CHAPTER 26 KAYLEE
I stare at the message.
I’m shocked, frankly. I wasn’t expecting him to back down.
But he did.
I read it one more time just to be sure.
Dane: A baseball player now? I guess a guy like me isn’t in your wheelhouse anymore. I pulled my transfer request and I’ll be staying in Chicago. I’m sorry I was a dick. I thought I could make you see Olson was all wrong for you, but that doesn’t mean I was right for you. I wish you all the best.
It’s as I finish reading it for the fifth time when another message comes through.
It’s late—a little after eleven, and I know he’s in the same state as me, just a few hours north of here, but it feels like we’re oceans apart.
I wonder if he’s sitting outside somewhere, maybe on a balcony at his hotel like I am out here on the balcony of my apartment.
We’re so close it’s like we’re practically sharing the air, yet so much more than mere miles divide the two of us.
Ben: I’m sorry.
It’s two simple words, and it feels very much like he’s trying to open the lines of communication again. But it’s almost too over-simplified.
I don’t know what he’s sorry for. There have been a lot of offenses, and I’m the one who was hurt by every single last one of them.
I think about my reply for a long time.
For what?
Why?
I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.
I’m sorry I wasted time on somebody who was only going to leave in the end despite our promises to each other.
I’m sorry I was ready to give up the life I always dreamed of because I fell so damn hard for you.
I’m sorry you’ll always own my heart even though you don’t seem to want it.
I’m sorry there will be a piece of you left behind in this world you never wanted, but I’m not sorry about the surprise babies because I love them in a way I’ve never loved anyone before and I haven’t even met them yet.
Instead of sending any of those texts, though, I simply don’t reply. I can’t seem to find the right words, and I’m not sure I can open that door again.
Not now.
Not with these sweet babies growing every day inside me.
Not when I know that’s not what he wants.
And worse would be for him to somehow find out, take pity on me, and sentence himself to a life he never wanted since he’s an upstanding guy who will take responsibility for what he did…what we did.
I sigh.
Cooper seems to want that life.
But for as much as I like Cooper, I don’t like him like him. Not that way.
Instead, he’s become my best friend in California, the person I can lean on when I can’t stop thinking about my baby daddy, the one who helped me find a baby doctor, the one I can confide in and the one who will run out to get me a can of cheddar Pringles at six in the morning before we head over to work just because I have a craving for them.
Pregnancy is weird.
Instead of writing him back, I think about how to get him to back away. As much as I want him back, I don’t want him like this. I don’t want him out of some twisted sense of obligation. I want him because he wants to be with me—because he has chosen forever with me no matter what that means.
I wish I could have it all—which really is just Ben and kids.
But I can’t.
And so much like he chose to end things with me by using the one thing that would hurt me most, I decide to post a picture of Cooper and me on my Instagram.
It’s a selfie I took as we sat on the couch tonight watching trash television and eating cheesecake, and you can practically hear our laughter just from looking at the image.
He’s handsome as his eyes crinkle at the corners, and we both look happy even though we’re both masking some darker feelings under the facade—feelings we bonded over tonight while we ate Chinese food for dinner.
I tag Cooper and caption the photo.
New town. New job. New roommate. New BF.
BF stands for Best Friend, of course…not boyfriend. But however Instagram chooses to interpret that is up to them.
I guess I’m getting better at this social media thing. Vague and misleading posts are practically the hallmark of what I’ve built on there at this point, so why stop now?
I assume my previous bet with Ben is invalid, but I can’t help but wonder how much engagement this post will get—how much money will go toward charity, how many new companies will be interested in partnerships with me, what effect it’ll have on my market value.
Because that’s all Instagram is to me now.
It’s not a place to share my personal life. It’s a place for business.
I probably should warn Coop that I’ve agreed to his little deal about leading the media in a certain direction where we’re concerned, but he’ll figure it out when he wakes up.
Or not.
“Kay?” he yells from his bedroom.
I force myself up off my stool and head inside. I open his door and peek into the dark room. He’s sitting up against his headboard, his face and naked chest lit up by the light from his phone screen. He sets his phone down and looks at me, and now he’s lit by the hallway light behind me.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Way to warn a guy,” he mutters.
I shrug. “Did you see it?”
“No. My mother texted me about twelve seconds after you posted to Instagram asking me who the cute new girl is.”
“Aww, she called me cute?” I ask, leaning on the door frame.
He laughs. “She wanted to know why you’re posting about your new BF before I brought you home to meet her.”
“You can tell her that BF just stands for best friend,” I say. “It’s what you are to me, after all.”
“My mother seems to believe it means boyfriend,” he says pointedly. “Now I have to throw her off this whole I’m ready for more grandbabies thing since there are literally zero prospects on the horizon at the moment.” His eyes slide down to my stomach that’s still semi-flat for the time being.
“Sorry, but misleading people about the two of us was totally your idea.”
“Touché, but I figured we’d talk about it first.” He shrugs.
“I’m sorry. Ben texted me.”
“Ah. So it was a revenge post.” He sighs. “I gotta be honest, Kay. Revenge fucks are more fun than revenge posts.”
I laugh, and then, mostly because I can’t help myself and I’m curious, I ask, “Are you wearing anything under there?”
“Why don’t you come over and see for yourself?”
I burst into giggles. “Goodnight.” I turn and slam the door shut as my cheeks burn brightly.
So his mom follows his Instagram, he actually wants kids, he’s gorgeous and kind…and he seems interested, unless it’s just harmless flirting—which I tend to believe, if I’m being honest.
Still, though, it begs the question. Why am I fighting this so hard?