The room was so quiet I could hear every homicidal thought that rippled through Jacob’s head.

The tick beneath his left eye told me he was calculating how many witnesses he’d have to contend with.

The paparazzi (and their cameras) would ensure that whatever his next steps were, they’d be immortalized in living color for the whole world to see. The staff at the restaurant could be trusted to be discreet and would likely turn a blind eye to a left hook or two.

His gaze, frozen, cold enough to turn anyone in his path to stone? It sketched out plan B, where he’d say yes to Corbin’s absurd demands just so he could get him out here—and hurl his ass from the balcony.

I couldn’t take that bloodthirsty look in Jacob’s eye, so I stared at the bottle of wine instead. Finished the last third in a couple of solid gulps. Straight from the tap.

I caught a stream of merlot that was coursing down my chin and stapled a smile to my face. “I think we need more wine.” I lifted my eyes to meet Charmaine’s bulging ones. “Thanks so much.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion and she looked at Jacob, then darted back in my direction. She clearly thought I was crazy. Or in shock. She made a wise choice to turn to me. It beat the glowering action she was getting from Jacob.

“You want another bottle?” she squeaked, straightening her spine. She wiped her palms on the front of her pants in slow motion, giving me plenty of time to change my mind and make a reasonable request. Something that addressed the bombshell she’d just dropped on us, for instance. When I didn’t correct myself, she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, a bottle of-”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jacob growled, all his frustration rushing to the surface. Ready to lay waste. Eviscerate someone who had nothing to do with any of this.

I held onto my smile, handing over the empty bottle since I certainly couldn’t pronounce the name of the winery etched in gold. “Just give us a moment.”

It was the out she was looking for. Her face flooded with relief as she offered her third apology in less than five minutes. “Sorry again.”

I wanted to tell her apologies weren’t necessary, but she wasted no time getting on that wine. Anything that would get her out of the line of fire.

We were alone.

Me, with my vibrating undies.

Jacob, with his flaring nostrils.

“That son of a bitch-”

“Is not gonna ruin our evening,” I finished, still wearing the smile, even when a gust of wind brought the buzz of the city up to meet us. It was like our own private, urban soundtrack. Reminding me that we were in the thick of the concrete jungle. But just outside the restaurant, there was a different tune. The dull hum of the paparazzi’s questions were colliding with the God-knows-what that was coming out of Corbin’s mouth. It was almost enough to rip the staples out. Erase my mask. Put an end to me pretending that this night was salvageable.

The sexy buildup, ‘Leila a la Climax’ at the hands of my Dom, was officially the last thing on my mind. My appetite was like a leaf on the wind, fluttering off in the distance because my husband looked genuinely ready to step into the ring.

He took off his cuff links, lining them beside his wine glass. I knew rolling up his sleeves would come next, and as hot as I found his forearms, I needed to diffuse the situation before he made good on the promises that blazed in his eyes. That rippled in the muscles as he flexed his fists.

“This doesn’t have to be a thing-”

“That man is outside, probably with his fan club and photographers. They don’t know me, but they know enough. Know that I’m up here imagining how good it will feel to rearrange his face-”

“So why don’t we do the last thing everyone expects and invite him up here?”

My voice was level.

Calm.

Not betraying the truth...I was secretly rooting for Jacob to knock Corbin out.

More than rooting, even. I wanted a Fathead made from Jacob’s likeness. Pompoms. A t-shirt that read #teamjacob.

But that approach would feed right into Corbin’s master plan. I didn’t know the specifics, but I could guess. He wanted a reaction. Wanted Jacob to storm out to confront him. Me to follow suit, creating the kind of scene that would keep him trending and relevant.

Even though I hadn’t taken a single bite, I reached for the napkin. Snapped it like a bullfighter because Jacob looked ready to poke holes into my plan.

“You want to invite him up here?” He was hard at work on his sleeves, creasing them with a precision that made me wish Charmaine was back with the booze. “Give him exactly what he wants?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “We don’t know what he wants, do we? But we do know the longer he’s down there, drawing eyes, getting recorded by tourists, the more damage he’s gonna do. Damage that we’ll have to clean up later.”

But that’s not the only reason, is it? You want answers. You want Corbin to own what he’s done.

I kept that to myself, since I knew it was like getting blood from a stone. And Jacob would slice right through my logic, telling me not to hold my breath. Considering his current state, I didn’t want him to slice through anything.

