Amelia

Six months later . . .

I stand frozen in place, unable to move the slightest muscle. My heels sink into the grassy terrain at the edge of the pavilion; just south of the terrace overseeing the courtyard of Fontaine’s Design and my office. I am due to arrive in fewer than ten minutes. Luck had been on my side when it came to finding the position at Fontaine’s. When I saw the ad in the paper for an apprentice my heart leapt. Being one of the largest design firms in the Midwest meant that they only hired the best. Considering I dropped out of college before getting my degree in Arts and Liberal Studies, I knew the likelihood of being selected was slim to none. I had to try.

The application was pure torture.

All ten pages of it.

I held out hope that maybe, just maybe most people would be deterred by that alone. If I was lucky maybe there wouldn't be many applicants.

I worked on the ten pages that were required to submit for a week straight, putting everything I had into them.

Fontaine’s Design was my one chance—the only opportunity I would ever have to escape Fair Grove Missouri, home of thirteen hundred people . . . one thousand of which were blacksmiths.

I had to get accepted.

Approval had come the week after Callum left for my full guardianship of Carson. I was now able to move anywhere with him as long as I let the case worker know our new address and kept in contact. Not that it would be an issue. I couldn’t wait to get us both out of this place and hopefully give him the opportunities I never had growing up.

Week by week, I waited. I would pray every night when I laid Carson down to bed that my acceptance phone call would come. I just needed a chance. Just one to prove myself, and then I would be fine.

When the call came, I couldn't believe it. Not only did they want me, but they wanted to hire me full-time as a custom designer in their St. Louis office. My custom shabby chic pieces impressed the director so much that she wanted to hire me straight in.

No apprenticeship.

No waiting and wondering if I was going to be hired afterward.

No struggling to pay bills while I worked day in and day out to prove myself.

Best of all, no more Fair Grove, with its limitless supply of pressed steel, and no more reminders of the could have beens staring me in the face at every corner.

Or so I thought.

I mentally beg my legs to move, to carry me away . . . to hide me in the throng of bodies flowing around me before he sees me, but they don’t obey.

His body tenses. I watch as his hands clench into a fist and then release as he scans the courtyard without even knowing why. His body senses mine. It always has. No matter where we were or how long we had been apart, the moment we were in the same vicinity, my body would let me know. My breast tightens, causing my nipples to pucker underneath the snug-fitting black sleeveless dress.

The slow tick in his jaw releases as he squeezes his teeth closed while his gaze roams over each and every person around us, and then in the next moment, his shocking hazel eyes lock onto mine.

My breath catches in my throat at the raw heat I see burning deep in his bright, shining eyes.

Everything around us disappears.

Time falls away.

It’s just him and me, together once again. My skin prickles despite the ninety-degree heat of the bright September sun beating down on me. I raise my hands, running them down my arms, wishing, if only for a moment, that they were his rough, calloused palms instead of my own soft, gentle ones.

But that's not possible, and it hasn't been since the last time I was with him. The night everything changed.

For a moment, my mind wanders there . . . remembering.

Wishing.

It was last spring, and I’m lying bare naked in the bed of his Ford pick-up truck underneath the blanket of stars. He’s whispering in my ear, telling me he loves me and that he will never leave me and then, in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

Every day, I regret the way I handled things. I wish and pray to go back in time and make a different decision, or at the very least, have the chance to explain and apologize.

For pushing him away.

But time travel isn't possible, and judging by the look on his face, the last thing he wants to hear is I’m sorry.

I can't say that I blame him. He’s following his dreams, and from what I can tell, he's doing a damn good job of it. I’m proud of him.

Not that he cares for how I feel. I don't think he has since the day he was rushed away in the bright flash of camera lights and a binding multimillion-dollar contract with the St Louis Bucks.

Or maybe it was the night he caught me in the lap of his so-called best friend, Tom. The same friend who had been trying to hook up with me behind Cal’s back for years. He jumped at the opportunity to have me, even if it was all for pretend. In his mind, I think getting Cal out of the picture meant that he got me.

Not a chance.

My stomach twists when I remember the look on Cal’s face that night. The way he stood at the door watching in disbelief, shaking his head back and forth, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

It killed me.

It still kills me.

But at the time, it seemed like the only option. In my mind, it was him or me. We couldn't both have what we wanted.

I thought I loved him enough to let him go.

Now, I’m not so sure.

Of course, he offered to stay with me, to honor his word and never leave me, but there was no way I could hold him back from his dream to play professional football, so I did the only thing I could do. I pretended to have an affair with his not so great best friend, and then I told him over and over that I didn’t want him anymore. I crushed him. I could see it as I was saying the words.

It still eats me alive. Every day, I feel my soul rotting away from the inside out.

I lied to him, over and over, but what's worse is that I hurt him enough that he actually believed me.

It was a good performance.

Too good.

It killed me to say those words to him, knowing I was lying through my teeth, but it worked. He left hating me the day he drove away as much he had ever loved me.

I wish I could shut off my feelings as easily.

My heart aches for him every day.

