We stand in silence. A minute passes. And another. I breathe him in, attempting to wrap myself in his energy, his warm embrace, his familiarity.
I feel nothing.
His hold loosens after a bit, and he sucks in a ragged breath. His eyes are glassy, and he wears the expression of a man falling apart at the seams and trying desperately not to let it show.
Crawford men are raised not to cry.
“It’s okay, Sam.” He pulls his shoulders back. “We weren’t together. It wasn’t cheating. You had every right to do whatever you wanted to do. I’m not going to judge you for anything.”
Really?
Well in that case, I may as well come completely clean. “The last time was a few hours ago.”
I expect him to pull away, like I’m tainted, but he stands firm, his hands capturing mine.
“Who was it?” He breathes harder. “I have to know, Sam.”
“Just some guy I met at a bar last week.”
“That you reconvened with a second time?”
“I’m also working for him. It’s a three week contract.” I wince, though I don’t know why. I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t cheat. And we’re not back together yet, so it doesn’t matter that I’m still working for Beckham. Jeremiah’s jaw tenses. All of this is so unlike him, and I can’t resist the urge to throw another tack-strip down in the road. “I’m going to Vermont with him next week for a few days. It’s a work trip.”
His eyes shut, and his tongue drags forcefully across the inside of his mouth.
“Babe, this was all my fault. All of it.” He looks at me again, his hands sliding up my hips and resting at the curve of my waist. “I sent you running into the arms of another man. I left you all alone. I blame no one but myself.”
“You’re particularly gallant today.” I trace the buttons of his shirt and offer a smile to lighten the mood. The unsettled pit in my stomach is difficult to ignore. This isn’t like him. At all.
The Jeremiah standing before me is an imposter.
“Shouldn’t you be throwing chairs and shouting?” I tease. Kind of. Back in college, he suspected me of giving my number to another guy at a party once. I’d never seen a real life Hulk until that night. Needless to say we were permanently banned from the Kappa Theta Phi house due to his destructive outburst.
He shakes his head, his fingers digging into my hips. “From now on, I’m going to be the man you deserve. The man who makes the others pale in comparison.”
He might have that one nailed already. Literally.
“I want us back,” he continues, his eyes closing. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Just tell me I haven’t lost you, Sam.”
Chapter Twenty-One
BECKHAM
“One sixty-two Clinton Street. Apartment four.” I verify Eva’s address to the nanny agency first thing Saturday morning. “They’re discharging tomorrow. You’ll send someone as soon as I call, correct?”
The agency director confirms my request, promises she’ll send her best available nanny, guarantees full discretion and privacy, and promises to email me the paperwork the second we hang up.
“Perfect. Thank you.” I end the call and toss my phone on the foot of my unmade bed, holding my head in my hands. My fingertips trace across my brows, pushing hard, and slide toward my pulsing temples to relieve the headache that’s going on day two.
With scattered thoughts, I hit the shower, cranking the water as hot as I can stand it. My phone rings a minute after I step out. With a towel snug around my waist, I grab the phone off the bed.
“Beckham King.”
“Mr. King, this is Anita. I’m a nurse at New York General.” Her words make my heart stop cold. “Everything’s okay, but Ms. Delgado is refusing to cooperate with staff until you sign the birth certificate, and also the baby can’t leave the hospital without a name. It’s hospital policy.”
I know Eva, and she’s not going to leave the hospital without that baby. She’ll have to name her eventually.
“Ms. Delgado is well aware of my stipulations. It’s not going to happen. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
My thumb hovers over the ‘end call’ button until I hear her say, “Wait.”
“Yes?”
She sighs into the phone. I can only imagine the unflattering thoughts running through her head. Perhaps she assumes I’m some deadbeat father. An irresponsible philanderer. A loser.
“Will someone be picking her up tomorrow? She discharges at eleven, and because of the C-section she can’t leave without another adult present to assist her.” Her once cordial tone has become unmistakably flat.