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“What the hell?” I murmur.

It’s late, and I haven’t heard from Tristan since I sent that text to him the day I got home. I’ve thought of him every single day, and I’ve typed out hundreds of text messages only to delete them.

Ellie called me a few times to check up on me, and she told me that this will all blow over. She was so confident, in fact, that she started training me via Zoom on how to work in public relations. She’s sent me videos to watch and has me studying both Instagram and TikTok along with different aspects of life in the league.

I’ve learned a lot, that’s for sure.

And it’s as I’m studying charity events in Las Vegas that I come across a news item from tonight.

It’s a photo of Tristan…and his lips are on Savannah’s cheek.

Savannah.

The woman who interrupted our wedding, detonated a bomb, and broke us both.

His lips. Her cheek.

I search and search to find more, but I can’t find a thing. Mostly it’s photos of who is at the event, and it’s like a Who’s Who of the celebrity scene in Vegas. I wonder how many of the celebrities in attendance are members of Tristan’s special little club.

I wonder if he’s been back since everything went down.

I wonder if he goes there to blow off steam.

I wonder if he can still say he’s never had sex with anybody at the club.

I force the thought away.

It appears Tristan walked in with Travis, but at some point, Savannah showed up. I can’t confirm that anywhere, though, and instead, I keep going back to the photo where his lips are on her cheek.

His lips. Her cheek.

Is he back with her? Did they clear the air? Is he grateful she told him the truth when I didn’t?

My stomach lurches, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I stand to rush over to the bathroom, but I can’t seem to move quickly enough through the thick black spots clouding my vision.

Did I stand up too fast?

I’m not sure, but I’m suddenly falling, falling, falling.

And then darkness.

“Tessa!”

“Tessa, honey! Wake up!”

My eyes fly open and I wake with a loud gasp as I try to heave in air.

“Honey, are you okay? You’re white as a sheet and I think you must have fainted!”

“I…wha—what?” I can’t seem to form a thought yet. I sit up slowly with my mom’s help, and she hands me the glass of water from my nightstand.

“A loud bang woke me up, and you know I sleep through everything. I ran in here to find you passed out on the floor.”

“I fainted?”

“Let’s get you checked out,” she says. “Come on, honey.” She helps me stand, but I’m definitely wobbly on my feet. She sits me on the bed, and she runs to my closet. She pulls out some flip flops and slides them on my feet, and then she leaves the room for a second and comes back with her own sandals on, her purse slung over her shoulder, and car keys in her hand.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really,” I say.

“I’m not taking any chances after that bleeding scare a few weeks ago. Come on, we’re going to the ER.”

I blow out a breath, knowing fighting her on this is futile. It’s ten at night, and we should all be sleeping.

By the time we get to the hospital, I feel fine except for the constant twisting in my gut and the pressure in my chest as I think about that picture.

I don’t mention it to my mother.

As we’re waiting, she taps away on her phone.

I keep mine put away.

I can’t stop thinking of that image, and even though I feel okay now, I can’t stop worrying about the baby.

I can’t stop wondering if he’s at that event in Las Vegas right now with his ex-wife.

If I’m the last thing on his mind as I sit here in an emergency room waiting for a doctor to tell me whether everything’s okay with the baby.

It’s over two hours later before we get any news at all from the doctor. “Everything looks fine,” he says. “Fainting in the third trimester is actually more common than you’d think. All those hormone changes can cause low blood pressure, so I’d recommend taking some preventative measures. Get out of bed slowly, or even out of a chair or off the couch. Don’t skip meals, drink plenty of fluids, and take short walks to help with circulation, but don’t stand too long. Any questions?”

I shake my head. “Thank you, doctor,” I say.

He nods and leaves, and then I’m discharged.

My mom drives us home, and she chatters the entire way. I tune her out as she talks about taking care of myself and how glad she is we went in just to confirm everything’s okay and how she texted Tristan to let him know I was in the emergency room…

“Wait. What?” I ask, suddenly on high alert.

“When we were waiting for the doctor, I texted Tristan,” she says.

“What? Why?”

“Because he should know what’s going on. I know he’s not talking to you right now, that he’s figuring things out or whatever he said, but he said he wanted to raise this baby with you. That means he should be informed when I have to take you to the ER in the middle of the night because you fainted.”

“You didn’t have to take me,” I mutter, but it doesn’t matter. They’re the only words I can think to say, and I don’t even hear her next words over the loud roar in my head.

“I’m glad I did. And I’m glad I texted him, too.”

She makes no mention of whether he wrote her back.

But he hasn’t texted me, either, to check on how I’m doing.

And with that thought, my chest tightens a little more along with the knot in my stomach as that image of his lips on her cheek floats back into my mind.