Page 38 of Eight Seconds

“I can’t,” Wilder finally says. He settles his hands on his hips and looks up to the sky. “I can’t do this anymore. So, if you’re leaving, I want you to go. Ineedyou to go.”

“What about whatIneed?” I think about the positive pregnancy test. I think about the clinic appointment on my calendar. I think about the conversation we haven’t had because he doesn’t know. Because there hasn’t been a time that has felt right to tell him.

Wilder steps back to where his stash of bottles rests against the stump he occupied. He bends at the waist, twisting the top off with a snick. He takes a quick sip before his dead blue eyes are locked on mine.

“I don’t care.” He gives a thoughtless shrug. The admission and dismissal are so sharp they suck the air from my lungs. I grip my chest from and bite the inside of my cheek hard enough that the coppery tang of blood coats my tongue. But he isn’t finished, and nothing can prepare me for what he says next. “Caring hurts too damn much. So, I’m choosing not to.” He takes another drink, and I examine him for any signs that it hasn’t come to this. Before I can see if there’s the barest hint of regret, he turns his back and lobbies one last barb over his shoulder. A final nail in the proverbial coffin. “Leave me the fuck alone, and don’t come back.”

It takes every remaining ounce of my fortitude to take the first step. But once I do, I find each one that comes after a little easier. My hand rests over my still-flat abdomen, bringing me reassurance and strength when I make it back to my truck. My eyes are dry as I buckle my seatbelt and turn the ignition. My thoughts are clear as I shift into gear and begin down the familiar road that once felt like home.

When I hit the highway heading east, a gray horizon stretches out in front of me, and I let my mind drift to the life I was living before it was turned upside down in Vegas. Slowly, sadly, I pack away each hope for the future. Every dream I thought I could make possible. Every plan that included a cocky cowboy with an easy smile, fierce love, and gentle protectiveness. After each scrap of possibility is secured in the mental box I don’t think I’ll ever reopen, I inhale a deep breath.

My phone sits secured to my dashboard, and I carefully navigate to the messages home screen. I tap a name and hold the tiny microphone to send a voice message.

“Ada, it’s me. I’m on the road, and the GPS tells me I have a seven-and-a-half-hour drive ahead of me. He, uh… Well, he didn’t try to stop me.” I pause, swallowing the tears I stubbornly refuse to shed. “I’m making the right choice, right?” I sigh, conflicted but resolute. Wilder is not in a place to take care of himself, much less help me take care of a child.He told me to go.My heart aches at the memory. “Anyway, I’ll keep you up to date on my progress. Thanks again.”

I disconnect, closing the application and restarting the GPS. The sun peeks out of the clouds, the barest hint of mottled gold in the otherwise bleak landscape I drive through. But it’s enough for me to hold on to. I take one hand off the steering wheel to touch the place my baby is growing, stroking softly over my own body.

“It’s just you and me now,” I whisper. “And I’ll love you enough for the both of us.”

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