Read Not Looking for Love: Episode 3 for Free Online Page B

for lying to you, for running away when I should have stayed. And if I could take it all back I would, but that's not possible and I know that, and I really wish things weren't as they are, but, but they…"
    I can't finish the sentence. I can't and I won't. We should be able to fight the way things are, we should have the power to shape anything so it's good. The adrenaline is draining from me like someone left the faucet running, and cramps are stabbing my belly like hot knives.
    I sit on the bed and double over, staring at the scuffed wooden planks and breathing deeply, fighting the pain. Scott's not saying anything and he's not moving. It's like I'm alone in the room. I'll just get my breathing under control, and then I'll leave, since that's obviously what he wants.  
    It takes a few minutes for the pain in my belly to subside, but even after it does, I can't look up at him, and I can't stop hugging my belly.  
    It takes an eternity, but he finally sits down next to me and drapes his arm around me.  
    "Wow, that was a lot of things you said, Gail," he says. "I'm not even sure I got all of it."
    I lean against him, peering up at his face. This close, his eyes are blue like the calmest sea and even the pain in my stomach is very far away now, beyond the horizon. "Do you want me to repeat it?"
    "No." He chuckles. "Or, maybe, if you wanted to talk more about how great I am."
    I wrap my arm around his stomach, his heartbeat loud against my ear. "You'd like that."
    "I might, I don't know."  
    "You would."  
    He runs his hand over my hair and kisses the top of my head lightly. I wrap my arms tighter around him, listening to his breaths hissing by. I want to stay like this for the rest of the day, maybe through the night.
    "Do you want to shower and change, maybe," he asks, his voice rumbling in my ear.
    "I didn't bring any clothes."
    "I noticed that, yeah. Weren't planning on staying."
    He says it in a throwaway sort of way and anger sears through me. It's almost like all I just said had no meaning.  
    "Maybe your Swedish girlfriend left something behind that I can borrow," I say, pushing away from him.
    "She's never been here," he says, smiling. "Are you jealous, Gail?"
    "Maybe," I say and lean back against him. I shouldn't be, I know that, even though he's not saying as much. "Did you go see her last night?"
    "Oh, that," he says, not holding me quite as tightly now. "No, I went to my dad's house."
    "For advice?" I ask, though I don't want to know what it was, because it couldn't have been anything good.
    "I had a vague notion of something like that, but my dad was pretty drunk when I got there, so we just ended up drinking together for awhile."
    "My dad drinks too much now, too," I say. "And I don't know how to stop him."
    Scott laces his fingers together so his palms are resting against my belly. "You probably can't. My dad hasn't stopped drinking for the last thirteen years since my mom died."
    He says it in a defeated sort of way, like he's tried and failed a lot, probably the way I'll sound in a few years.  
    "That's what I'm afraid of," I say. "Watching my mom die was very hard on both of us."
    "What did she die of?" Scott asks.
    "Lung cancer," I choke out, Mom's raspy breathing echoing in my ears.
    "At least you could say goodbye," he says. "That's gotta be worth something. I'm sure your dad will keep it together."
    "Yours didn't," I counter, already seeing my dad as one of the homeless drunks sleeping on the sidewalk.
    "That's different, my mom was…" his voice trails off, like he doesn't want to say the rest, and maybe I shouldn't press him, but I have to know my dad will be alright.
    "Was what?" I ask.
    "My mom was…she was murdered."
    I gasp and pull away from him. His face is an expressionless mask, and I have no idea what to say, how to make it alright.
    "That's so awful," I manage, but the words do nothing to convey my shock.
    He shrugs. "It was her own fault, I guess, a little. She surprised a burglar,