Jacob pressed his palms into the table, goring me with his glare. “What do you mean, ‘we don’t know what he wants’?” His brow lifted. “Maybe you’ve had enough to drink, because it doesn’t take much to connect the dots and they all lead back to you, Leila.” His face hardened. “He wants you.”

Hearing those three words fall from Jacob’s lips a few weeks ago would have been enough to make my world stop dead in its tracks. I’d start with denial, angrily recounting all the ways Corbin hurt me. The hollow pain of invisibility as he reduced me to little more than a stranger. A cardboard cutout of myself as I pretended that pain was the cost of admission to ride the Corbin Wolfe Train.

Next would be bitterness, flares of smug satisfaction that I got to be the one to reject him. To flaunt the life I had now, with a man with more money than God. A man who loved me, come what may. A beautiful daughter who got even more adorable with every passing day. As much as Corbin pretended to love his Coachella-inspired, hippie lifestyle, I knew it was a sham. He didn’t really want to live out of a suitcase, changing women as often as he changed his underwear. His current location was proof positive that it was all a ruse. He could be getting his freak on with any number of groupies, but he was out on the sidewalk, doing his own version of that scene where Romeo made grand gestures beneath the balcony to win the affections of Juliet.

Old Leila?

The vindictive, petty parts of me that I pretended barely existed?

She was already doing victory laps.

The reigning champ in the karma category because now I held all the cards. I got to tell him to fuck off—again—and this time, I’d really mean it.

After I got some answers, of course.

Still, it didn’t bring a smile to my face. I just felt like someone had taken one of those silver spoons and scooped my insides out. I was hollow. Despite the lingering questions, as far as Corbin Wolfe was concerned, I had nothing left to give.

Right on cue, Charmaine returned with wine in tow. She looked slightly unnerved by the fact that all eyes cut to her, hand trembling as she filled my glass, then Jacob’s.

“Anything else?” She twitched her eyes in Jacob’s direction. “Something to eat, perhaps?”

I had a feeling that Jacob’s mood was only further soured by the fact that neither of us had anything to eat since his omelettes this morning, but he’d probably bite my head off if I accused him of being ‘hangry’.

“Some water would be awesome.” He brushed the waves that spilled onto his forehead in anger backwards, his eyes apologetic. “Please excuse my rude behavior earlier.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly, her smile as bright as her teeth. Relief poured out of her mouth. “No apologies necessary, Mr. Whitmore! I’ll grab that water right away.” She dashed off, glad she was back in his good graces.

I brought the wine to my mouth, taking a silent sip. The smile on my lips said all the things that needed to be said.

“You don’t have to smirk, Leila,” Jacob growled. “I am capable of apologizing when I’m wrong.”

I lowered my glass, but I kept the sides of my mouth where I’d left them. “And we know how rare that is.”

“Almost as rare as my wife being wrong,” he winked. The playfulness was a fleeting thing, though. There was no escaping the Corbin Effect. “But if you are being serious about inviting that man up here, we are in disagreement.”

I sat up in my chair, letting go of my smile because as hard as he was acting, and I knew he could hold his own against Corbin or anyone else, I also knew my husband. Could see beyond the flexing. The clenched fists. The gnashing of teeth. I saw the man I loved, flashes of vulnerability dancing in the blue.

I can’t make Corbin go poof, but I can make one thing crystal clear.

I reached for his hand, interlacing my fingers with his. I squeezed, feeling his touch, his pulse as I brought him to my mouth. Kissed the flesh. He was my warrior man, but he could lay down his sword. No more wars needed to be waged in my name.

I was his.

I would always be his.

“I am madly in love with you, Jacob Whitmore—and I know you’re in love with me. What we have is bigger than a publicity stunt.” I let him go, raising my chin. “I want Corbin to see it, to see us, with his own two eyes. To see a love that’s stronger than anything he can throw our way.”

I left it out there as Charmaine returned with a carafe of water. Jacob’s gaze washed over me, drifting over my face as slow and steady as Charmaine’s pour. I knew he was muling it over. He was as stubborn as I was, but I couldn’t help but hope. Cross my fingers. Pray that he’d see this was the way to go. The only way to clear up any delusions that there was any scenario in which me and Corbin would ride off into the sunset together.

He gave me the slightest of nods.

His consent.

His wary consent.

“Charmaine, can you bring Mr. Wolfe up here so we can have a word?”

