Page 4

“You’re not going back to sleep, Aurora. I’ll carry you out of here.” His tone is low and gruff. “Let’s go.”
He extends his hand, and I take it, allowing him to guide me into the kitchen, where he has everything laid out on the breakfast table. He made scrambled eggs covered in mozzarella, along with toast and a bowl of strawberries. Beside my plate sits a steaming mug of coffee and my favorite vanilla creamer. He went through all this trouble for me, and a sharp pang of shame fills my chest.
We eat in silence while the rain pelts the terrace windows. I sense his irritation and try to remain as quiet as possible, my body trembling. I’m in that dark place again, and no matter how much I tell myself I’m resilient and safe, I can’t pull myself out of it.
It’s as if Jackson set me back right along with him.
My stomach churns, and I lightly place my fork down to sip my coffee. “You don’t have to stay here, you know. If you want to do something, I’ll be fine.”
I have no desire to burden anyone else with my misery; I feel foolish enough as it is. I brought Ricky here, and he probably feels obligated to care for me. He probably thinks I’m too weak to care for myself.
He responds with a curt nod, his gaze fixed on his food. “Eat a little more, or your prenatal pill will make you sick. Drink some orange juice.”
He’s typically patient and polite, and maybe it’s all in my head—or maybe the shred of self-confidence I earned over the last few months has been obliterated—but I’m certain he’s annoyed with me.
“You’re very bossy today.” I shoot for humor, but my attempt to lighten the mood falls flat.
“I spent all night worried about you,” he says, jaw tight.
That bit of courage I gathered crumbles. My shoulders droop, and I cast my gaze downward. “I’m fine.”
“What’d I tell you about saying that?” he barks. “You’re not fine.”
I push my chair back, readying to escape. Sleep is the only place I find solace. “What do you want from me?” My raised voice shakes. “I’ll never be fine.” It comes out with a sob, and I hate feeling this pathetic. “I’m horrible! I should’ve stayed!” The regret is gut-wrenching, and I fear the pain will never go away.
Elbows on the table, his hands shoot out, and I flinch at the sudden movement. He pauses, and his eyes, the color of the ocean beneath the dark moon, bore into mine. When I don’t retreat, he slowly cups my face in his warm palms.
“Stop,” he says in a firm yet gentle tone. “This is not your fault. Nothing is your fault.”
His thumb traces my cheekbone, and a shuddering breath escapes my lips, the tension in my coiled muscles releasing.
“He. Is. Not. Worth it.” He emphasizes each word, his intense gaze unwavering. “Pick your chin up, put one foot in front of the other, and move the fuck on.” The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. “You deserve better than this. Act like it.”
So I do.
Or, at least, I try.
3
AURORA
The ache never ceases,no matter how deeply I try to bury it.
I communicate only with those who are necessary. I fight the urge to check the constant stream of texts, calls, and notifications, anticipating something from Jackson, even though I’ve blocked him.
My stupid, stupid heart refuses to accept that it’s over.
I tell Ethan I’m fine. It’s a lie, and we both know it. I’m shattered.
I place ice over my eyes, attempting to erase the puffiness from crying the last few days, and I repeat to myself over and over that Jackson isn’t my problem and this baby isn’t his.
He doesn’t matter.
This mindset lasts about three minutes until another snapshot of him with someone else invades my peace. Then, I use all my willpower to push that image away and pray never to see it again.
I don’t allow myself to feel. I can’t afford to feel. I’m able to look pretty. That’s something I can control.
I adorn cat eyes as sharp as the knife I’d like to plunge into Jackson’s heart, plus seductive, matte red lipstick. I wear mylong hair in my signature beach waves, a reminder of who I was before I got comfortable.