Love Song(121)

“Please look at me.”

Her blue eyes shift toward me. Behind the blank mask, I glimpse sorrow.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I say quietly. “The baby?”

Her voice is flat and emotionless. “There was never a baby.”

Agony slices into my chest. “There was. Just because it implanted in the wrong place doesn’t mean there wasn’t a baby. You can talk to me about it.”

Those eyes suddenly pin me in place. “What are you doing?”

I falter. “I’m trying to comfort my girlfriend.”

She sputters out a laugh, which, I’m not going to lie, stings. A lot. I try not to show that it affects me, pasting on an understanding smile because that’s what I need to be right now. Understanding. I need to let the hormone-induced jabs bounce off me because it’s not who Blake is. I know that deep down, she’s kind. She doesn’t laugh when someone is offering comfort.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Wyatt.”

I slowly inhale. Just the hormones.

“Stop trying to act like you’re my boyfriend, okay? We just fucked for the summer.”

Now I can’t help myself. “It was more than sex and you know it.”

“Okay, fine, it was more than sex,” she concedes. “It was a fling, a summer romance, whatever you want to call it. But I’m not your girlfriend, and the only reason you’re calling me that is because we happened to get pregnant.”

“That’s not true,” I object.

“Yes, it is. Before that positive pregnancy test, we both agreed it was going to end when the summer ended. That was the number one rule, remember?”

“We created those rules at the very start. A lot has changed since then.”

“Yeah, I got pregnant.”

“No, it changed before that. I fell in love with you before there was ever a baby.”

She just stares at me. It’s like a knife to the heart.

“And I know you love me too.”

She says nothing, and the knife twists in deeper.

“I want us to keep seeing each other,” I say. “The pregnancy, yes, would’ve guaranteed that, but I don’t need it as an excuse. I want to be with you.”

“You only said you loved me after I told you I was pregnant.”

Frustration clogs my throat. What the fuck am I doing wrong here? I love her. What more am I supposed to do to convince her?

My hands clench, and I have to slowly loosen my fingers before I break them. “I already told you I was planning on telling you before that.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t.”

“So you think I…” My voice shakes. “You think I’m fucking lying to you? Saying I love you when I don’t mean it?”

“I think you feel bad that I lost the baby. I think you were trying to do the right thing when you said it.”

I’m incredulous. “Really. I told you I loved you because it was the right thing.”

“I don’t know, Wyatt.” Her eyes get shiny, and when she blinks, a few tears spill out.

My eyes are stinging pretty badly themselves, and I don’t have hormones to blame for it. Only the panic of seeing her slipping away from me. And the disbelief and…yes, maybe some anger over the accusation that my “I love you” was nothing but lip service.

For the first time in my life, I fully opened my heart to someone, and she thinks it was fake.

“I think we need to stick to our rules,” she says dully. “If one of us wants to stop, we stop. Isn’t that what you said? No questions asked, no explanations required, remember?”

“Screw the rules,” I burst out, the panic rising again. “You can’t walk away from this. You love me. I know you do. I fucking feel it.”

She scrubs her hands over her tear-streaked cheeks. “I don’t know where my head is right now. I burst into tears every five seconds. My emotions are all over the place. I just need to go back to Briar and focus on graduating and figuring out what to do with my life.”

“I can help you figure it out.”

“I don’t want your help. I don’t want…”

“Me,” I finish, my tone flat. “You don’t want me.”

“This is for the best, Wyatt. It was always going to end. Fucking always. It wasn’t going to work long-distance.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Just stop. Please.” She’s crying again, wearing that same helpless look she gave me in the hospital. As if she can’t make sense of her own world. “I’m not pregnant anymore. You’re off the hook.”

“It wasn’t a hook,” I say hoarsely.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.” I run both hands through my hair. Now we’re both agitated. “Please don’t do this. Don’t leave.”

A knock sounds on the half-open door as Grace peers inside. “Everything all right in here?” I don’t miss the compassion in her eyes when she sees my face.

Blake turns her back to both the door and me, going to the closet to get more dresses.

“I’m almost done packing,” she tells her mother, even as the tears continue to stream down her cheeks. “And Wyatt was just leaving.”