The collected look on her face crumbled as her eyes shot to the railing, like she would rather hurl herself over than accept that mission. Or maybe she was watching some altercation play out in her mind where Corbin would be the one tumbling into the abyss.

She turned to me, like I was the voice of reason. “You want me to bring him up here?”

“That’s right,” I confirmed with a nod. “Perhaps bring a third glass for him as well.” I doubted he’d be staying long enough to drink it, but I decided I’d try a non-combative approach with the guy who seemed to bring out the fighter in me.

I was gonna kill him with kindness.

She rubbed her lips together and let out a nervous chuckle. “Alrighty, then.” She lingered for a minute longer, giving us ample time to change our mind.

“It’s alright,” I assured her with a chuckle. It was enough to send her on her way, giving me time to look at my husband and see that he was struggling with his decision.

Enough time to wonder if you’ve singlehandedly made things worse.

*

“WELL, THIS IS UNEXPECTED.”

Luckily, I’d put aside my wine glass—otherwise, I would have crushed it into a million tiny pieces.

Corbin hadn’t seen my face since the benefit dinner. Since he felt the need to create drama by sitting down with some gossip blogger. The first words from his mouth should have been ‘I’m sorry’. Or ‘Thank you for preventing your husband from dropkicking me from the balcony, 300 style.”

I made sure Jacob was keeping a good hold on his urges. The mask that he usually wore so well was rattling, fury fraying the edges. Standing between two alpha men could be a disaster waiting to happen, but I was glad I was the referee. I was the reason we were here in the first place, after all.

Apparently, tell-all interviews and sidewalk ultimatums weren’t the only thing Corbin had been up to. He’d shaved off the lion’s share of his signature golden locks. His shoulder length, hipster approved strands had been buzzed on the sides. I could picture him suggestively describing it as a ‘party on top’. At the moment though, it looked like somebody had partied a little too hard. The balloons had lost most of their helium. The confetti was sticky and crumpled. The DJ had already packed up and gone home. The length of the hair had left drooped into his smoky eyes.

Sensing that I was taking stock of his haphazard appearance, he tossed back his new ‘do, flashing a smug little smile. Pretending I hadn’t gotten the best of him. “What are we drinking?”

As if his playful greeting wasn’t enough, he had the nerve to advance, eyeing our bottle of wine.

“We didn’t invite you up here for a drink, Corbin.” I snarled, cementing him in place.

“You’re the boss.” He went still, not moving a muscle, but he still had a singsong lilt to his voice. He cut his eyes at Jacob. “Or are you the boss?”

He was making a joke.

No one was laughing.

“To be honest, I’m surprised I got an invite at all,” he confessed, pretending his little comedy routine wasn’t bombing. “I would have put good money on Mr. Billionaire over there calling the cops.”

I opened my mouth to call him out on the unsolicited nickname, but Jacob beat me to the punch.

“‘Mr. Billionaire’ has no need for police assistance. If my wife hadn’t suggested bringing you up, I would have gladly come downstairs personally to have a conversation.” He didn’t even need to threaten him. He painted a picture with his tone that illustrated that conversation would have consisted of him pounding Corbin into the pavement.

The jokester sobered up. Slightly. He turned his stormy eyes back to me. “So I guess I owe you a thank you.”

“Actually, you owe her an apology.” Jacob wasn’t done. I tried to make eye contact, send a silent SOS, a gentle reminder that a tussle up here was no better than a tussle out front. He ignored me, striding to where Corbin stood, leaving just enough room between the two of them to make it crystal clear that he wasn’t one to be trifled with. “I’d give you some free advice, that you are wasting your time and breath thinking your antics are somehow convincing Leila that she made the wrong choice by ending things with you, but I feel like I should keep things simple.” He squared his jaw, his tone dropping to that dangerous timbre that made the rest of the world go silent. “Keep my wife’s name out of your mouth.”

The fun and games came to an abrupt end. “Looks like I struck a chord, Mr. Whitmore,” Corbin’s nostrils flared defiantly. Not backing up. Not backing down.

“If I ever read that you are sharing your warped recounting of events that concern Leila, I’ll be the one doing the striking.”

I moved to the edge of my seat, wondering how wise it would be to put myself between the two men if it came to exchanging blows.

From the narrowed gaze and the angry set of their shoulders, it was a question of ‘when’, not ‘if’.

