Dear Dylan,

I’m so sorry. I hate to say one thing and then do another, but after thinking more about what we talked about last night, I realized I can’t put off trying to become a mom for a year or more. Especially in light of the fact that you’re not sure you want to have children someday. (Which I totally understand. I don’t judge you at all for feeling the way you feel and wanting the things you want.)

But I’m older than you are, Cougar Bait, and I have fertility problems that may make it impossible for me to conceive if I wait. Believe me, if that weren’t the case, I would absolutely wait, because you are worth waiting for. You are the kindest, sexiest, most thoughtful and fun man I know, and I’m honored that you want me to be your girl.

But a baby is one of my big dreams.

It’s something I have to reach for with both hands. If I don’t, regret will eat me up inside and make me unfit company for all the people I love. And I don’t want that for them or for me.

Or for you.

I care so much about you, Dylan, and that’s why I’m going to stay with my sister in Berkeley and work with a non-profit sperm bank near her house. I’m making the decision to try to become pregnant on my own so you won’t feel pressured to make any commitments—or DNA contributions—you’re not ready to make.

I’m trying to do what’s best for both of us, but I understand if this changes your feelings about moving forward with a romantic relationship. Just know that I have treasured our time together so much.

You’re so special to me and you always will be.

All my love,

Emma

I reread the note she left for the fifth time, but repetition doesn’t make it any easier to take.

I pace the floor in front of the bed where we made love last night, feeling sick, frustrated, and so unexpectedly filled with rage I know I’m not going to be able to think this through rationally on my own. Not until the red haze has cleared, anyway.

But I don’t have time to wait for the anger cloud to dissolve. With every passing minute, Emma is getting farther away from me, on her way to make a decision that feels more wrong with every repeat reading of her letter.

So I pull out my phone and call Tristan, hoping a calm head can help me sort out my next move.

He answers on the third ring, “Hey, Dylan. What’s up?”

“A lot,” I say, continuing to pace. “A hell of a lot, and I could use your advice.”

I fill him in on the situation. By the time I reach the part about walking into Emma’s place to find a note and no Emma, my pacing has expanded to the rest of the house. I prowl through cozy rooms that are empty and lifeless without Emma here to light them up, so worked up it feels like I’m about to come out of my skin.

“But this is a shitty decision,” I continue. “What happens if the baby gets sick down the line? Or hurt in an accident? Or what if he or she needs blood or stem cells or God forbid, a kidney or something? That sperm donor is going to be exactly zero fucking help.”

“True,” Tristan says. “But I’m sure that’s something Emma’s considered. It sounds like she’s trying to do the best she can considering the two of you are in such different places when it comes to having children.”

“We’re not in such different places,” I snap back. “I just needed some time. Why couldn’t she give me at least a few months?”

“Did you ask her for a few months?” Tristan asks, always ready to call me on my bullshit.

I sigh, bracing a hand on the back of the couch. “No. I didn’t. I was vague as hell. But if I’d known she was going to do this…”

“If you had, you might have said something different, but would you have meant it?” Tristan prods. “There’s no shame in not being ready, you know. Having a child is the biggest commitment you can make. You’re right to be taking it seriously.”

“I know, but…” I shake my head, eyes closing. “But all I can think about… I keep seeing a little girl with blue eyes like Emma’s lying in a hospital bed, and no matter how much we want to, there’s nothing Emma or I can do to help her.” I open my eyes, staring at the blood-red of the poppies stitched onto Emma’s throw pillows. “Neither of us are a match for the kind of blood or whatever it is she needs, and we’re just…fucking powerless. And I know that’s worst-case scenario thinking and chances are nothing like will ever happen. But what if it does?”

Tristan is quiet for a long moment, but without him in the room, I have no idea if he’s wearing his thinking face or has simply been rendered speechless by my crazy.

“You think I’m nuts, don’t you?” I ask after several silent beats, pacing into Emma’s office. “That I’m overthinking the way I did when we were kids and I hid your dirt bike so you couldn’t follow Rafe to the stunt track.”

Tris laughs. “I forgot about that. God, I was so pissed at you when I found out.”

“I was just trying to keep you safe,” I say defensively.

“I know, and you were right. I would have busted my face. I could barely ride in a straight line at that point. But getting back to the matter at hand… I don’t know if you’re overthinking things, but the fact that in your imaginary scenario you and Emma are together at this little girl’s bedside…” He pauses, giving his words time to hit.

And they do. Hard.

“The baby should be mine.” The anger clouds evaporate as I achieve bright, crystal clear clarity. “I want to be the father of that child.”

“Sure sounds like it,” Tristan says. “But maybe you should take at least a day or two to think things over before you do anything rash.”

I charge through the house, grabbing my jacket from the back of the couch on my way. “Like drive to Berkeley, find Emma’s sister’s place, and hold a boom box playing love songs up outside her window until she agrees that I’m the only one allowed to get her pregnant?”

“Yeah,” Tristan says dryly. “Like that. You’re already on your way out the door, aren’t you?”

“Getting in the truck now,” I say, slamming the door behind me.

He laughs. “Then good luck. It seems like Emma makes you happy. I hope you two can work everything out.”

“Thanks, man. Talk to you later. I appreciate the advice.” I end the call and roar up Emma’s driveway, plotting the fastest route south.