Page 26 of Healing Hearts
“She definitely has things she’s looking to achieve,” I agree and take a long drink of my beer to avoid saying something I shouldn’t. Neither of these two need to know more about Emily’s business than they already do.
“Wouldn’t be fair for you to insert yourself if you’ve got no intention of being that person for her,” Grady says, a clear warning in his tone.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “I want Em to be happy just as much as the next person.” Probably more.
I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been in my life—even more than when I got arrested—because I knew I was fucked then. There was no way I was going to avoid what was coming.
But this? Well, there are all kinds of ways I can fuck shit up right now. I sit in the doctor’s office, my foot jiggling while I wait my turn.
This emergency appointment I asked for is bullshit, but when the receptionist said I’d have to wait two weeks to get an appointment that was a non-emergency, I lied.
It’s the start of me eroding my life, my values, to go after what I want. Which should terrify me. Wanting something this much is what got me into trouble last time.
“Trent Castillo,” the nurse says from the door that’ll take me into the doctor’s rooms.
I rise and follow her back. She records my height and weight on the way through in case the doctor has to prescribe any medication.
He won’t, but whatever. I’m not going to argue when I’m here under false pretenses.
When Doctor David Rigilotto finally enters the examination room, he gives me a big smile. “Trent, it’s been a while. What can I do for you today?” He slides into the wheelie chair near the desk that houses a computer, and he types in his information to pull up my file.
“I need some help with something, and I think I need a doctor to do it.”
David leans back in the chair, steepling his fingers. “Tell me what you think you need.”
So I do.
Chapter Twelve
Emily
It’s been six weeks since I suggested Trent father my baby, and five weeks since I kissed Trent at the nightclub, and exactly zero minutes since I felt like I had my life together.
I sit outside Maggie’s pharmacy in my car, contemplating all the ways in which I’m fucking up my life.
The vibe between me and Trent still isn’t back to normal, and I don’t know if it’s because of the baby thing, the kiss thing, or the fact I’ve been dating the dentist for almost a month, and we’ve done little more than kiss. In fact, I’ve purposely arranged all our dates to be in public locations and to have a limited timeframe.
I have blatantly used my son to keep Michael at arm’s length.
But the real problem isn’t Michael or the fact I’m a mom, or even Trent. It’s me. I’m the problem. Because even though I said I’d never take Trent seriously, that I’d never get in over my head with him, that I wouldn’t become Lila, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. The few times Michael has kissed me, I’ve compared it to how I felt with Trent—which is all kinds of wrong. So,sowrong.
Whenever I close my eyes, Trent’s lips are brushing against my earlobe, calling me fuckable, talking about putting a baby inside me. Just thinking about it is enough to get me wet. It sounds like he meant it, which is what’s really screwing me up. His comments weren’t fun and flirty—they were possessive, and god help me, I liked it.
It’s not as though we haven’t seen each other either. He’s come over a few times to grab Amir and take him somewhere—to the shop to “work” on cars to the hardware store or sometimes over to Maggie and Grady’s to hang out. But Trent’s been very careful not to spend any alone time with me, and I haven’t invited him in either, suggested he spend the day with me and Amir. We aren’t yet back to normal, and I miss it, ache for our old friendship like a phantom limb.
I can’t move forward with Michael until I know my feelings for Trent—sexual or otherwise—are in the rearview mirror. It’s not fair to Michael to go full throttle into anything when I’m thinking about someone else so much.
In some ways, it’s a relief that I’m even capable of thinking about anyone else at all. For the longest time, I thought I was doomed to pine after Omar. While what I feel for Trent isn’t on the same scale as what I felt for Omar—this seems like extreme lust—I am a little happy that I can feelsomething.
If there’s a positive anywhere, that’s it. I’m not sexually dead.
Thankfully, when I haul myself out of the car and into Maggie’s pharmacy, she doesn’t have many customers. While she deals with the few people in the store, I browse the shelves, checking expiry dates.
“I have people who do that,” Maggie says, her tone wry from the counter as the bells jingle on the door with Mrs. Freeman leaving.
“I like to keep busy,” I say.
“I’ve heard you’ve been keeping so busy you’ve barely seen our dentist friend, Michael, in the last week.”