Never one to let someone else get the last word, Corbin’s lips curled into a snarl. “Look-”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” I snapped to my feet, speaking with an authority I had to fake. My voice didn’t waver, but inside, I couldn’t silence the pangs of regret. Why did I bring him up here? There was barely enough room for our tables and chairs. Now I was damn near suffocating under the weight of Corbin’s ego and Jacob’s need to put the fear of God in him. “This was clearly a bad idea-”

“Leila,” Corbin peered around the wall of Jacob. “I didn’t come here to start shit, I swear.”

All signs pointed to that being a bold faced lie. How did he know we were here tonight at all, unless he was trolling social media and got wind of us being at the restaurant? He took that knowledge and set up camp outside, forcing our hand. I’m not sure what would have been worse, the headlines if he’d been arrested while we feasted at the Michelin star restaurant, or the pictures that went viral once the two of them traded barbs, then punches.

I squared off with Corbin, well versed in his brand of bullshit. Regardless of the years that had passed, I still knew everyone one of his tells. It was in the angular chin. Despite his best efforts at keeping it as solid and stoic as the rest of his face, not giving an inch besides the eyes that turned everything into a game, it would tremble. A sign that he wasn’t being honest with himself, or anyone else.

But there was no rattle.

And the eyes that ducked Jacob’s death glare and remained locked on mine weren’t their usual mischief-hued selves.

He was...telling the truth.

I dropped my gaze to the floor, tucking curls behind my ears before I raised my chin. “Why did you come here, then?”

His eyes never left me. “I came here to tell you why I thought you lost the baby.”

*

FLASHBACK - CORBIN

The woman sitting beside me was giving her straw one hell of  a blowjob.

Teasing me.

Giving me a preview of what was in store, if I just said the word.

I smiled, nodding my head slightly. Pretended I was listening to her drone on.

“So...” She teased me beneath the table, her hands on a mission, starting in on my knee. She made slow, methodical strokes that matched her tongue swirls. “My roommate is out of town in case you wanna-” She tiptoed her way up my thigh, her eyes narrowed slits of desire.

She didn’t finish her statement and luckily for us both, stopped just shy of my groin. She would have discovered that I wasn’t paying attention—and I was also immune to her charms.

Her breathy timbre and the promise that weaved in her fingertips should have been enough to make me swell. Throb with anticipation. A beautiful, sexual woman was all but saying, ‘Let’s fuck’. I should have been gobbling up the ego boost. The attention. It used to thrill me. Invigorate me.

Today?

It was suffocating me.

“Corb? Are you listening to me?”

I bit back the wince that was ready, willing, and able to take the place of my phony smile. I didn’t do nicknames. And even if I did (and I’d known her for longer than 48 hours), ‘Corb' would be on the ‘Hell no’ list.

“Of course I am,” I lied. I took a gulp of my coffee, wishing it was something stronger. I decided to do one better and looked her right in the eye, proving if this music thing fell through, I’d make one hell of an actor. “I’d love to figure out just how well we fit-” I froze, panic shooting through me like a bullet.

Kimberly?

Katie?

Her name slipped through my fingers like sand.

I covered the moment with a cough, dodging that lovesick grin on her face. The last thing I needed was anything serious. After Leila, this carbon copy Barbie would only bore me. I hoped I imagined it, because as long as this chick didn’t get all clingy, we could go a few rounds before I made my exit. Otherwise, I’d be bowing out before I discovered the sounds she made when the lights went out.

There was no room in my life for romance. For getting too close. I’d only disappoint her. To be honest, she’d already disappointed me, but that wasn’t her fault.

Anyone that wasn’t Leila would disappoint.

Five months had passed and I still dreamt about the one woman that I almost let in.

That I abandoned.

The woman with the name that started with a K decided to go in for the kill, brushing her nails across my flaccid cock.

She retracted her hand immediately, her smile flipping upside down. She was textbook beautiful: platinum blonde locks, sun kissed skin, cherry red lips that would look even better wrapped around a certain part of me. But she was forgettable. After months filled with trysts with women who could be her clone—vapid, one dimensional playthings whose conversations always consisted of empty stories about themselves, their makeup, their friends, their outfits, their asshole professors and/or bosses—I was tired of the bullshit. They would smile patronizingly when I talked about myself, and I learned quickly that they could care less about me. They were using me just like I was using them.

