Page 71 of About That One Night
He dries my cheeks with the back of his hand, his touch tender. “Because I want to make sure you’re okay before we drive to my place where I want us to talk and even though we won’t solve our future, we at least can try to figure out where to start.”
“I’m fine. Even when it seems like I can’t handle anything,” I insist, straightening my shoulders. “And now, with everything happening, I feel like I’m losing that control and everyone is going to see me as weak. What kind of lawyer am I going to be?”
Max reaches over, taking my hand in his. His palm is warm against mine. “You’re not weak, Zoe, far from it. You’re one of the strongest people I know.But even strong people need a moment to let it all out.”
I look down at our joined hands, his touch grounding me. “I hate feeling like this. Like I can’t handle my own emotions.”
He squeezes my hand gently. “You’re handling them, even if it doesn’t feel like it. And you don’t have to handle them alone.”
I let out a shaky sigh, feeling a small sense of relief wash over me. “I just . . . I don’t know what to do next. Everything feels so uncertain.”
Max nods, his eyes filled with understanding. “We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time. Right now, let’s just focus on getting through today.”
I nod, finally feeling a bit calmer. “Okay. One step at a time.”
He gives me a reassuring smile, his dimples showing, and starts the car again, merging back into traffic. As we drive, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, we can figure this out together.
Chapter Forty-Four
Zoe
Maxand I are quiet as we step into the elevator. The silence is thick, filled with unspoken words and emotions we’re both trying to sort through. As the doors are about to close, a couple steps in next to us, pushing a stroller with a tiny baby inside. The sight of the beautiful baby and the way her father is cooing on her tugs at something deep inside me, and I feel my breath catch.
Max seems to notice. Without aword, he pulls me closer, his arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. I stiffen slightly, torn between the comfort of his touch and the confusion swirling in my mind.
Okay, maybe I need to remind him that there shouldn’t be any PDA between us. Especially when I’m too confused about this . . . Can we even call it a relationship? That’s too forward, right? Sure, right now he says that he loves me, but that’s probably just the hormones talking.
No, wait, I’m the one with the hormonal imbalance because I have a little one growing inside me and they’re making sure that I seem like I’ve lost the last strand of sanity to the rest of the world.
The elevator dings on the third floor, and the couple steps out, the baby cooing softly. As the doors close again, I turn to Max. “What was that about?” I inquire, my voice soft but curious.
He looks down at me, his eyes sincere. “You seemed a little sad or something when you looked at him. It was just in case you were . . .”
“About to cry?” I respond, not sure if I’m touched by the sentiment or pissed that he can tell when I’m about to lose it. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my emotions. “Max, we need to talk about boundaries.”
“Why?” He furrows his brow, looking genuinely perplexed. His hand drops from my shoulder, and he takes a small step back, studying my face as if trying to decode a puzzle.
The elevator dings again, and the doors slide open to reveal the foyer of Max’s penthouse. The sudden expanse of space feels both inviting andintimidating. I hesitate for a moment, my feet seemingly glued to the elevator floor.
Max gestures for me to exit first, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. “After you,” he says softly, clearly waiting for me to lead the way into this conversation about boundaries.
As I step out, I can’t help but wonder if I’m ready for the discussion that’s about to unfold. I don’t even know what it will be about. He’s just suddenly in love with me, or us having a baby that neither one was expecting but he surely has never wanted.
Instead of saying anything, I wait for him to start, my arms crossed protectively over my chest.
“I can make you some lemonade with mineral water to settle your stomach,” he says, which is not exactly what I was expecting.
I blink, caught off guard. “Pardon me?”
“Well, during my drive here I was asking Google to do some research for me,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re at ten weeks, which means an upset stomach and with your IBS, I’m thinking things are a lot harder,” he concludes. “I’ve missed at least five weeks, but I want to make sure that you know I’ll be taking care of you.”
“You were researching?” My chin quivers slightly, but I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, determined not to let my emotions show. “No, I’m fine. Let’s get this over with, but thank you for . . .” I trail off, not sure if I’m grateful for the offer, for him trying to catch up, or for what. It’s all a little too confusing.
Max steps closer, his eyes searching mine. “Zoe,what exactly is happening? Usually, you’re easy to read but also very clear on voicing what you need. Now . . .”
I feel a lump forming in my throat, torn between wanting to just run away and the fear of letting him in. “If it were only me, I’d be okay, you know? It’d be like, fine, let’s deal with whatever is happening. But now, I’m just wondering if I’m going to make a mistake that will affect my baby.”
He nods, his brow furrowing slightly as if processing the weight of the situation. “I get it. There’s a little human being that depends on you, and any decision we make might affect her future.”
