into the trunk.
They talk for a moment. Tessa glances toward the workshop, like she's debating whether to come talk to me. Patrice shakes her head. Says something I can't hear.
Patrice doesn't look back. Not once.
The car pulls away, and I stand there like an idiot, watching the taillights disappear down the road.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, hoping it's her. It's not.
Gage: Tessa just texted. Patrice is staying with us tonight. What the hell happened?
I don't know how to answer that. I don't even know what happened. One minute we were perfect, and the next everything was falling apart.
Me: We had a fight. She's leaving tomorrow. Going back to Florida.
Gage: And you're letting her?
The question makes me angry.
Me: I can't physically stop her. She made her choice.
Gage: Have you told her how you feel?
Me: Yes. She doesn't believe me.
Gage: Then make her believe you.
I stare at the phone. Make her believe me. Like it's that simple. Like I can just say the right words and everything will fix itself.
But how? I told her I loved her. I asked her to stay. I offered her everything I have. And she's still leaving.
I stand there, fists clenched, staring at the empty driveway where the car was just minutes ago.
I threatened to follow her to Florida. Said it like I meant it. Like I'd actually get on a plane and chase her across the country.
But what's the point?
If she doesn't want me—if she doesn't believe I love her—then showing up in Florida isn't going to change that. It's just going to make me look desperate. Pathetic.
I grab a piece of scrap wood from the workbench and hurl it across the room. It smashes against the wall, splintering into pieces.
It doesn't help.
Nothing helps.
Because the woman I love just walked out that door, and I have no idea how to get her back.