I take a deep breath, knowing this next part of the story isn’t going to be pretty.
“A few months later, Naomi told me she was pregnant. I was over-the-moon happy. I figured it was exactly what we both needed—I thought it would get our relationship back on track and give her something positive in her life to focus on, since her dance career had been effectively ruined. And even though I was young, I was excited about the baby. I bought all the books on parenting, and little rattles and blankets. It was nuts, but it was the only positive thing in my life at that time.”
Emery leans forward, her fingertips on her lips.
“She hated that I was happy about that baby. She said she didn’t know if she ever wanted kids, and certainly not when we were just twenty years old. It drove an even bigger wedge between us. And then . . .” I blow out a big breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Two weeks later, she told me that she’d lost the baby—had a miscarriage. Part of me didn’t believe her. Knowing how she felt about the pregnancy, I didn’t put it past her to just go off and have an abortion without telling me.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I have to take a minute to collect myself. In my mind, I see a life that could have been, but never was. A little boy with my dark hair and her brown eyes toddling along beside me. I can see it so clearly, and it cuts like a knife through me. As he grew, I would show him everything I knew, all the ways to be a man. I’d take him with me to the properties we were renovating, let him help as much as he wanted. A paintbrush in his chubby fingers by the age of four. He’d learn responsibility, and I wouldn’t have to miss a minute of watching him grow. Working alongside me, he could learn a trade if he was the type who wanted to work with his hands, or if he preferred to be behind the scenes like me, I’d show him the finance side of things.
“Oh my God.” Emery’s eyes are wide and her hands are clenched in her lap. “Do you really think . . . ?”
Blinking away the mirage, I shrug. “Not anymore. That night you saw her leaving my place, I was so fucking confused about you, and I . . . I asked her to come over. I felt like I couldn’t face our future if I didn’t really have closure on my past.”
Emery’s nose twitches at that phrase—our future—but she doesn’t probe me on it. “What did she say?”
“We talked about everything—things that we hadn’t brought up in years. She handed me a piece of paper from her doctor, showing that she’d been diagnosed as having a miscarriage all those years ago. She’d been telling the truth the whole time.”
“I’m sorry,” Emery says quietly.
“A baby between us wouldn’t have solved the huge rifts in our relationship. I see that now. And I realize that blaming her for how things turned out between us wasn’t fair. But it’s in the past, I guess, right?”
She nods, her expression softening.
“My point is, losing her, losing our baby . . . it fucked me up. It made me turn into a guy I didn’t even like. But I had to protect my heart. I couldn’t get involved in anything serious again. My mission in life became all about having fun and living in the moment with no regrets. Kids were no longer on my radar, and a serious relationship was the last thing I wanted.”
“I get it, Hayden,” she says. “But why do you call her Roxy, and not Naomi?”
I shrug. “To me, the person she is now . . . she’s Roxy. Naomi, that girl I fell in love with all those years ago, is gone. It was tragic what happened to her, but I know she’s moved on. She’s happy with her life. She isn’t one of those poor, helpless girls stuck in a degrading job. She actually loves stripping, loves what she does. And honestly, it’s a classy club.”
“You’ve been there to see her dance?” Emery’s voice rises in confusion.
“No. I went there once a long time ago for a bachelor party, so I’m familiar with the place. That’s all I meant. Watching Roxy dance would be too weird.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Emery rises to her feet. “Well, thanks for explaining all of that to me. I guess it does clear some things up. But I’ve got a lot of packing to do, so I should be going.”
“I’m not nearly done explaining anything to you.”
Confusion settles over her features, etching a line between her brows. “You’re not?”
“Please sit back down.”
Bending her knees, she lowers herself to the couch once again. And I take another deep breath, ready to peel back another layer and expose myself to her.
“That morning in Omaha, after the best sex of my life . . .” Her eyes widen. “You farted.”
“God, Hayden. I know, I’m sorry. I’m a disgusting creature. I get it.” She throws her hands up in the air. “For fuck’s sake—grow up.”
“No, just listen.” I clear my throat. “In my world, women didn’t pass gas, they didn’t belch, or shit, or do any of that other disgusting stuff men do.”