Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
My nerves were at an all-time high as I went to the door and unlocked it. Wilder was already coming up the last flight of stairs as I stepped into the hall. He carried two big duffles, one in each hand. I hadn’t noticed any bags from the window, so my focus narrowed to them and what they might mean. Is he planning on staying over? Will I let him if he wants to? Did I leave stuff at his apartment and he’s returning it? Momentarily lost in my head, I didn’t look up to see the face of the man carrying the bags. When I did, my heart stuttered.
Wilder looked awful. Probably about as good as I felt. His hair was a mess, his eyes were puffy and rimmed with darker rings than mine, and it looked like he’d slept in his clothes. My instinct was to open my arms, give him a hug, and tell him everything would be okay, but I forced myself to remember what I’d been struggling through the last few weeks. Alone.
Instead, I folded my arms across my chest. “You couldn’t have called before you boarded your flight? Or even after you landed? Give me a little notice?”
Wilder raked a hand through his hair. It looked like he’d been doing that for hours. “I’m sorry. I was afraid you might tell me not to come after the way I’ve acted for the last couple of weeks.”
If he thought that, he had no clue how I felt about him. Pissed off or not, hurt or not, I was crazy about this man. I shook my head and opened the door, stepping aside for him to come in.
Wilder slowed as he passed, looking into my eyes and speaking softly. “Thank you.” He set the bags on the floor in the kitchen and swallowed, looking down at my belly. “How are you feeling?”
“Physically fine.”
“Your blood sugar?”
“Right where it should be.”
We were both silent for a long time. I hadn’t realized I wasn’t looking at him until he called my name.
“Sloane?”
My eyes met his.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” His eyes filled with tears, so I thought he might have meant for the way he’d acted.
But I was afraid to get my hopes up since he could also be apologizing for not wanting to be involved in our life. “For what?”
“For running away. For acting like a coward. For not being the man you deserve.”
I tasted salt in my throat as I swallowed.
“I know there’s no excuse for running away, but I want to tell you why I acted the way I did.”
“Okay…”
“Do you think we can go sit on the couch or something?”
I hesitated before nodding.
Once we were seated in the living room, Wilder took my hand and squeezed. “Do you remember when you asked me about my past relationships? I told you I had a relationship in high school and another one in college, but I didn’t go into detail about Whitney.”
I nodded. “You said she destroyed you.”
Wilder nodded. “That’s true. But it’s not the whole story. I met Whitney in one of the bars near Harvard. She’d taken the semester off because of some financial-aid issues and her dad being sick—at least that’s what she told me. We started hanging out. It was when my mom was sick, so we had that in common. I liked her well enough, though not enough to say she was someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. But then Whitney got pregnant. She told me it was mine, but it wasn’t.”
“Wilder, I would never—”
He held up his hand. “Shit—no, that’s not what I meant. This is coming out all wrong. I wasn’t insinuating you would ever—” Wilder shook his head. “I know you would never do something like that.”
“Okay…”
“But … I thought that baby was mine for nine months. I talked to him. We had names picked out. I might not have been in love with Whitney, but I fell in love with our baby. It threw a big wrench in my life that I hadn’t been expecting, but Whitney and I moved in together, and I accepted that I wasn’t going to play for a UK rugby team, like I’d always dreamed. I needed to be around to help raise my child. Two weeks before the baby was due, my mom died. I flew to England alone for the wake. Whitney was too far along to travel. And when I came home earlier than expected, I walked in on her and another guy. I’d been nothing more than their mark from the beginning. Whitney wasn’t ever a student at Harvard. She’d never been to college. Her father wasn’t sick, and she was twenty-nine years old, not nineteen. She also already had two children with the guy I caught her with. Both kids were bringing in child support from guys like me who had no clue they were being scammed. Whitney and her partner did their homework, found young, stupid guys with deep pockets, and made up relatable stories to help create a bond. A year or so after each kid was born, Whitney broke things off with the current schmuck, but the child support would keep coming for eighteen years.”