Page 8 of Chasing the Other Woman

She steps closer. Her hand comes up slowly, as if she’s afraid I might disappear on her. Her palm settles over my heart, and just like that, I’m that 27-year-old man looking down at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, wondering how the hell I was going to convince her to let me keep her.

“I miss you,” she says.

That should be enough. That should be enough to say everything that’s on my mind.

Luci’s voice comes back. Just going to hurt her.

I've broken her heart enough already. I can't do it again.

“I’m right here,” I say.

“Are you?”

I smile, but it feels forced, and I know her well enough to know she feels it.

I lean down and kiss her forehead. Her body tenses. Whatever she was expecting, it hadn’t been a chaste kiss on the forehead.

What the hell is wrong with you, Carlisle?

She’s not sleeping enough. It’s not Luci’s voice this time. It’s Tony’s.

I pull back. It’s better this way.

No chance of her smiling up at me with a pregnancy test in her hand, thinking she has the world by the tail.

No chance of her losing another baby.

No chance of coming so close to losing her altogether.

“Right,” she says. And even when I don’t try, the hurt is there.

“Sammy.”

“You’re tired.”

“I am.”

As if that explains anything.

“I’m going to shower,” I say, saving her the awkwardness of being the one who walks away.

By the time I leave the shower, Sam is sitting on the edge of our bed wearing one of my old Storm Posse shirts. Her hair is loose around her shoulders as she stares down at the phone in her hand.

I round the bed, looking at the phone over her shoulder. I can tell myself I’m not nosing around all I like, but no one would believe that lie. Not even me.

A notification comes in.

Tony Danvers.

My body goes still.

I see the text beneath the name.

Tony:

You okay? You were a little quiet tonight.

It’s a normal question. But I can't stop asking myself: