Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(77)

I hastily make out the inscription and stand up from my chair. I move around the side of the table and Marie plasters herself to me while Lindie takes our picture with the woman’s phone.

“You weren’t smiling,” Lindie growls at me, so I put back on my plastic pose of flashing teeth and she snaps another photo.

“Perfect,” Lindie says, and the woman squeezes the air from my lungs with a vicious hug.

“Thank you, Mr. Cooke. Thank you so much. You’re amazing. Just the nicest man. Thank you so much.”

Yeah, I’m a f*cking really nice man. I’m so amazing that I left the woman I love, who is pregnant with my child. I left her behind and stuck my head in the sand for weeks, and now that my head is free, I don’t know what the f*ck to do.

Pain wracks my chest when I think of Savannah… all alone, pregnant, scared. I ache to talk to her… to touch her. I’m going crazy with wonder… how is she doing? How is the baby? And yet, I’m too f*cking scared to even pick up the phone to call her.

There hasn’t been one day that has passed since I walked out of my home… walked away from Savannah, that I didn’t regret my actions. At first, my deepest regret was in hurting her. It was something I didn’t think I had the power within me to do. Yet, I let my anger drive my actions. I let my anger drive my car all the way to the airport, where I boarded a plane for London. I cursed at Savannah in my head so many times for getting pregnant, even though I know it was an accident. I cursed her for making me fall in love with her, and then doing something so stupid as to ruin it all.

Then I turned the anger inward and castigated myself for my selfish actions and shortsighted vision. As the weeks rolled by, there wasn’t a day that didn’t dawn where I picked up my phone to call her several times. I chickened out, time and again, because I knew there was ultimately a point where Savannah would grow to hate me, and there would be no point in trying to work around that.

Then my deepest regret came when I realized that I had a baby coming. My own flesh and blood… my DNA… my heart, was growing inside of Savannah’s belly every day. I was missing out on every single thing, and my regret festered and then turned into bitterness.

I became a dark, selfish * once again. I drank too much and got high a few times, enjoying the numbness it brought me. The only aspect of my prior life I didn’t sink to was the women… the countless, nameless women. I had no desire for them, because everywhere I looked, I saw Savannah’s face.

Savannah’s sad, fearful face. The face I left her wearing when I walked out.

I see her everywhere. Every woman standing in this line wears her face… because I want it to be so. I would kill to get just one real glimpse of her again.

Another book is shoved under my nose, and two young women stand before me. I can tell by the nervous looks on their faces that I won’t have to overly engage with them. I vaguely note about another thirty people standing in line, which means I have another good hour to an hour and a half of this shit before I can be done with it. I told Lindie this morning… no more signings. I was done with this shit for good.

She just shook her head, gave me a smile, and said, “Whatever you want, Gavin.”

I know damn well she probably went and booked me on another one right then.

“Who should I make this out to?” I ask the woman who handed me the book.

“Stephanie,” she says breathlessly, and I force the plastic smile in place.

“Sure thing, love,” I tell her, scrawling some meaningless words before handing the book back to her. “Thank you for reading it.”

The girls giggle, nod, and look as if they are about to say something, but then they slide off to the side.

Turning to look at Lindie, I lean in to her and whisper, “I swear to f*cking God, if you book one more of these, I’m firing you.”

She doesn’t say anything, just smirks at me.

I put the smile back on and raise my face up to meet my next fan.

And everything I ever wished for in life stands right before me.

My head spins, my world tilts, and the floor seems to shake underneath me.

Savannah.

She stands on the other side of the table… three feet from me, clutching a copy of my book to her chest. Her amber eyes are anxious, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip. I can feel the smile slide off my face as I stare at her.

And she stares at me.

I want to leap across the table and grab ahold of her. She’s so f*cking stunning, and my parched eyes run down her body. She’s wearing a brown, wool, wraparound dress that has a sash tied over her stomach with her black, wool winter coat unbuttoned over it. I know that she’s over seventeen weeks now, because I’ve been marking it on my calendar, but I can’t tell that she’s pregnant. I don’t see a swollen belly, but then again, it could be hidden by that damn sash across the middle of her stomach and her bulky coat.

Is she pregnant? Did she have an abortion? The thought makes me sick to my stomach, but no… Savannah would never do that.

Never.

My mind spins with something to say.

How are you, Savannah? No, too trite.

You’re looking well, Savannah. No, too cold.

God, I f*cking miss you, Savannah. No, too desperate.

Savannah opens her mouth to say something, and I wait with my breath held deep in my lungs. Her eyebrows furrow inward, and I’m dismayed by a slight sheen of tears that form in her eyes. She snaps her mouth shut, looks at me a moment more, and then spins away as she drops the book to the floor, practically running down the line of fans and toward the entrance of the bookstore.