Regretting You(38)

He does have air-conditioning, despite what I assumed last time I was in his truck. It’s on high, and it’s blowing my hair into my mouth. I flick the vent closed and then pull a strand of hair away from my lips with my fingers. Miller’s eyes follow my movements, lingering on my mouth for a moment.

The way he’s looking at me is making it really difficult to inhale a proper breath. As if he can tell I’m having a physical reaction to just being in his presence, his eyes fall even more to my heaving chest, albeit very briefly.

He pulls his sucker out of his mouth and grips his steering wheel, looking away from me. “I changed my mind. I need you to get out of my truck.”

I’m dumbfounded by his words. And also very confused. “Changed your mind about what?”

He looks at me again, and for some reason, he looks torn. He drags in a slow breath. “I don’t know. I feel really confused around you.”

He feels confused around me? That makes me smile.

My smile makes him frown.

I don’t even know what’s happening right now. I don’t know if I like it or hate it, but I do know that whatever it is that makes me feel the way I do when I’m around him is a feeling that can only be fought for so long. He’s looking back at me like he’s almost at the end of his fight.

“You really need to figure out your shit, Miller.”

He nods. “Believe me. I know I do. That’s why I need you to get out of my truck.”

This entire interaction is so bizarre I can only laugh about it. My laugh finally makes him smile. But then he groans and grips his steering wheel with both hands, pressing his forehead against it.

“Please get out of my truck, Clara,” he whispers.

I should hate that he’s battling some sort of moral struggle right now. I like this feeling—thinking he might be attracted to me—a lot more than thinking he hates me.

I try to keep Shelby at the forefront of my mind. Knowing he has a girlfriend that he loves and cares for keeps me from climbing across this seat and kissing him like I want to. But I know I’m not doing anything to help prevent him from having the same urge, because I’m still sitting in his truck, despite him asking me to get out no less than three times.

I might even make it worse when I reach over and pull his sucker out of his grip. “Miller?” He tilts his head, still pressed against the steering wheel, and stares at me. “You’re confusing me too.” I put his sucker in my mouth and grab the door handle.

Miller keeps his head tilted just enough so that he can watch me exit his truck. As soon as I shut the door, he locks it, then puts the truck in reverse like he can’t get away from me fast enough.

I get into my car, fully convinced that Aunt Jenny was wrong about one thing. She said girls were more confusing than guys. I don’t believe that for a second.

I back out of my parking spot after Miller is gone. When I pull onto the road, my phone rings. It’s Lexie.

Shit. Lexie.

I answer it. “I’m sorry. I’m turning around.”

“You forgot me.”

“I know. I’m the worst. Coming back now.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN





MORGAN


Two years, six months, and thirteen days. That’s how long Chris’s life insurance was supposed to last in a worst-case scenario when I did the math. But adding an infant into the mix is going to throw us into poverty level. I can’t get a job if I have an infant. I can’t afford day care if I get a job. I can’t sue Jonah for child support because he’s not even the father.

When Elijah begins to cry, I pile the paperwork together and go tend to him. Again. I thought Elijah was nothing like Clara was at this age, but I’m beginning to think I was wrong. Because all he’s done for the last few days is cry. He naps occasionally, but he’s mostly been crying. I’m sure it’s because I’m not familiar to him. He’s used to Jenny, and he hasn’t heard her voice in a while. He hasn’t heard Jonah’s since Sunday night. I’m doing the best I can at pretending this will turn out okay, but I’m starting to worry it won’t, because Jonah hasn’t responded to a single one of my texts.

Jonah very well may not come back. And do I blame him? He’s right—I’m the one related to this baby by blood. Not him. It’s as if Elijah is more my responsibility now. Despite being on the birth certificate, Jonah really doesn’t have an obligation to raise a child who was created by my sister and my husband.

I was hoping the two months Jonah has spent with Elijah would be enough to form that unbreakable bond between parent and child and that he’d come to his senses and show up, apologetic and heartbroken. But that didn’t happen. It’s going on day four and here I am, possibly about to raise a newborn in the midst of this chaos.

Last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it while I sat in the living room, holding Elijah as he screamed his head off for an hour straight. I actually started laughing hysterically in the middle of all the screaming. It made me wonder if I was going crazy. That’s how they always depict crazy people on television. Laughing in dire situations, when they should be reacting more appropriately. But all I could do was laugh, because my life is complete and utter shit. It’s shit. It. Is. Shit. My husband is dead. My sister is dead. Their illegitimate child has been handed over to me to raise, when my own daughter barely speaks to me anymore. I’m not qualified for this.