Sometimes, love means letting go.

I swear, I fucking tried. After that fucking awful night out, I went home ready to take on the world. I wouldn’t let anything get in the way—in my mind, Jocelyn and I were meant to be together, and I wouldn’t allow for that not to happen. Of course, that was nothing more than a childish thought. It fucking hurts to put it like this, but she was fucking right: I’m nothing more than a kid, and I was living nothing more than a fucking fantasy.

But there’s one thing that I won’t let go of: I love her. I fucking love her. With all my being. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever love another woman like this. It’s just fucking impossible. So why am I not going after her? I’m astonished that you still have to fucking ask. Have you read the newspapers? Have you seen the fucking news on TV? She’s happy. Fucking happy. Swear to God, it hurts like a motherfucker to say it, but Jocelyn is happy. And she’s carrying my father’s child. Let me put it like this so you can understand it: I’m going to have a fucking brother. How can I come crashing into her life now? How can we ever be together like this? Fuck, I’d do anything to have her with me, but I won’t fucking ruin her happiness… I fucking won’t. It might cost me my own fucking happiness, but I don’t give a fuck. As long as she’s all right, the world will keep spinning on its axis…

That’s why I left in the middle of the night, not bothering to tell a soul that I was leaving. I packed my shit up in a duffel bag and called a cab. Half an hour later I was checking in at the Plaza, laptop propped up on my knees as I booked a flight to London.

Yeah, that’s right, come tomorrow morning, I’m getting the fuck out of New York. Maybe being on the other side of the planet, as far from her and my father as I can fucking get, will help. Or maybe it fucking won’t. Whatever, I’ll take the British night by assault and I’ll work through everything by going back to being good ol’ Lance Anders.

Yeah, sure, I know what you’re thinking. Things didn’t exactly go the way I intended the last time I tried to work through things like that. But, listen, this isn’t the way I wanted things to go. But what do you want me to fucking do? Try and break Jocelyn and my father apart, now that they’re waiting for a child? I’m an asshole, sure, but I’m not a fucking evil bastard. I have fucking limits. It might not look like it, but there’s a fucking conscience inside this pretty head of mine. Don’t believe me? Well, fuck you then.

Laying here on the bed of my hotel room, my head is racing, going at an hundred miles per hour. My mind is fucking brimming with scattered thoughts, a big gaping hole in my chest. Inside my heart, there’s fucking emptiness. I never felt like this. Never.

There’s a knock on my door, but I don’t even bother with it. I’m fucking crushed right now. Sprawled on top of the bed, I’m just staring at the ceiling while the seconds go by. It’s not like I’m fucking busy, but I won’t let room service fucking interrupt me. Besides, I have the fucking “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging outside the door, so these assholes can go fuck themselves.

There’s another knock, this time louder. Jesus Christ, do not disturb means do not fucking disturb, what’s so fucking hard about it? I sit up on the bed and, sighing, go up to my feet and walk to the door. I’m already in a foul fucking mood, and having someone knocking at the door isn’t fucking helping. While I’m crossing the room, whoever is on the other side starts to knock more insistently. Fucking hell.

“I’m on my fucking way,” I say, feeling more and more pissed by the second. What the fuck? Can’t I fucking wallow by myself for one fucking minute? Let a man be, for fuck’s sake. Seething, I grab the handle, turning it. The door swings open and my heart almost stops beating.

“Hello, Lance.” I have to blink twice in order to be sure that I’m not fucking dreaming. Jocelyn? What the fuck is she doing here? “Going somewhere?” Yeah, the other side of the planet.

“London,” I tell her without thinking. I’m still dazed by the fact that she has managed to track me down. “How the fuck did you find me here?”

“Your father’s name carries some weight,” she says with a smile. “That and you left a booking note on your bed stand.”

Fuck.

“Yeah, alright. That doesn’t explain why you came halfway across the city to bang on my door,” I tell her, stepping aside and letting her walk into the room. I turn my back to her and head to the bed, sitting on the edge while I prepare for her fucking speech. No hard feelings, yada yada, and some bullshit more. I’ve given that speech countless fucking times, but I never actually thought I’d end up on the receiving end of it. Karma can be a fucking bitch, let me tell you.

“I came to stop you.”

“Stop me?” I raise one eyebrow at her. Does she think I can stay in New York, living under the same roof as her and my father? I’m not a fucking masochist, thank you very much. I’d jump out of the fucking building before I let that happen.

“You can’t leave,” she insists, an expression of desperation taking over her face. Her beautiful face. Fuck, I just want to take her into my arms right now. Okay, be fucking strong, Lance. You can do this.

“I sure can. I’m leaving in the morning. And before you ask, I didn’t buy a return ticket. One way only.”

“You can’t,” she repeats, a sense of urgency in her words. She’s desperate. Why? She takes two steps toward me, looking me in the eyes. “I love you, Lance. Please don’t go.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is going on? Where the fuck is this coming from? I look into her eyes, trying to decipher if she’s fucking playing me, tugging on my rope just to string me along. But what I see there has nothing to do with that—there’s only truth there.

“But--”

“I know,” she says, cutting me short. “I said awful things. Terrible things. I meant none of it. And I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Lance. I wish I could take it all back.”

“Then why the fuck would you say those things?” I ask her softly, still not sure where the conversation is going. Even if she loves me… She’s fucking carrying my brother in her belly, for fuck’s sake. And if she loves me, that makes it all even more fucking depressing. Because now there’s no fucking way we’ll be able to be together.

“Because… I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do. When I found out that I was pregnant, I… I told your father and… I had no choice, Lance. He was so mad over it…”

Mad? He was fucking beaming during the pregnancy announcement. The old bastard was over joyous, telling the whole fucking world he was going to have another heir. The fucking prick hates it that I’m his only fucking son, a burden to his political aspirations. Unless… Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking fuck. It can’t be.

“Don’t tell me that…?” I ask her, my heart fucking racing. Jesus Christ, I think I’m going to be fucking sick. She simply nods, hesitant. Holy fuck, am I dreaming? Please tell me that I’m not fucking dreaming. “I’m going to be a father?”

“You’re going to be a father, Lance,” she tells me, a tender smile lighting her face up. Suddenly, the whole world stops spinning. I’m going to be a fucking father! My heart is ready to burst. Happiness floods me and I smile, going up to my feet. I grab her by the waist and pick her up, spinning her across the room.

“I’m going to be a father!” I laugh, overjoyed. Can you imagine it? A little Lance running around, peeking under the girl’s skirts! Or maybe a little Jocelyn, ready to dazzle the whole fucking world with her looks and smarts! Fuck, this started as the worst day of my life—and it became the very best one.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much,” I tell her, placing my hands on her cheeks as I put her on the floor.

“I love you too,” she whispers into me, that desperation no longer on his face. There’s only happiness there, making her even more fucking beautiful, as if that could be fucking possible. I press my mouth against hers, the touch of her lips marking the best day of my life.

I’m going to be a fucking dad!