Cease Fire (Blackbridge Security 9)

Johanna: What about the time he was livid when she brought a date to my brother’s wedding?

My lip twitches at that one because I can see it as clear as day. I was nearly in a rage from jealousy. I spent the next day hugging the toilet because the only way I could get through that night was to drink my weight in beer.

All of these scenarios are before that kiss that put so much distance between the two of us. It was before the military and before I got my heart broken.

“You’re breaking your own heart right now, dumbass,” I hiss to myself.

The intercom crackles, but I just lift my free hand and throw my middle finger in the air. Wren chuckles, and clicks off without saying anything. There’s no doubt that he agrees.

I stand, heading to the elevator. As I wait for it to arrive, I react to her post with a heart.

The ball is now in her court.

Chapter 36

Jules

Like anyone who might ever be in my situation, I’m stuck in my head running scenario after scenario as to how things should or could go. I say should, but that’s not really fair. I don’t get to dictate how someone responds to betrayal.

I don’t know if I told him I’m sorry for doing what I did. I play that last conversation we had here over and over in my head, and I just can’t remember.

If I did say it, did I mean it?

I’m not sorry I’m pregnant.

I’m sorry for the way I went about it.

I knew deep down that if I asked him to be a sperm donor, he’d never agree. If I laid out my expectations, wanting him to father my child but not be involved after that, he never would’ve agreed. Kit Riggs isn’t the type of man to walk away, to see his child at family gatherings and be okay with not taking an active role.

I’m stupid for even expecting that from him.

The problem now is I’m in love with the man. I think I knew I could feel that way about him before I ever invited him up to my room, and that’s what’s killing me. I could have had my happily ever after had I only done things in the right order.

If I weren’t scared as a grown-ass adult to sit my best friend down and have a conversation with her about dating her brother, I wouldn’t be so miserable right now.

He saw my post. He reacted with a heart, but telling the world we’re having a baby together isn’t enough. According to the comments, the people in our lives think we’re together, and I guess the post looks that way, but it hasn’t spurred him into action the way I hoped it would.

Or maybe his inaction other than that little red heart is his response. Maybe he’s happy to be having a child, he’s just not happy with the fact that I’m the one making him a father.

For the millionth time this afternoon, I press my fingers between my eyes. I’ve had a headache for days. My stress level is through the roof, and I just feel broken.

Wandering around my house hasn’t helped.

Begging him to show up in my mind has been fruitless.

Needing him and not taking any physical steps to make that happen is leaving me more miserable by the minute.

My heart starts to pound because I know what I need to do.

I need answers. I need to face him and see where we stand because I just can’t accept that we can’t work through this. Maybe that’s egotistical to want his forgiveness even though I don’t deserve it.

Rejection keeps me planted on the couch until I can’t even stand myself.

Then I’m up and heading for the front door with keys, purse, and cell phone in hand.

Knowing that we’ll never be together because of my manipulation will be better than sitting in my house wondering. Maybe I can start to heal, although that seems utterly impossible right now.

The drive to his building is somehow too short and seems to take forever at the same time.

By the time I press the elevator button in the visitor’s parking garage, my hands are sweaty.

Once I step onto his floor, my heart is pounding so loud in my ear I can’t hear my footfalls as I walk to his door.

My eyes well with tears when I see his condo number.

Seven-oh-four.

It’s the same room number I had at Beth’s wedding.

I swallow, hoping maybe it’s a sign.

My hand trembles so much when I lift my arm to knock that I have to take another deep breath just to hit the door hard enough to be heard inside.

He may not even be home right now considering it’s mid-afternoon.

My lip quivers when the door opens, and I have to choke back a groan at the sight of him standing there in nothing but dark sweats hanging low on his hips.