I’d be lying if I said picturing him swarmed with college interns and industry executives all day didn’t hollow out my heart.

Scrolling through pictures on my phone of better days, I stop when I get to the one of me sitting on his lap last Christmas at my parents’ house in Minneapolis. We wore matching cable knit sweaters and Jeremiah donned a Santa hat my nephew had given him the previous year.

The Jer and Sam in that picture are content. Carefree. Living for the moment. Excited for the future. Our relationship was easy and effortless. We used to be so happy.

“I’m heading out for a bit.”

Startled, I glance up and see Beckham in my doorway.

“Going to the hospital?” I ask.

“Absolutely not.” His face scrunches as if my question insults him.

Maybe it’s residual resentment still coursing my veins and mixing with the flood of nostalgia and insecurity, but I feel the words rising in my throat before I have a chance to stop them.

“That’s shitty, don’t you think?” I can’t believe I just said that. A fresh batch of sharp opinions form fresh in my mind, snapping to the surface before I have a chance to stop them. “Shouldn’t you be with your family right now?”

Beckham’s usually relaxed composure tightens, starting with his mouth and followed by his jaw, trailing down his shoulders until it gets to his clenched fists.

“Please tell me you’re going to man up and take responsibility,” I say. I regret the words the second they come out, but I’m powerless. All my fears, apprehensions, and anger swirl together and cloud my better judgment. “Maybe the universe is trying to tell you it’s time to stop screwing around and settle down. Have to grow up sooner or later.”

Beckham’s eyes darken. “You. Know. Nothing.”

Shit.

In an instant, he’s gone. And now I feel like the world’s biggest asshole. Running after him, I grab his arm by the time he’s halfway down the hall. He stops, jerking his elbow from my grasp, and turns to me.

“I’m sorry.” My palm covers my heart. “I mean it. I shouldn’t have said those things, Beckham. I…”

He studies my face, staring down his nose and breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat again. My mother once told me tacking on a bunch of excuses to an apology does nothing but dilute it. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

I feel the need to apologize twenty-five additional times, slathering him in apologies until he assures me it’s okay.

There’s no acceptance in his stern gaze, only a bitterness that chills me.

“I don’t know your situation,” I add. “I shouldn’t judge.”

“No, Odessa. You shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I heard you the first three times.”

“If there’s anything you need…” I sound pathetic. I know that. He’s probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I’m starting to wonder the same.

“I need you to stop groveling,” he says. “I don’t like this version of you.”

Me neither.

He steps toward me, and I amble backwards until I hit a nearby wall. I shut my eyes, breathing in his clean scent. It transports me to that night when I was just a girl in a bar and he was just a guy with every promise of wicked intentions.

“Today, of all days…” Beckham leaves his thought unfinished, his face twisted.

“I know,” I say, my eyes protesting and apologizing all at once. “You’re going through some stuff. I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, Odessa. I want you to treat me the way you did before.” His hand cups my jaw. “Don’t bring me coffee and act like we’re best friends all of a sudden because you feel sorry for me. And fuck, don’t you ever accuse me of being a shitty person because I’ve been nothing but honest with every woman I’ve ever taken home.”

His thumb traces my lower lip, leaving a trail of tingles. I offer an understanding nod, scared to breathe another word.

“I want everything to go back to how it was a couple days ago,” he sighs.

“I don’t understand.”

A couple days ago we did nothing but bicker, and my intentional thorniness was like emotional pepper spray between us.

“You want me to be rude to you?” I ask.

His hand leaves my jaw, trailing down my arm.

“Two days ago, my biggest problem was figuring out how to convince you not to hate me. Two days ago, my main priority was seeing how long it would take for me to fuck that hard-to-get pussy of yours again because not having the upper hand with you is the most infuriating thing I’ve ever experienced.” His eyes roll before he looks to the side. “Until yesterday.”

My mouth falls, my head and heart trying to reconcile the squall of emotions coursing through me.

“Fuck, Odessa. Life was easy then.” Anger abandons his expression, though pain wasted no time replacing it. His tongue glides across his bottom lip. “You threw up barricade after barricade, and I spent my time plotting ways to break them down so I could have you one more time.”

I knew it.

“I had no intentions of sleeping with you again,” I say, keeping my voice low in case Julie hears us.

“But I had every intention getting exactly what I wanted from you,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

His thumb grazes my cheek, sending pinpricks down my spine. My chest rises and falls. When did I lose my breath? A tingling sensation washes over my palms as they rest flat against the wall behind me. The ache in my hands urges me to grab onto something, preferably him, but I’m safely frozen in place.

“Unfortunately.” He frowns. “I’ve got a mess to clean up, and I’m quite certain by the time I’m done, you’ll be back with that jackass.”

A sliver of me doesn’t want him to give up that easily. The rest of me scolds that sliver for entertaining such an inappropriate thought.

“It was fun while it lasted, huh?” My voice breaks, but my gaze holds steady, locked in his.

Beckham pulls away, and I exhale. “For the record, you didn’t stand a chance.”

He flashes a smirk. The Beckham I first met is still alive and well in there somewhere, hidden behind the fact that life as he knows it has just come to a screeching halt.

“Likewise.” The corner of my mouth pulls. My eyes trace the perfect shape of his mouth, sending heat to my lips. I wonder if it’s possible to miss a kiss you never knew you wanted.

Beckham’s everything I never wanted and nothing I need. He should be with his new family, and I should to try to fix things with Jeremiah.

It’s just the way it has to be.

Chapter Nineteen

BECKHAM

I walked around most of the Upper East Side this morning. No destination in mind. I couldn’t stand another minute trapped behind concrete walls. In the last twenty-four hours, my life – and my mind – have become a prison.

Just before lunch, I hailed a cab to New York General.

“Eva.” I stand in the doorway of her hospital room. Dr. Brentwood told me not to come here, not to engage her, not to give her what she wants. But I’m a man with limited options and the stakes have been raised. I’ll be damned if I sit back and ignore her because she’s not going away.

And it’s not about us anymore.

Bringing a baby into this changes things, especially if she’s my baby. I’ve never been paternal. I don’t know the first thing about being a father. I’ve never pictured myself coaching soccer or strolling around Central Park Zoo with a kid on my shoulders and a camera around my neck, but if she’s mine, I’ll try my hardest to be everything she deserves.

I’ll be the father Dane and I never had.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Eva’s face lights, the baby snug in her arms sleeping. She grins, her hair piled high on her head. As I get closer, I see she’s wearing makeup. Eva wanted to look her best today because she knew I’d be coming back.

If she were any other normal person, I’d be asking how she’s feeling. I’d refill her water or hold her hand, but that’s not why I came here today.