Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“It’s a bit late for that,” I say under my breath, trying like fuck not to think about how fucking good it felt to touch him again.
“Can I come in?” he asks, glancing toward my couch, that same brokenness from earlier returning ten-fold and reminding me that he really wasn’t here to start a fight with me. Something’s going on, and whatever it is is enough to bring him right to my door. “There’s something . . . we need to talk.”
Unease rocks through my veins as I nod and wave him toward my couch, silently welcoming him into my apartment. He visibly swallows before striding through my home and hastily dropping onto my couch, sitting too straight to possibly be comfortable.
A million things rush through my mind, each one worse than the last, and my hands start to shake, fearing what’s about to come out of his mouth. Is he with someone else already? Did he knock some chick up and is going to give her the life I wanted? Fuck, I’m going to be sick thinking about this shit.
It feels weird having him here, and I stand by the kitchen, unsure of what to do. “Can I get you a coffee or something? Water?”
“No,” he says with a subtle shake of his head, his eyes softening as he indicates with a slight chin lift for me to come and join him on the couch. “Can we skip over the pleasantries? The longer I wait, the harder it’s going to be to get this out. Just . . . come and sit down.”
Shit. He’s not even going to ease me into it, just wants to rip it off like a Band-Aid.
Anxiety crashes through me as I shakily walk across my living room and take the furthest seat away from him, but perhaps I should have taken the seat closest to the door instead. There’s no shame in making a quick escape.
The need to reach out and touch him runs through me, but I hold back. I can’t go down that road. Touching him earlier was already too much for me to handle. After seeing him last week, I’ve barely gotten him out of my head, though what’s new, right? I had only just gotten past the heaviness of seeing him at that bar, and now, here he is again, sending shockwaves through my body. Only this time it’s worse. So much worse.
Taking a deep breath, I prepare for the worst, lifting my gaze to Carter’s. “What’s going on?” I finally ask, sick to my stomach.
His eyes close as if he’s in an incredible amount of pain, and as his head hangs, I suddenly feel way too far away. I know I shouldn’t, but I find myself getting up and crossing the living room before sitting down right beside him. “Carter,” I prompt, really starting to get worried.
He takes a deep breath, and as he lifts that anguish-filled gaze to mine, he reaches across, scooping my hand into his and holding onto it as though it’s his only lifeline. “Fuck, Bri. I don’t know how to tell you this.”
My brows furrow, but I stay silent, waiting for him to find the words. “Sara went into labor last night,” he starts.
My heart sinks as I suck in a breath, the fear tightening its wicked hold on me. “The baby?” I breathe, my voice barely audible over the sound of my pulse thumping in my ears.
Carter gives me a sad smile, trying to be encouraging, but I can see that he’s barely touched the surface of what’s going on. “The baby is fine,” he tells me. “They had a little girl.”
Oh, thank God.
I let out a breath, the relief quickly thrumming through my body until it comes to a dead stop. If the baby is fine, then that could only mean . . .
No. No, he’s not about to tell me what I think he’s going to tell me. There has to be something else going on because the alternative simply isn’t acceptable. I refuse to believe it.
Sensing my panic, Carter squeezes my hand and meets my stare once again. “The baby was stuck in the birth canal and Sara had to have an emergency C-section. The procedure went well, and the baby was delivered safely, but as they started to close Sara up, she began to hemorrhage,” he tells me, pausing for just a moment as his voice breaks. “They couldn’t save her, Bri. They couldn’t stop the bleeding.”
No, no, no. He isn’t saying this. This isn’t happening.
“Don’t,” I cry. “Don’t say it.”
“She’s gone,” he says softly.
Tears fill my eyes as words escape me, my heart shattering into a million pieces. How could this be so? I only saw Sara last week. She texted me a picture yesterday, showing off her pregnant belly. And now . . . No.