One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(59)

“You’ve taken time away from your job for me before, and this was no different.”

“This was entirely different. I wouldn’t want to have this conversation at work.” I swallow hard.

Raking a hand through his head, a sardonic expression clouding his eyes, he says, “What did he say to you? What did he tell you? Might as well see what the gossip is.”

Taking another step back, my back hitting the wood of the front door, I say “He said what happened. I don’t understand why you’re being so mean to me right now.”

“I’m fucking frustrated that I couldn’t tell you, and I can see doubt in your eyes. You’re not giving me a chance.”

“Excuse me if I’m having a hard time trying to wrap my head around the news. I need a second to comprehend everything, Hayden.” Trying to come up with anything to make this situation better, I ask, “Do you have a choice in the matter?” There is a little drop of hope that maybe he can turn down the trade, even though, I know that’s generally not how it works in football, but a girl can hope hockey is different.

“What do you mean?”

“Like . . . can you say no to the trade?”

Chuckling with distaste, he shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. I don’t get to decide things like that.”

“So you’re moving to Los Angeles.” I say it more as a statement rather than a question, letting the words sink in, coming to terms with the giant bump in our road.

“I don’t have a fucking choice,” he shouts, his arms tossed in the air.

And just like that, I can see my future being laid out in front of me, bricks of despair leading the pathway.

We won’t get our forever.

This man has shown me what being with a good man can truly feel like, this man has doted on me, spoiled me, made me laugh, made me . . . come. God, he’s not real, he’s not forever, he’s temporary, and that right there is what’s breaking me.

“But you have a choice,” he whispers, stepping forward. “You can come with me.” His voice is so soft, shaky with his request as if he’s nervous to ask.

“Go with you?” We’ve been dating a few weeks and he wants me to fly across the country to be with him? Is he insane? I shake my head. “I don’t have a choice either, Hayden. My life is here. My job is here. My friends are here. My family. I can’t just pick everything up, move across the country.”

“If you wanted to, you could.”

“What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind.” His hands go to his waist, and he stares at the floor.

“No, what did you mean by that?”

He grips the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Adalyn. Maybe I’m a little fucking sensitive right now, but . . .” He pauses and I can see the wheels in his mind spinning. “Fuck, what about Logan?”

“What? What about him?”

“I don’t know, just seemed like you two were fucking comfy at the hospital.”

Is he serious?

Is he really questioning my friendship with Logan, questioning it against the way I feel when I’m with him? Is there really any kind of competition? Does he not remember our conversations about Logan? How he hurt me, how he’s just a friend, and will always be a friend? Is he really so blinded right now he can’t see how much I wish I could stay in his arms forever?

“You can’t be serious right now, Hayden. I know you’re upset, I get that, I’m broken over this too. But I can’t pick up everything in my life and move across the country. Who’s to say I would be able to find a job?”

“You wouldn’t have to work. I would take care of you.”

“Hayden, I went through four years of schooling hell to become a nurse, so I’m not about to give that up.”

“Then that’s it?” He nods, even angrier, a sarcastic laugh escaping him. “You’re giving up? Just like that. Treating me like every other man you’ve ever fucked. Taking what you want and not bothering to give it a chance.”

I suck in a harsh breath. My heart splinters in half, his words so destructive to my already fragile being. Never in a million years would I have expected Hayden to use my past against me, to throw it in my face so easily as if it’s a thought he’s held in his head since we’ve been together.

And yet, he did.

Tears well up in my eyes, my hand finds the handle to the door and I open it, needing to escape, needing to find fresh air.

And I see it, the minute he regrets the words that fell out of his mouth. Anguish hits him hard, but it’s too late. His words are hanging in the air, adding to the pain already resting heavily on my chest.

“Adalyn . . .”

“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t.” I look to the open the door, casting my head down, not able to make eye contact. “Let’s call it like it is.” Using his words against him, the ones he so clearly regrets now, I say, “Let’s say I took what I wanted with no intention to give us a chance. Let’s call it a fling and move on.”

“A fling?” The word rolls off his tongue with utter disgust. Isn’t that what he meant? Isn’t that a nicer way of rearranging what he said? “Is that what this has been to you? A fling?”