Chapter 25

25

SERENA

I tried to tell him. Then I let him kiss me. I should have been strong and forced him to listen. That way he wouldn't have discovered for himself and reeled back like I'd turned into a werewolf right before his eyes. He looked at me like I'm a monster, like I am the worst thing he's ever seen. It hurts so much to know he hates me, but I knew it was a possibility. I took that chance because I thought I was protecting our baby.

He walked out of his own penthouse barefoot just to get away from me. I make myself get up and grab my wet clothes off the bathroom floor. I wince as I put the cold, clammy, dirty leggings back on and the wet bra and t-shirt. I leave his shirt on the hook by his robe. I find my shoes and then write a note.

When I get downstairs, I figure I'll get a cab and pay them when I get home since I have no cash on me now.

I step out of the elevator and the doorman approaches me, "Miss Mayfield, there's a car waiting to take you wherever you want to go. Mr. Marino was very particular about this, you're to be delivered safely by his driver."

"Thank you," I say to him, and my voice cracks. I'm horrified that I might burst into tears right there. Because even though Jack hates me, he stopped in all his rage to order a car for me. To look out for my safety and well-being. I swallow hard and get in the car.

The house is just like I left it down to the dirty lunch dishes in the sink. I peel off the clothes I had on and throw them in the trash. I never want to see them again. I take another shower to warm up and put on my baggy pajamas.

I lie down in bed, curl on my side, and stare at the wall. I feel shell-shocked, abandoned by Jack with no hope. It's not really different from my situation when I got out of bed this morning, but it feels so much worse. I feel destroyed in some basic way that I'm not sure I can recover from.

Tomorrow morning I'll have to get my dad from the hospital, explain my work absence to my manager, act like an adult who knows what responsibilities are. Tonight, I just let myself spool up in my blankets and feel sorry for myself. Even if I did bring most of this on myself.

I wake up to Caylee's call. "Hey, you okay, girlie?" she says, too loud. I grumble and rub my eyes.

"I'm okay, why?"

"Nothing, just footage on the news of sexy mobster Jack Marino carrying you out of a building in his big, strong arms—nothing much. Could you have maybe told me?"

"Sorry," I mumble, so tired in my bones that I want to weep. I remember what happened. She thinks it looked romantic. It was my personal hell, and I don't mean the captivity and shootings. I mean the look on Jack's face when he discovered my secret pregnancy.

"You're forgiven if I get all the details." She sounds excited.

"Just a minute," I say and stumble to the bathroom where my knees give way and I throw up. "Let me call you back."

I sit on the floor, scroll through local news footage of the ‘apparent bystander carried from unit by unidentified man after shootout at a local storage facility leaving two dead' that ‘appeared to be an isolated incident related to a domestic dispute with one suspect in custody.'

Eight seconds of video plays on a loop, Jack kicks open the door, strides out with me cradled in his arms, my face hidden. I can see why Caylee thinks it's the sexiest alpha male move she's ever seen. When I watch it, all I see is what came afterward. How I lost him.

I go to work, move through my duties like a machine, dissociated and desolate. I go through the motions of eating, showering, working, going back to bed. I wake with my alarm and drag myself to the kitchen. My dad waits there, and I know it's meant to be my reckoning where I have to confess that I had an affair with the head of the Marino crime family and I'm pregnant. I don't have the stomach for it, for acting ashamed. Because I remember finding my dad beat half to death in this same kitchen and cleaning him up, cleaning up his mess both physically and financially for months. I don't even sit down.

"You have some explaining to do, Serena," he says.

"If you saw the news or even remember being kidnapped you've figured it out by now," I say.

"Don't you think I deserve an explanation? An apology?" he says with an entitled look around his mouth.

"Not really," I say. "I'm sorry you got kidnapped, but I didn't cause that. I don't have the energy to go over old wrongs with you—the times I've bailed you out, stitched you up, paid your debts and all I gave up to do that. Things have to change. I texted you info on gambling addiction groups locally. You pick one and go to every meeting and get clean. I'm working full time and going to school. I want my LPN done before the baby comes so I can support myself and my child. I'm going to save up a couple more months and then get a little place of my own so I can prepare for the baby. If you want me out sooner because you don't like the terms, I'll leave. Otherwise, that's the plan."

I get a glass of water and drink, waiting for his response. His shoulders sag and he looks older, smaller somehow. I feel the familiar tug of obligation, how I should smooth this over, tell him I'm sorry, just don't get mad at me. But I hold myself still and wait, because I have a child to think of. Time to quit acting like a kid afraid of her dad's rejection.

"You make all the rules now? After—" he begins. I shake my head.

"No thanks. I've heard this before, the guilt trip about you raising me. Yeah, you did. I appreciate the roof over my head, Dad, but I don't owe you the rest of my life. I sacrificed college, my apartment, and my own life because I felt guilty. That's over."

"Why isn't the father paying for your expenses and stuff for the kid?" he says.

"Don't worry about it," I say, and I feel so detached, so cold, but assured of what I'm doing. I walk away and keep moving forward.