I lay in a bed of my own making, crying myself to sleep only to wake and eat, cry until I made myself sick, and pass out again emotionally exhausted. I don't even recall how Carson made it to school during that time. I just know that for several hours a day, I was all alone. It was during those times alone that my thoughts turned to suicide.

I wanted a way to make the pain stop.

It was a sick, vicious cycle, but I did it.

For him.

Three months later, everything changed. My world was once again flipped on its axis, and I was left with my head spinning in circles.

Lying in the bathtub, I was contemplating the easiest way to make the pain stop while debating whether or not I wanted to bother shaving my legs. There really wasn't any point.

It’s not like anyone else was going to be seeing them anytime soon, except for Carson, and let’s face it, he could care less if I ever shaved again. I don't know many seven year olds who would.

Fuck it. Might as well.

Leaning forward, I stretched across the tub, reaching for my razor and the shaving cream, but found it just out of my reach. I hadn’t eaten a full meal in over three months, and yet my stomach was bulging out. It was small, but I could see the bump. I sat back up, shaving temporarily forgotten.

My mind raced, trying to calculate the last time I’d had my period. My heart raced with excitement and fear as I counted the weeks back. Lifting the drain, I let the lukewarm water flow down the drain between my legs. Climbing from the tub, I took in my surroundings for the first time in months, noticing everything all at once.

The mud caked in the rug by the toilet.

The toothpaste on the mirror above the sink.

The dark circles under my eyes.

The tiny spark that hid lit within my own gaze.

Staring back at myself in the steam covered glass, I made a decision. I would not give up on life. I was stronger than that, and I would prove it to Carson and my unborn child.

I honestly never expected to see him again, and judging from the look on his face, he didn’t either.

I want to run away, but I still can’t move, and in fewer than two of his long-legged steps, he is standing right in front of me, sucking all the oxygen out of the air.

All six feet, two inches of pure bronzed glory, inches away from me, begging for my touch. My hand reaches out on its own accord and gently grazes the side of his cheek, instinct taking over. The moment my skin grazes his, I suck in a breath of fresh air.

It’s the sweetest, most satisfying breath of air I’ve ever taken. I never want this moment to end, but like all good things, it must.

“Cal.” I whisper, taking in every single movement, every tiny detail and storing them in a secret box in my heart to take out and inspect later. I see the moment he comes back to the here and now. His eyes harden to a dark steel gray and his eyebrows crunch, causing three small lines to crease the space between his eyes. Raising his arm, he pulls my hand away from his face and takes a step backward, glancing up and down my body as he does so.

“You're pregnant.” It isn’t a question. No, it’s a statement, and the venom in his tone leaves no room to wonder what he thinks about that fact.

“Yes.” Snatching my hand from his grasp, I place it against my stomach, caressing the baby within. Obviously, I’m pregnant. Anyone with eyes can see the giant, bulging belly sticking out from underneath my dress.

“Is it mine?” He asks, and for a second, my mind goes blank.

“Duh,” I reply, wondering why the hell he would feel the need to ask me that, and then I remember once again the way we ended things. I guess he does have reason to question whether it could be his.

“Did you plan to tell me?” He asks, and I can see him getting angry. His stormy gray eyes flash brightly with that temper he's never been able to completely control. His fists clench against his side while he waits for my answer. I try to keep my temper in check and remind myself that he has every reason to be angry with me, but it's getting harder and harder by the second.

“I tried. You changed your number, and every message I left with your manager went unanswered,” I reply through clenched teeth. I watch as the anger leaves his body on an exhale. He knows I called. He chose not to return them. I knew that, but seeing his reaction now makes me wish I hadn’t even bothered calling.

“What do you plan on doing with it?” He asks, running his hand through his hair.

“It?” I ask, hoping and praying he doesn’t mean what I think he means.

“The baby. What do you plan on doing with the baby? Do you need some money?”

“For what?” I ask, trying to keep a level head. My Cal would have known what that question meant. My Cal would have heard the warning in my tone, but this isn't my Cal.

Not anymore.

His next statement drives that fact home for me.

“I don't know. An abortion? Or do you plan on keeping it? I mean, how would you afford it?”

My hand snakes out so fast, I don't think I even made the decision to actually hit him. One minute, I’m processing what the hell he is suggesting to me, and the next, I’m cradling my hand against my chest, trying my damnedest to pretend it doesn't hurt like hell.

“Fuck you, Cal.”

Thankfully, my legs decide to obey me now. I turn on my heel and storm in the opposite direction of Callum Johnson.

The love of my life.

The father of my unborn child.

I can’t believe he actually suggested I get an abortion. Never in a million years did I think something like that would come out of the mouth of the one and only man I have ever loved. Tears catch in the back of my throat, choking me. I blink my eyes, trying to clear my vision enough to see in front of me. Unfortunately, I don’t manage to do it soon enough.

“Watch out!” I hear just as a cyclist swerves to the right to avoid hitting me. He would have missed me too, if my heel hadn’t caught in the groove of two bricks, making it impossible for me to move out of the way. We collide in a messy heap on the side of Parkway Avenue.

Honestly, can today get any worse?

Yes. Yes, it can.