Page 55 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

"You look like you," I say, my voice quieter now. "Perfect. Twigs and all."

Her laughter fades, replaced by a small, almost shy smile. She doesn’t say anything… But the way her eyes soften tells me I’ve hit something she wasn’t expecting. For a moment, it’s just the two of us in the quiet, the tension from last night replaced by something gentler.

Then she shifts, rolling onto her back, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. "You always did know how to say just enough to make me forget how mad I am at you."

"That's the point."

"Nice. At least you're honest."

"I try," I say honestly. "I'm an open book. You can ask me anything."

"Actions speak louder than words."

"Okay," I say, breaking the silence. "I got you. How about I go first? You never told me how you ended up in New York. Last I knew, you were dead set on staying in Charleston and becoming an event planner."

She lets out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, well. Plans change."

"What happened?" I ask, my tone careful but curious, not wanting to push too hard. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking. If you'd rather not talk about it, no worries."

Her fingers trace patterns on the blanket, her gaze distant. "I don't mind talking about it. I got pregnant. Only takes once, as I learned. That kind of derailed everything."

I stay quiet, watching the tension in her shoulders as she exhales softly. I can tell there’s more, so I wait.

"Marcus was my crutch after you left," she says finally, her voice steady but tinged with something I can’t quite place. My heart hurts hearing her say she was sad. "We were friends. You remember that, right?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "He was always around." I never liked that guy, but I keep that part to myself.

"Always around," she says with a small, wry smile. "Especially after you left. I was a mess, Callum. You were gone, and no matter how many times I called or texted, there was nothing. And Marcus, he was there. He didn’t push, but he was patient, steady, the shoulder I needed."

Her words hit like a slow burn, the regret in her voice threading through me. "So it just... happened?" I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.

She nods, her fingers still moving against the blanket. "One night, I was upset—really upset. I’d just tried calling you again, and it went straight to voicemail. You know, the kind that isn’teven set up yet, so it just says that robotic thing about not being able to take messages. Like always."

He was there, and I thought... I don’t even know what I thought. It was just one night. It should have been just one night. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything."

Her voice catches slightly, and she clears her throat. "But, you know what they say. The rest is history."

My chest tightens as I let the weight of her words settle over me. I can picture it—the way she must’ve felt, the pain I left behind, and how Marcus slipped into the cracks I created.

"When I found out I was pregnant, I freaked," she continues, her voice softer now. "I told Marcus, and he said... he said he’d take care of it. Of me. Of everything. Even if the baby wasn’t his."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "He thought it might not be his?"

"I wasn’t sure at first," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "There was this moment where I thought... maybe. You know."

She pauses but I don't say anything. I want to know what she is saying.

"You had only been gone a little over a week. I mean, I wanted, never mind. I doesn't matter what I wanted. He was there and he didn’t care whether he was the father or not. So... I told myself it was a sign. That I was supposed to let him take care of me, to do the right thing."

Marcus Walker—the right thing? Christ.

"And marrying him felt like the right thing," I say quietly. The words are more of a statement than a question.

She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I thought it was. I thought, ‘This is what you’re supposed to do when you’re pregnant at twenty-two and the father says he’ll take care of you.’ I was scared, and it felt... safe. But safe isn’t always right. In this instance, it wasn't right, for sure. I knew it immediately, but everything snowballed and I didn't feel like I could stop it."

My heart twists at the rawness in her voice, and I reach out, brushing her hand with mine. She doesn’t pull away.

"Marcus wasn’t a bad husband," she says after a moment, her voice quieter now. "But it was never... it was never real love. Not the kind that lasts. I knew it, deep down, but he was so determined to hold on, to make it work no matter what. He convinced himself that if he controlled every little thing, he could manufacture happiness. Manufacture love."

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