I glance at the screen and see it’s home security.
Tru.
Fuck, no.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Wethers. It’s Jackson. I, um, I just thought you might want to know that Ms. Bennett just left in a cab. She had luggage, and she, um, left her house keys with me to give to you.”
My heart drops through my stomach.
God, no.
“You just let her leave?” I say through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry, sir. I tried to talk to her, offered to drive her wherever she was going, but she wouldn’t have it.”
That’s Tru. Stubborn to a fault.
“Do you know where she was going?” I ask through my dry mouth.
“No, sir.”
“Find out.”
“How?”
“Did you see which cab company it was that picked her up?”
“Yes.”
“Then f**kin’ call them and find out where the driver is taking her! How long ago did she leave?” I drive my hand through my hair.
“The cab pulled away less than a minute ago.”
“Call them now. Then call me straight back.”
I hang up.
She left. I have no one to blame but myself. I have so totally and monumentally screwed everything up.
Fucking idiot, I’m such a complete and total f**king idiot.
I have to make this right. I have to bring her home. Bring them both home.
I speed-dial Tru’s cell.
It’s ringing.
Pick up, baby, please.
After three rings, it diverts to voice mail.
She cut me off.
Fuck.
I press redial.
Voice mail.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I wait for the tone to leave a message. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I screwed up, I know, but don’t leave. Call me back, please. We can talk and sort this out. I shouldn’t have left when I did. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I just panicked. I’m not strong like you, baby. It’s no excuse, I know, but please don’t leave.” I exhale. “I just…I love you so f**kin’ much.”
I can feel my throat tightening, so I hang the call up before I start crying.
I get out another smoke and light it up and sit and stare at my cell.
Call me back, baby, please.
A minute later, my cell starts to ring, but it’s not her. It’s security.
“Where is she going?” I ask in a clipped voice.
“LAX, sir.”
Fuck.
I slam the car into drive and, spinning it around, I put the pedal to the floor, desperate to get to LAX and stop the only woman I’ve ever loved from leaving me and taking my baby with her.
TRU…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Adele starts to sing in my bag. I rifle through my bag to find my phone.
Jake.
My heart thumps in my chest as I stare at his name on the screen.
He left me. He just drove away and left me.
The pain, rejection, and humiliation all clusters together and burns straight through my heart.
I reject his call and switch off my phone.
“How much longer to the airport?” I ask the driver.
“About fifteen minutes.”
I rest back in my seat. I don’t even know when the next flight back to the UK is. I didn’t plan that far ahead. I didn’t plan this at all.
I’ll just have to wait it out at the airport until I can get the next flight out of this godforsaken place.
I expected Jake to react badly to the news of my pregnancy. I expected a fight. What I didn’t expect was for him to not say a word the moment I told him, then drive away the instant he got me out of the car.
Just thinking of it makes my chest hurt again. I cross my arms, trying to compress the pain.
“Nice place you were coming from back there,” the driver says.
“Yes,” I reply, not wanting to get pulled into a conversation with him.
“Worth a lot of bucks, those houses. You live there?”
He keeps flicking glances at me in the rearview mirror.
Oh God, I hope he doesn’t recognise me.
“No. I was just visiting.” I turn my face away to stare out the window, letting him know I’m in no mood to talk.
Thankfully he gets the message.
Fifteen minutes later, I see the huge LAX sign. I’m so absolutely ready to get out of this cab and out of this goddamn city.
I just want to go home. I want my mama and daddy.
God, I can’t even begin to think how Mama will react when I tell her I’m pregnant and that Jake doesn’t want the baby. My dad will go ape. He’ll probably fly out here just so he can kick Jake into next week.
Crap.
This is all such a bloody mess.
“How much?” I ask when the driver pulls to the curb.
“Seventy-five bucks.”
Bloody hell. I’m sure he’s taking me for a ride, but I can’t be arsed to argue the point.
I pull two fifties out of my purse and tell him to keep the change. I know the f**ker is ripping me off already, but I just want out of this cab, not to sit around waiting for change.
I climb out, wobbling on my heels, with the holdall on one shoulder and handbag on the other.
Glancing at the entrance, I take a deep breath.
Securing the strap on my shoulder, I walk toward the doors.
I hear the screeching tires of a car. Turning, I see the James Bond car pulling to a stop in the middle of the road. The driver’s door flies open and Jake jumps out.
Horns beep as cars pull around his abandoned car, but he doesn’t seem to care.