I nodded. “People think I’m a flake. That I don’t care about the future. Well, I sold my soul and betrayed my sister for my future. For Trina and the baby.” I lifted my chin, daring her to hit back at me.
She frowned. “Don’t overplay it. But really, you’re buying the Salvation Station?”
“Yep.”
“It’s better than that,” Wyatt said, coming up the steps. “He’s using Stark’s money to buy it and therefore Stark can’t buy it.”
A slow grin spread on her face. “Well, that’s something, I suppose.”
I let out a breath. “Sinclair, really, I’m so sorry. I figured it was some rich dude event and no one would know. I’d turned it down, even though at the time he was offering twenty-five thousand. But then Trina told me she was pregnant and gave me a list of reasons why I wasn’t ready for fatherhood.”
She looked miffed again. “She’s wrong about that.”
“Still, I do need to think of the future, and it was a lot of money. Until I got there, I didn’t realize what was really going on. I guess I should have done more research, but I couldn’t pass up the money. Not with a baby on the way.”
“And Trina to win,” Wyatt added.
“She stuck up for you, you know,” Sinclair said. “I was ready to throttle you, and she said there had to be a good reason why you did the event. Even when I accused her of putting you up to it.”
“What? She’d never do that.” I was sure Trina couldn’t be sold. Stark could offer her millions and she’d turn him down. Okay, maybe not millions. She was practical, and would likely see millions in terms of a home and retirement. But it would take a lot for her to sell out.
“Uncle Ryder, I brought your baby some toys. Mommy says they’re safe for babies,” Alyssa said with her arms filled with stuffed animals.
“Hey kiddo,” I said, picking her up. “Thank you so much.”
“Can I help with the baby’s room?” she asked.
“You sure can. That I’ve already gotten painted.” It was the first room I’d done because it seemed like the most important.
“I want to see it,” Sinclair said. I showed them all the room that I’d painted in a light yellow figuring it would work for a boy or a girl. “Do you think Trina will like it?”
Sinclair looked at me. “Are you hoping she’ll move in with you?”
“We’re going to be a family,” I said matter of factly.
“Does she know that?” Sinclair asked.
I shrugged. “I haven’t talked to her in a while. I want to get my house in order, physically and financially. Plus, the last time I saw her she was pissed at me. I’m hoping that the fact that she defended me to you means she’s not still mad.”
Sinclair arched a brow. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. She saw a reporter’s card on my dresser and assumed I was eager to move on to a new woman. Which I’m not.”
Sinclair nodded like she was aware of this. Had Trina told her?
“The only reason I kept the card was to give it to you and let you know that a story was being written about Stark. I gave it to Wyatt.”
“I know. He told me,” she said. “Did you know Erica Edmonds has a thing for you?”
I shrugged. “She gave off an interested vibe. Trina said something about how she was waiting until our fake marriage was over to make a move.” I held my hands up in surrender. “But I swear to God, I never returned her interest or gave the impression I was or would be available.”
“I believe you,” she said.
“Does Trina?”
She made a face. “I don’t know. I get the feeling that she’s thinking this thing between you is over. I mean, she knows you and her have to co-parent this child, but I feel like she’s not thinking you two are an item.”
My heart pinched at that. Not that I was surprised. The last time I saw her she was walking out. I’d hoped maybe she’d missed me. It didn’t sound like it, though.
“Don’t give up, man,” Wyatt said patting me on the back. “If anyone can win Trina, it’s you.”
From his lips to God’s ears, I thought.
My house was far from perfect. In all likelihood, it still fell short of what Trina thought would be acceptable. But it was cleaner, brighter, and safer. It was time to reach out to Trina to discuss our future.
The next day was Sunday, which I knew was her nap day, and I didn’t want to interrupt that. Instead, I decided to check in with her in the evening after she had her siesta. I made a casserole and when I was certain she’d be up, and hopefully hungry, I went to her apartment.
Feeling nervous like a teenage boy asking out his first date, I knocked on the door.
“Ryder? What are you doing here?”
In the few days since I’d seen her, I’d forgotten how red her hair was and how pretty her eyes were. My heart twisted into knots with longing for her.
I held up the bag with the casserole. “Homemade takeout. I wanted to check on you and the baby.”
She gave me a smile and opened the door. That was a good sign. As I stepped inside her place, I realized, I’d never been here before. It was just like I’d have expected. Crisp and white, uncluttered. Everything had a place.
“The kitchen is in here.”
I followed her in. “It could use some rewarming. Are you hungry?”
“Actually, I am. What temp?”
I told her the temperature and then put the casserole in the oven. When I shut the door, I looked over at her.
“Do you need something to drink? I don’t have anything but water and juice,” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I said leaning back against the counter. “You look tired, are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes. Tired but fine. The doctor said everything looked okay.”
“You went to the doctor and didn’t let me know?” I tried not
