Page 34 of Only for Tonight (Only For #1)

twenty-seven

Ariella

I grab the packing tape and seal another box closed before grabbing the black marker and marking it with the word bedroom. “How can one small apartment have so much—” My mother looks at the boxes around the living room, stacked up by one wall all with where they belong.

“Shit,” I fill in for her and she laughs. “It’s New York, Mom.” I sit on the couch and put up my feet on the little space that’s left on the coffee table. “You learn how to make things compact.”

“You have stuff here from when you lived at home.” She grabs the bottle of water that is on the table before coming over and sitting down next to me, placing her hand on my little bump. “It’s like Hoarders but cleaner.”

“Mom.” I look over at her and I swear my whole body feels like it’s been through the wringer.

We started packing up yesterday morning and have been going since, and I have about another day to go.

I can’t wait to get it done so I can just sleep for a full twenty-four hours. “I’m tired,” I admit to her.

“There is no rush to finish packing in ten minutes.” She smiles at me. “You can take your time. Jaxon is going on the road tomorrow for five days anyway.”

“I know.” I take a deep inhale. “I just?—”

“You want to get back to him.” She moves to the corner of the couch and tucks her feet under her. “So it’s just you and me now.” My father just left after being with us for the last two days. My brother, Brookes, left too because he has a hockey tournament this weekend and he can’t miss it.

“Yeah,” I say, looking at her, putting my hand on my little stomach that seems to be growing daily.

“Jaxon,” she says his name, laughing nervously, “Jaxon, Jaxon.” Her face lights up. “Like our Jaxon. Well, now your Jaxon.”

“I know.” I shake my head, closing my eyes, and all I can do is picture him smiling at me.

The tightness in my chest feels like someone just took my heart and squeezed it in their hands.

“Trust me, no one is more surprised at this than us.” I chuckle.

“I mean, no one is more surprised than me and then maybe Jaxon.”

“No. No one was more shocked than your father.” My mother points to me.

“Yeah, but he loves me, so he’ll come around,” I tell her and she rolls her eyes.

“Of course he loves you,” she barks out, “you’re his baby. Do you feel the baby yet?” she asks me, and I put my hand on top of hers.

“I’ve been feeling flutters,” I share with her, “but at first I thought it was?—”

“Because of how you feel about Jaxon.” She can read me like a book.

“It was a lot,” I say, “but now it just feels like a swoosh. According to the baby book, I’ll be able to really feel the baby between sixteen and twenty-four weeks.” I look at her and she gives me big eyes. “I have an appointment with Zoey’s OB/GYN next week when I get back to LA.”

“Do you want me to fly in and go with you?” I want to say yes but instead I shake my head.

“It’s okay, Mom.” I avoid looking at her. “I’ll be okay and Jaxon will be in town.”

When the phone rings from the coffee table, I pick it up, seeing it’s my Uncle Evan. I turn it to face my mother and she snorts, “That’s for you.”

“Did you tell him?” I ask her nervously.

“No”—she shakes her head—“that’s for you to do.” I look at the phone. “You better answer that.”

“Hey, Uncle Evan.” I put it on speaker so my mother can listen to the conversation with me.

“Hello, niece,” he replies. “I’m here with your Aunt Zara.”

“Ohhh,” my mother murmurs, “a conference call. Must be serious.” I bite my lips as she and my aunt laugh.

“Hey, sweetie,” my aunt Zara says.

“What’s up, you guys?” I inquire, knowing full well why he’s calling me and mouthing to my mother she’s “a liar liar,” which makes her snicker.

“What’s up, you guys?” my uncle repeats the words. “Is there something you have to tell your aunt and uncle?”

“Um, not that I can think of,” I say, waiting for him to inquire more, but I’m not done fucking with him. “I decided that I’m leaving New York and I’m moving to LA.” I smirk at my mother, who snorts.

“I heard,” he says. “You know what else I heard?”

“Not a clue.” I play dumb. “What did you hear? You know you can only believe half the stuff you hear and read these days, Uncle Evan.”

“Don’t be smart,” he retorts.

“We heard all the news,” Zara now cuts in, “and your uncle is a bit fit to be tied.”

“Who told you?” I ask him, looking at my mother, who shakes her head and holds up her hands like “it wasn’t me.”

“I heard,” he barks in the phone and I roll my lips.

“From who? Say their names,” I snap back at him.

“Matthew,” Zara interjects, mentioning her brother.

“What?” I say, shocked. “How in the hell did he hear?” My eyes go to my mother, who has the most confused look on her face, so I know it definitely wasn’t her.

“Manning told Nico. Nico told Matthew, and Matthew is Matthew,” Evan relays. “He’s like a billboard in the middle of Times Square.” I chuckle, because he’s not wrong. “Do you know how that conversation went?” I don’t answer him. “He gloated. I hate when he gloats.”

“He didn’t gloat,” Zara quickly defends him. “He called to say congratulations to him on becoming a great-uncle.”

“Same thing,” he grumbles. “Anyway, is it true?”

“You still haven’t told me what he told you.” I fuck with him and even Zara knows what I’m doing.

“Are you and Jaxon Stevenson having a baby together?” he questions between clenched teeth.

“Oh, that?” I sing out. “That’s true.”

Zara laughs now. “We are so excited for you, it’s a blessing.”

“When are you guys getting married?” he asks me and my mouth hangs open when I look at my mother.

“Oh God,” my mother gasps, “hang up on him.”

“We are moving in together,” I fill him in. “Then we are going to have a baby together and see maybe. I don’t know. We haven’t gotten that far just yet.”

“You haven’t gotten that far yet,” he mocks me. “You’re having his baby, I think that is as far as one can get, don’t you think?”

