Page 30 of Everything But Mine

Eric’s hand shudders. I feel the smallest shift. There’s no outward reaction otherwise, just a quiet, unreadable stillness.

Dr. Matthews says, “That’s absolutely okay. We’ll take this step by step. First, we’ll get your labs done, check on your iron levels, and get you started on prenatal vitamins, if you’re not already taking them.”

It’s practical, grounding. Something to focus on. I nod again, my fingers twisting in my lap.

“And if anything changes, that’s okay too. This process can bring up a lot of emotions. You’re not alone in this.”

“Thank you,” I say softly. I mean it. For the calm. For the kindness. For not asking questions she has no right to. “Could you add an STD panel to the labs?” My voice is steady. Lina’s breath stills for a moment before she recovers.

Dr. Matthews offers another small smile, rising to her feet. “Of course. You’ll have to strip from the waist down. We’ll step out so you can have some privacy.”

As the door closes behind them, Eric’s fingers fall away from mine. Now, he flexes his fingers against his thigh. His jaw ticks once. Rising to his feet, just like he’s done twice before today, he leans down and brushes his lips against my cheek. It’s soft, fleeting, before he faces me.

“I’m going to step out to the waiting room.” He rubs the back of his neck and straightens a little, a small movement to steady himself. “Let me take you to dinner. I’d like for us to talk.”

He leaves the room before I can say anything. The air feels charged in his absence, his energy lingering. The warmth of his lips clings to me, settling beneath my skin.

I’m left alone. With three facts.

I am going to be a mom.

Eric is not as in denial as I am.

I’m going to have to make another choice.

CHAPTER TEN

ERIC

Back in the waiting room, I take a seat as close as I can get to the small table where a child and her mom are doing puzzles together. That heartbeat was wild. Hands down, the most beautiful moment of my life. Amanda could have turned me away. Asked me to step out. Instead, she wanted me there for it. For all of it. She let me hold her hand. Kiss her. I wasn’t thinking about it, not second-guessing myself. I was letting myself have those tiny moments, whatever she was willing to give me. And she did, not once pulling away.

The child laughs as her mother tickles her sides when jabs a piece into the wrong spot. They’re both blonde. In my mind, though, Amanda’s green eyes and purple strands peek through, laughing with a little girl who looks just like her. Fuck, I want that.

A light pressure on my shoulder tears my gaze away from the family. When I meet Amanda’s gaze, she’s smiling as wide as she did when our eyes met over the sonogram. Over the baby’s heartbeat.

And that heartbeat… I felt it in my chest like it was tethered to my own. My own pulse stuttered, traitorous, almost in sync with the rapid thump-thump coming from the machine. With Amanda’s lips parted, breath caught somewhere between her chest and mine, her eyes bore into mine until a tremor passed through her shoulders. Whatever was on my expression, she wasn’t ready to face it.

As we leave the office and get in my car, I ask Amanda what she’d like to eat. The steering wheel feels clammy under my sweaty hands, small particles coming off and sticking in the creases of my hands. I am more than my failures. I am more than this body of mine that keeps malfunctioning. I am not my father, and once, I was enough for her. I use my signal to turn left so we can choose a restaurant in Greektown. I won’t ever fuck it up again.

I glance at Amanda’s belly. I’m claiming that baby as mine.

I tighten my hands on the wheel. Not to change the way she looks at me, but because I know what it’s like to feel unwanted, and the thought of Amanda’s kid ever feeling what I felt, ever wondering if they’re enough… I swallow hard, turning the signal to the right this time. I risk looking at Amanda. She’s staring out her window at the city lights smearing across the window. I’ve lived that question, worn it into my skin. I know the scars it leaves, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen to her child.

I haven’t exactly earned the right to ask, but I want her to stay. I want her. The thought comes without pretense in the restaurant’s back parking lot. I shut off the engine, a soft ticking drowning the car as it cools. She’s looking at the restaurant sign, her reflection soft in the glass.

“I didn’t think you’d pick Greek,” I murmur.

The lighting flickers against her tight smile. “Why bother with Italian when I’m your favorite Italian cook, right?”

The sight’s enough to make my chest ache. I’ve loved her longer than I’ve known what to do with it. I fell for her because she saw me when not even my own father did. Stayed in love because she’s never once flinched away from my brokenness. When she left, I got the message loud and clear: I can be broken, but she won’t let me break her. And yes, Amanda left, but she also returned, showing me I’m worth the trouble.

I drum my fingers once on the gearshift. “Let’s go in,” I say, keeping what I really mean locked somewhere behind my teeth. She isn’t ready for it.

We fall into step together, close enough for her sleeve to brush my arm. The scent of oregano and grilled lamb drifts in the air. As we turn the corner, the thought hits again. Even if she ever accepts me, the child won’t be mine by blood. I picture a face that might have Daray’s eyes, his laugh, his gestures, and it stings. But not because of that. Because I made sure it couldn’t be mine. Because it was easier to walk away than to stay and fail.

Inside, the place hums with conversation and the metallic clatter of dishes. I pull out her chair, and she gives me a small, puzzled smile before sitting. Her hand brushes mine by accident—or maybe not—and I feel the heat of it long after she lets go.

I sit across from her, forcing a slow breath. I’m not the same man I was then. I can make better choices now. And that starts here. Raising someone else’s child—Amanda’s child—isn’t a fear. It’s an honor.