The fact that I was a personal trainer? Hot. The musician thing? Sexy. I was a cute little hobby, a pit stop before they settled down with a guy with an Ivy League education who would get their parents stamp of approval.

Leila was the first one that made me feel like I wasn’t kidding myself. Like I had real talent. Like I mattered.

And you decided to run.

Left her and your baby.

I gave my head a shake and told the K chick another lie. “I’ve gotta take a leak.”

I didn’t breathe until I reached the bathroom. Twisted the knobs at the sink and drenched my hands. I couldn’t help but remember going into Leila’s bathroom the last time we were together. Seeing those cardboard boxes. Knowing better, but fishing out the plastic sticks. Seeing those lines.

I wasn’t built to be a dad.

Hell, I wasn’t even built to be a boyfriend. How else could I explain shitting away the best thing that ever happened to me? Jumping at every opportunity to flirt, playing with fire?

Because you knew that Leila was stronger than you. That she’d dump your ass, saving you the hurt of her writing you off as a failure, like everyone else you’ve ever cared about.

I splashed water on my face, trying to drown out those pesky emotions before they took root. Pulled me under. It would make for one hell of a song. One hell of an interview someday when they asked my story. My motivations. I’d tell them about a little boy who was told he was the reason his daddy went to work one day and never came home. And since raising a kid was expensive and waitressing didn’t pay all the bills, Mama had to get creative and sell...other things.

The bathroom door swung open and the gust of air was enough to snatch me from my memories. From my pity party. Lots of people have crappy childhoods and rise above. What would I do when my kid hunted me down one day and asked where the hell I’d been? Some spunky, curly haired human with his mother’s eyes?

I dried my hands and did what I do best. I tamped down the guilt and pointed my eyes forward, marching right out of the bathroom—then slamming on the brakes when I saw a familiar face breezing through the entrance.

It was like I conjured her into existence.

It was her.

Leila.

But she was different. The Leila I remembered had a lazy smile and a sharp tongue. The light that beamed from her like the sun those early days had been almost extinguished by the time I blazed out of her life.

From the rosy hue in her cheeks and the ear-to-ear grin on her face as she pivoted to the register, life was good. She was shining like the saints in the stained glass windows of the cathedrals my mother dragged me to when she couldn’t scrounge up enough to feed us. St. Mary’s up the street had one hell of a spread for the needy.

I knew I’d lost the right to wonder, but I couldn’t help myself.

I took a step in her direction, wanting to steal a peek of her belly. Of the way she’d stroke the curve. Lovingly. Protecting our baby, even in utero.

After some annoyingly slow dude moved out of the way, I’d have a straight line of sight and-

My heart choked like someone had it by the neck.

Squeezed until I saw stars.

There was no bump.

No curvature of her belly.

There was no baby.

I didn’t deserve to cry the tears that filled my eyes, but my body had a mind of its own. Questions that weighed heavy on my heart.

When had she lost it?

Who went with her to the doctor’s appointment?

Was she okay?

I took another step in her direction. There was an ache in me, a need to go to her. To hold her. This was my second chance. My shot to tell her everything. To explain that while I was an asshole, an unrepentant flirt, I never cheated on her.  I lied. To save her. To save our baby from having a father who didn’t know the first thing about being a dad or a parent, because I never had one.

And then that voice, the voice that spoke to me whenever I had foolish delusions that I could be loved, that I deserved love, came crawling out of the silence and turned me on my heels, pointing me towards the exit.

She said she never wanted to see you while she was carrying your bastard. What makes you think you’re worthy of her now? She’s happy and that’s because she’s finally free of you.

*

IT WAS PRETTY CLEAR when Corbin said ‘you’ he was all but asking if the two of us could have a minute alone.

I perched my hands on my hips, ready to eviscerate him because all thing considered, he was in no position to be asking anything of anyone. Even if I wanted to grill him for a bit. Strap him to a chair. Put Liam Neeson on speakerphone to strike some real fear into his heart. “If you think-”

“I owe you both an apology.”

If I hadn’t been burning holes in Corbin’s skull, daring him to make a move, I would have sworn that statement came from someone else. Or was imagined. But I saw his lips form the words. Saw a similar shock ripple over Jacob’s face.

Corbin rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should say it one more time, to confirm that your ears aren’t playing tricks on you.”

Jacob gave him a scowl that said not to try his luck. But even my husband, ready to Hulk out at a moment’s notice, seemed to relax slightly. “We’re listening.”

If I had a thesaurus handy, Corbin’s selfie would be beside the entry for ‘cocky’. But his usual swagger had been traded for something that I almost thought was sincerity.

I didn’t let my guard down, though. One of the many things Corbin had taught me was to take everything that came out of his mouth with a grain of salt.

I arched my brow expectantly. Giving him the floor. Hoping he wouldn’t make me regret it.

He retreated to the railing, looking out at the city. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Corbin Wolfe, music god, was feeling like a mere mortal. He was nervous.

Good.

Jacob wheeled back to me, taking his place at my side. His gaze held mine for a moment. Asking if I was okay. I ducked my chin to my chest and gripped his hand. A tiny smile dashed across his lips and I knew he was okay, too.

Corbin faced us, meeting Jacob’s eye first. “I don’t know anything about you other than the shit on the internet, but I knew you were a standup guy when you didn’t deck me the moment I stepped onto the balcony.” He raked a hand over his head, something unreadable flashing across his face before he added, “And you make Leila happy. If I knew nothing else, that would be enough.”

I bit my bottom lip, but I let it go immediately and stood my ground. This could still be a game. A ploy.

And he still hadn’t apologized.

“Leila.” His voice cracked in two and I clutched Jacob tighter.

He started again. “Leila.” He flicked his eyes to the left. “Jacob. I am truly sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you. You’ve built one hell of a life for yourselves and-” He took a ragged breath and shrugged his shoulders. “I envy that. I envy you,” he said to Jacob. “But I had my time with her. I made certain choices, and the repercussions of that means I lost any right to be a part of her life. I know that now,” he clarified.

The last bit was just in time, because despite the fact that his words were blasting right through my hedgerow, I was ready to ask him when this revelation hit, before or after he upended our life with that interview.

His blonde brow raised, yielding to us. “Can you guys find a way to forgive me?”

I lifted my head in Jacob’s direction.

He gave Corbin a vicious once over, but I knew his anger had morphed into something else. That brutal set of his jaw was a little less so. The need to make fist meet some part of Corbin’s face wasn’t radiating from him like a neon sign that warned Corbin to vacate the premises.

He drew a slow, steady breath, then let it go. “I’m not a priest. I can’t absolve you of your sins.” He roped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I did some letting go myself, inhaling that Jacob scent. The smell of safety. Of home. Of forever. “But if you want to talk to Leila alone, explain this mess, that’s up to her.”

Corbin’s eyes nearly bulged from her skull. “You trust me alone with her?”

“No,” Jacob didn’t miss a beat. “But I do trust my wife.”

I’d been doing a good job holding it together until Jacob said those words. Tears filled my eyes to the brim. I refused to look at Corbin, not wanting him to see anything other than my Whitmore mask.

I locked eyes with Jacob and mouthed the only thing that mattered. “I love you.”

Jacob leaned in, pressing his lips against mine and I almost forgot we weren’t alone.

“Ahem.”

I threw a scowl in Corbin’s general vicinity. Suddenly, I was in no mood to entertain him. I wasn’t signing up for story time. “So, you apologized. What else do you need to say?”

He shuffled a little closer, wringing his hands. “It’s about the baby. I just want to explain-”

“Do you remember what I told you the last time we were together?”

Corbin’s mouth hung open, shards of pain slicing their way across his face. “Y-yes, but I just want you to-”

“You’ve apologized,” I interrupted, not letting him get in another word. “You’ve already interrupted our dinner. Can we just be glad that no blood has been shed or restraining orders filed and leave it at that?”

The melancholy look in his eyes told me that was the last thing he wanted, but I was done giving him the benefit of the doubt. I let him come up here. Let him apologize to us.

It was more than he deserved.

He let out a clipped laugh and conceded with a bow. “I’ll let you two get back to your dinner. Good night.”

I watched him go and did my best to let any residual guilt and questions go with him.

I expected Jacob to be as relieved as I was, but his eyes were cloudy with concern.

“Are you sure you don’t want to hear him out? Get some closure?”

“I’m good.” I dusted off my hands, then reclaimed my seat and returned my attention to the menu. Pretended I wasn’t curious about what he had to say. What kind of BS excuse he’d spit out to explain why he thought I had a miscarriage. What did it matter? The damage was done.

I flashed Jacob a smile and pushed Corbin to the back of my mind and hoped that with time, he’d disappear altogether. “I’m craving steak, how about you?”