Page 28 of Healing Hearts
His answer is swift and decisive, and it makes my pulse race. We haven’t been alone together since the kiss. But if he’s coming over to talk about the business, about a loan, maybe we’ll be able to find our footing again as friends.
Amir has been asleep for thirty minutes before I even text Trent to let him know it’s safe to come over. So when there’s a quiet knock on my door less than fifteen minutes later, I’m surprised Trent’s already here.
When he comes into the house, my throat feels tight, like all my worry and uncertainty is being held there.
He has a manilla envelope in his hand, and I wonder whether it’s all his financial information so we’ll know where we stand with the business.
“Should we sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the table, but he seems uncharacteristically nervous.
“Sure,” I say, sliding onto the seat across from him.
He sets the envelope on the table and meets my gaze. “I know we haven’t talked about anything important in weeks, and I’m sorry about that. Are you still dating the dentist?”
I swallow, and for the first time I wonder what it looks like to Trent. On a literal date with the dentist, I was practically climbing Trent in a back room. From his perspective, it must have been ridiculous that I even went on a second date, let alone a third, fourth, and fifth. Unfair as it was, I needed the buffer of Michael to not be tempted to take Trent seriously, and it hadn’t really worked in the end anyway.
“I’m actually breaking things off with him tomorrow. It’s not working out.”
“I’m sorry about what happened in the club,” he says, “that was a real dick move on my part. I knew you were there with someone…” He shakes his head, his annoyance clear.
“I kissed you, Trent. That was all me. I’m the dick.”
“Sixty-forty on the dickishness,” he says with a hint of a smile. “I definitely didn’t say ‘no.’”
In fact, he said a lot that might have driven me to kiss him. “I accept that split,” I say. “Is that what you came to talk about?”
“In a way,” he says, sliding the envelope toward me. “I just got all this back today, so I guess the timing is good.”
“You want me to look at this?” I ask, plucking the envelope off the table.
“Yeah,” he says, running a hand along the top of his head. “I’m a bit nervous about it.”
With a frown, I pull out the papers, and the first one I see is STD results proclaiming Trent to be disease free. “Okay,” I say with a little self-conscious laugh. The next one is a genetics test, and my breath catches in my throat, scanning it quickly before looking at the third paper—a sperm analysis. “Trent,” I breathe out.
“I don’t know if you still want to do it, and if you don’t, that’s okay. But if we do it, I wanted to give you as much peace of mind as possible. I’m not hiding anything from you. The only thingthat came up on that genetic profile that the doc said might be an issue is my dyslexia.”
My chest feels like it’s both too big and too small for all my warring emotions. “I can’t believe you did this,” I whisper, my throat tight with a sob.
“I got the sense with the donor stuff that you’d feel better if you knew all this about me too. I wouldn’t want to put you in the same position you’re in with Amir, if I can avoid it.”
I drop the papers on the table, and I cover my face as a sob escapes. Trent is around the table, hauling me into his arms, and it feels so good to be hugged by him again. I breathe in the full, dark scent of his cologne. We haven’t touched in weeks, and I clutch onto him, crying into his chest, overwhelmed by happiness and relief. I don’t need a donor. I don’t need to keep dating men who make me feel nothing.
He smooths my hair and keeps me close as I cry, and he doesn’t try to get me to stop or convince me that I shouldn’t be crying. He lets me feel it all.
“We’ve still got some things to talk about,” he says, “when you’re ready.”
Chapter Thirteen
Trent
After Emily stops crying, we move to the living room couch. The rest of this conversation probably isn’t going to be as easy as what just happened. I’m not sure how she’s going to react to my terms.
My test results are in her lap, and she keeps looking through them and then staring at me as though she’s never seen me before. Which is fair—my response a few weeks ago was pretty emphatic. Does this give me a way to make sure I’m always in her life? Yes. Is that the best reason to be doing this? Maybe not, but I’m offering anyway.
“If you still want to do this, then I’m willing, obviously,” I say, gesturing to the papers. “But I have some requests.”
“What are those?” she asks, her voice still hoarse with emotion.
“I don’t want anyone to know I’m the father,” I say.
