I stumbled to a stop and felt tears collecting in my eyes. "That's good to know," I replied once I pulled myself together. "Thanks again. You've just restored my faith in humanity."

She gave me a toothy grin. "Good luck, Prince Charming."

I went back to the car with a slight surplus of confidence. For the first time that day, I didn't feel like the shit on the Wakefield family's shoes.

I can do this . . . I can get her back!

But that feeling drained away at my next destination—Skylar's street, once again. I eventually found a parking spot, which said a lot about how long I had been idling there . . . HOURS. I watched rush hour traffic come and go, the street lamps turn on, and the building lights go on and gradually go off as evening changed to night. Still, there was no sign of her or any evidence of a presence in her loft.

I nearly dozed off. I wasn't sure I would last the night or if I should. But if I left, the next day would have been another round of hell.

Finally—FINALLY!—a couple emerged from around the corner. Their appearances suggested they were returning from a dinner party or a gala—she never would have brought me to something like that—and every muscle inside of me clenched with a toxic combination of heartbreak and hostility.

As Skylar came close enough for me to confirm her identity, she was immersed in her own verification process. Her eyes pinched at the sight of her car. When they widened at the sight of me, I stepped out and joined them on the sidewalk.

"I thought you might want your car back."

That was it. After seventeen hours of trying to track her down and nine hours waiting in front of her building, that was the best opening line I could come up with. And I had nothing to follow it up with.

"Is this him?" the infamous, unfaithful, old-enough-to-be-gray-haired "Sam" asked without dropping his self-important stare from me.

"Yes, it's him," I answered for her, challenging his look with one of my own. Just as I expected, he backed down first. He was shorter than average, more fluff than muscle, and the type to handle confrontation by calling his lawyer.

Then I probed Skylar for answers. With her head lowered and eyes nearly shut, I wasn't getting any, not from her face. But that hard-to-miss engagement ring was back on her finger.

At first, I was disgusted. In her fine jewelry and expensive clothes, she became everything I thought she wasn't—weak, fickle, shallow, materialistic. And she was wearing more makeup than I had ever seen her wear.

But it didn't take more than a few extra glances to figure out why. Under all that rouge and powder, there was a bruise and bloody welt on her temple by her right eye. It immediately exonerated her from any wrongdoing.

I charged toward her and brushed her hair from her cheek.

"Don't," she cried as she cupped her hand over the injury.

Didn't matter. I had seen enough. The wound was nasty and must have been given to her by someone who was very angry. It came as no surprise that she had missed work that day. "I fell down the stairs" wouldn't have convinced a damn fool.

I shut my eyes as I begged myself for self-control. And they opened again before I found any, though they were quick to locate Sam. "Did you hit her?"

Oh, I wanted to kill him! And he knew it too! It would have been easy, like breaking an egg. The slight pressure I was putting in the air was already making him wheeze.

"No," he replied with a gasp. "You'll have to take that up with the good doctor."

"I just might. And I wonder who tipped him off in the first place? It certainly wasn't me. . . ."

His lips twitched, close to words, but he had nothing to say to defend himself. That to me was the same as an admission of guilt. I could feel my body leaning, on the verge of a forward rampage. And worse, my angry thoughts were building into a force I wasn't sure I could contain even if I wanted to.

"Sam, could you give us a minute, please?" Skylar interjected. The soothing sound of her voice was enough to break my concentration. "I'll be right up."

His expression was unmoved and his stubborn stance remained in place.

"Yeah, Sam, would you mind terribly?" I added and he finally found his feet and his good sense.

Skylar and I watched his departure, making sure he really did leave. And once the door of the brownstone closed, we looked to each other like we had so many times before, but this time it was different. She wasn't relieved to see me or on the verge of running into my arms. I was only getting a nervous vibe from her and I didn't take that as a good sign. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I was going to come and see you," she started, looking down at her feet, "even if was just to say goodbye. But I've been under constant supervision." She looked up.

I nodded in understanding and then shrugged. "Goodbye?"

"Isn't that the way it has to be? I told you I might be pregnant and do you remember what you said? 'This can't be happening.' Well, guess what? It is. And when I tried to talk to you about it, you walked out on me."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"Maybe not, but the message was clear. You're not ready. And I can't say I blame you. It's been less than a month. It would be unfair for me to expect something from you, especially since it was my mistake. I take full credit."

"You shouldn't. I was there too."

