Page 10 of Keeping the Score

It’s bad enough that I have to face my ex with his new girlfriend, and that she’s nominated for the same award I am, but she’spregnant? Sweet baby Jesus and his tiny toes.

Trevor never wanted kids. Neither did I. He was focused on his baseball career, and I was focused on my job. Focused on supporting us while he followed his dream. But this… kind of hurts.

I feel like I’m eating and talking and smiling in a fog. I can’t stop thinking about Haven’s cute pregnant belly. How they’re going to be a family. How I’m alone.

And she was a bitch to me!

I have to win this award. I will probably die if I don’t.

Okay, that’s a bit hyperbolic. Or maybe not.

“What’s wrong?” Ford asks in a low voice near my ear.

“What? Nothing. Why?”

“You made a noise. Like a growl.”

I press my lips together. Oops. “I’m fine.”

“I wanted to smack her, too.”

I jerk my head around. His eyes are warm with compassion.

“Is Haven nominated for the same award as you?”

“Yes.”

“Sucks for her.”

I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “I appreciate the support.”

“Did you know she’s pregnant?” he asks in a low voice.

I shake my head, looking at my plate, my throat full of sand. “No.”

He curses under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

I blink rapidly and smile. “It’s okay. It’s not like I wanted kids. I thought Trevor didn’t either, but… well.”

After our salad, we’re served a New York strip steak with peppercorn cream sauce and then a chocolate brownie with fresh fruit. It’s all delicious, but the knots in my stomach are growing tighter as we get closer to the awards part of the evening.

My self-esteem has taken a beating the last few years, with my husband dumping me for another woman, a woman I considered a work friend, then leaving my secure, high-paying job to start my own business. To basically start over. And she’s pregnant.

I really want to win tonight. I need to win atsomething.

Which means I’m going to be crushed when it doesn’t happen.

I wind my fingers together in my lap and look down at them.

Ford bumps my shoulder with his. “Are you going to eat your dessert?”

I glance at him. “Yes. No. You can have it.”

He takes my plate and finishes off the brownie while I fret over watching Haven win the award, imagining Trevor’s enjoyment and her gloating.

So what if she does? It doesn’t really matter. I’ll be fine.

I keep telling myself that.

---