“Did Zoey get married to Nash without even kissing him?” I turn the tables back on him.

“She was saving herself for him.” He quickly laughs, making us all laugh. “Anyway, I’ll be in LA in two weeks and I want to see you. Both of you.”

“I shall mark you on the calendar,” I say happily.

“She fucks up by not calling her uncle and she’s still a smart-ass,” he grumbles to Zara.

“I’m sorry. I should have called you, but between telling my parents and then coming back to New York to pack up things, I’ve been a bit busy.”

“Don’t mind him,” my aunt says, “he’s a sourpuss. We can’t wait to see you.”

“Thank you. Let me know when you’ll be in town.”

“We will,” my aunt replies before they disconnect.

I pull up my text thread to Jaxon.

Me: My uncle just called to congratulate us. I guess the word is out.

I see the three dot bubbles come up and then see his answer.

Himeros: Thanks for the heads-up.

I look down at the text thread and something feels totally off. Especially after reading that reply.

Me: Are you okay?

Himeros: Yeah, I’m fine, just got off the ice. Talk to you later.

He didn’t even ask if I’m done packing or when I’m coming back home, like he has been for the last two days.

Me: Okay.

That’s all I answer him before I put the phone down and look over at my mother, who is watching me.

“Everything okay?” she asks me and I smile because the last thing I want is for her to worry.

“Yeah, just tired.” I swallow down the lump in my throat and then look over at the boxes against the wall. “It’s one thing to pack up all your shit”—I take a deep breath in—“and then another when I have to unpack it when it gets there.”

“But that’s more fun,” my mother says. “You get to decorate and make things yours.”

“I guess,” I agree, getting up. “They are picking everything up Monday morning.” I look around. “I’ll get everything by Friday at the latest.”

“Do you want to pack up your clothes now or tomorrow?” she asks and I look around.

“My body says no, but then I’m thinking if we get this all done now, we can do nothing but rest tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She gets up. “How about you sit on the bed and tell me what you want to pack in the boxes and what you want to put in the luggage.”

We work side by side most of the night, and I collapse in bed. When I wake up, I see Jaxon texted me when he got home.

Himeros: I’m off to bed but have to be at the airport by eight to fly to Pittsburg. I’ll call you from there.

I don’t bother answering him, because I don’t know what to say.

It’s been four days since I’ve seen him and he’s being so distant.

The only thing I can think of is that he’s having second thoughts.

I don’t know what else could have come up from the time we left my parents’ house to the time he went home.

Maybe being there without me was an eye-opener that he didn't want to live with me . The thought makes me feel like I’m going to throw up, and I wish I could talk to him about it.

But then what if it’s just all in my head?

* * *

The movers come and collect the things Monday morning and leave me alone in my apartment with the five suitcases I packed with my clothes. My mother went back home yesterday evening, leaving me all by myself.

When I land in LA, a driver is there waiting for me, something that Jaxon made sure of at least. He grabs my bags and brings them into the house. When I step into the house and I look around, I see that it feels empty. It’s eerie even, not a glass in the sink. Nothing out of place.

Me: I’m home.

I send him the message, wondering if he’ll call me, something he hasn’t even been doing. I keep busy, trying not to think about it. “He’s on the road,” I try to tell myself, “and his schedule is all off. He flies when you are asleep and he doesn’t want to bother you.”

For four days we text back and forth. The texts are very short and to the point.

I avoid even watching his game. When my things get here, I take a couple of things out and start putting them around the house, but then I stop, not wanting to do this for nothing.

So instead, I leave the boxes in the formal living room and avoid looking at them.

He gets home the day after my things arrive, and when I see him, I can’t help but smile at him.

He’s wearing one of his suits, without a tie, his collar open and I see the little bit of the tattoo I love.

He dumps his bag by the steps before coming into the living room where most of the boxes are.

He comes in and takes a look around. “Holy shit,” he says before coming to me and kissing me quickly on the lips, “this is a lot of stuff.” He doesn’t hug me; he quickly moves to the kitchen and the fridge.

I try not to make too much of it, thinking he probably had a long flight and he's exhausted.

“Well, I did have a whole apartment,” I remind him and he turns back to me, draining a water bottle as he leans against the counter. His eyes go to the boxes but he doesn’t say anything. “What’s going on?” I stand in front of him, my hands on the counter in between us.

His eyes come back to look at me and I see they are guarded.

He looks exhausted and also like something is on his mind.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head and avoids looking at me, and even talking as he takes another sip of his water.

I want to slap the counter in front of me and call him a liar, but I don’t.

I don’t do any of that, instead I stand here at a loss of what to fucking do.

I can feel the tears start to threaten and I don’t want to cry in front of him.

The last thing I want is for him to think I’m needy and feel like he has to coddle me.

“I’m going to go and take a shower.” I walk away from him quickly, jogging up the steps and heading to the bathroom.

Closing the door behind me, the tears come right away.

“What the hell did I just do?” I mumble to myself as I peel my clothes off of me.

“It was too much too soon,” I tell myself, “I should have just gotten my own place.” I take my time in the shower, not wanting to face him.

Not sure what to say to him, not sure of fucking anything.

Dread fills my body as I take one look at myself in the mirror and see my eyes show that I’ve been crying.

Unless I’m going to sit in the bathroom for the next hour, this is as good as it will be.

I open the door and step out, stopping in my tracks when I see him.

He sits on the side of the bed, his suit jacket off and tossed beside him.

His white button-down shirt is rolled up to the elbows.

His elbows are on his knees as his hands dangle between his legs.

He looks up at me and I see his face filled with anguish, and the words come out in a whisper, “We need to talk.”