"I know, but I was a mess that first night we were together. I used that as an excuse to be reckless. A few other times too. The details of 'how' or 'when' aren't really important, I suppose. But now it's my responsibility to make things right. And no matter what, I'm having this baby. . . ."

"Good. I would want you to. You'd be a great mother."

That made her smile. "I want a family more than anything. Maybe because my own family is so . . . dysfunctional. And Sam. I know he's not perfect and he's admitted to a few indiscretions. It hurt to finally hear the truth, but at this point, I'm not exactly the innocent victim. So we've talked it through and we're both willing to forgive each other and move on."

"He has to forgive you? For what? You broke it off with someone who deserved it and you met someone else. You didn't do anything wrong, yet you're the one who got punished. They want you to believe you made a mistake so they can continue to make up your mind for you. But you don't have to live like that. There are other options out there and I hope you know that I'm still one of them."

"Scott, we were great together. But, when you don't like something, or when something scares you, you run away or push me away. Honestly, I can't live like that either."

"You're right. I do that. Again, I'm sorry, and if you give me another chance, I promise I'll change."

"One thing I've learned through all of this is that men never change." There was a weighty silence after that, one I couldn't break. I had no way of proving that I'd be the exception. "I should go. This is goodbye. But I will miss you, Scott MacRae."

She attempted a smile with tears in her eyes. Then she came to me and kissed my cheek. And that was when I fell to pieces, worse than her. I wanted to hold on to her, make her stay, but she eased herself out of my hesitant embrace. And after a brief touch of her hand to my face, she slipped away and began climbing the stairs of her building.

"Wait!" I charged forward. "Don't go yet." She turned around halfway, enough to hear me out, but not with a hundred percent commitment. "Because I have more to say. I need to tell you that I love you . . . so much that I'll never love anyone else! I never said it before because I was afraid. Afraid of admitting it to you and to myself, and then losing you. If you don't love me back, if I'm not what you want, this is the last time you'll ever see me. I have no reason to stay here and I know my child is better off without me."

She was facing me now, fully, with tears running down her cheeks. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is." I began climbing the stairs. "He should be as far away from me as possible. But, could you do me a favor? When his stepfather can't stand the sight of him, tell him that his real father will always love him, and is thinking about him every day." I took the step just below hers. She didn't turn or step back, so I placed her head in my hands and she lifted her magical blue eyes to mine. "That I want what's best for him, which is to be with his mother, wherever life takes her. And I hope she always follows her heart. And, tell him I will do whatever is necessary. I would give my life for him and his mother to keep them safe from harm, all without any regret. Would you do that for me? Please. . ."

"No," she said, and I didn't think I would ever recover from that blow. "Because I want you to," she continued as she slid her hands around my waist. And then she lifted her eyes to heaven and laughed. "And what makes you so certain it's a boy anyway?"

"A dream I keep having. He'll look just like me too. It'd be hard to pass him off as someone else's."

"It's a good thing I love you too, then, isn't it?"

"The best."

I kissed her, squeezed her, lifted her off the ground, so incredibly thankful that it was hard to make the tears go away. But this time they were ones of pure elation. I couldn't believe it. She changed her mind. My love was enough for her. She didn't need all the extras or want them, not if she had to exclude me. And we would find a way to get by without her father's consent, work harder if we had to. Skylar would never be under his control again.

Though I wished our moment didn't have to end, we had some work to do. By the hand, Skylar brought me up to her loft.

When we came through the door, Sam had his back against the wall by the front bay window. The palatial curtains were open beside him. Judging by his cold expression and the discourteous way he puffed his cigar smoke toward us, there was no need for Skylar to explain.

He looked on the verge of making a scene, but he stayed in his den and didn't confront Skylar while she packed. I, admittedly, may have had something to do with that. I was standing outside her bedroom door like her bodyguard. I was prepared for anything. If he shifted, said a word, or even glanced over, I made sure my stare advised him against it. I didn't like him. And I didn't trust him.

On our way out, Skylar exchanged a few closing remarks with him and gave the engagement ring back. He tossed it callously into a crystal vase on the mantle. Maybe he could save it for the next sweet young thing, someone else he could mistreat and manipulate.

"Don't worry," I said when the door shut. "You'll get a new one soon. . . ."

~~~

Fleetwood Mac. Go Your Own Way (1977).

https://youtu.be/6ul-cZyuYq4

To be concluded. . .
⭐️THANK YOU FOR READING⭐️