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When we were first together, we fell hard and fast. I was certain I loved him before his anger and drinking overshadowed all else. Deep in my heart, I know I’ll love him forever, just not enough.
The illusion of unconditional love shatters when your abuser shares the same face as the one you love.
Jackson is an entirely different person when he uses, and there’ll always be a lingering fear of what will happen when he faces a situation that challenges his sobriety. Will he relapse? Will he lose his temper? He’s sober now, but for how long?
Yet none of these concerns stop the thrill of finding a missed call from him after yoga. It doesn’t stop me from thinking about him in the shower, and it doesn’t stop me from returning his call, as his text asked.
Settling into the oversized couch, I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring.
“Hey, babe.”
His voice is somber, and my stomach takes a dive.
“Hey. Is everything okay?”
“Are you at the penthouse? I have something to tell you.”
My heart hammers. All I can think is:He’s about to confess to cheating.What else could it be? It’s the one thing we haven’t talked about yet.
“Yeah?” Uncertain, I draw out the word.
“Listen to me, okay? I love you. I want to be together, no matter what. Nothing will?—”
Impatient, I cut him off. “Jackson, spare me the song and dance. If this is about you cheating on me, forget it.”
The idea of him and another woman kills me. Cheating has always been my worst insecurity. Given his lifestyle, how could it not be? Women throw themselves at him.
It was a significant reason we broke up. He must have been with someone else when he couldn’t return my calls. He’s probably with someone now.
And why do I keep torturing myself? We’re friends. Nothing more.
“Aurora, stop. I’ve never cheated on you. Ever.”
“Then…what is it?”
He blows out a heavy exhale. “Ethan Blackwood is our head coach.”
I bolt upright into a sitting position. “What?”
“Ethan is my coach. Take a deep breath, okay?”
My thoughts drift through a thick fog of panic, my voice weak. “Why?”
“Fuck,” he curses. “I wish I was there. I don’t wanna tell you this, believe me, babe. But he found out about the baby.”
I gasp for air, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision, and blood rushes in my ears. “How?”
“He overheard me and the guys talking about you and the ultrasound. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Tears roll down my face, and my chest tightens at the thought of facing Ethan.I’ve come to terms with being a single mother. I’d much prefer it over losing my son or a custody battle.
“I’m sorry, Aurora,” Jackson repeats. “He approached me last night, shitfaced and asking for your phone number.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you first and didn’t want him drunk dialing you.”
“What does he want?” My voice trembles and cracks. “Does he want the baby?”