He Knows
1226 Words
He picked up on the second ring.
No hello. No Nora.
Just—
“I’m listening.”
And I hate this. I hate this so much because the second I heard his voice, something in my chest just loosened.
Like my body recognized him before my brain could catch up and shut it down.
Which is insane. Completely insane.
“I’m in a cab,” I said. My voice sounded steady. It wasn’t. “Going nowhere.”
A pause.
Not empty. Thinking.
“Tell the driver to take you to the Meridian on Fifth,” he said calmly. “It’s quiet. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“No.”
Silence.
“You don’t get to choose where I go.”
Another pause. Shorter this time.
“Then you choose.”
I looked out the window. People everywhere moving like their lives made sense. Some were with coffee cups and some were on phone calls. They have purpose.
I didn’t even have a direction.
“The place we went,” I said finally. “That night.”
A longer pause.
“That bar won’t be open.”
“I know.” I pressed my forehead to the glass window. It was cold, but I didn’t move away. “There’s a diner next to it. Bad coffee, but it will do.”
A beat.
“…Alright.”
---
He was already there.
He was in a corner booth, away from the table, his back to the wall. Two coffees sitting untouched on the table like he’d ordered them the second he walked in.
He stood when he saw me.
Not dramatic. Not for show.
Just automatic.
I hated that I noticed.
I slid into the seat across from him. The vinyl stuck slightly to my skin. The place smelled like butter and something burnt and nothing like him or Jason or any of that world.
Good.
We didn’t speak.
The silence wasn’t awkward. That would’ve been easier.
It just… sat there.
“Jason texted me,” I said.
“I know.”
I looked up. “He told you?”
“He told me he would.” A slight shift in his jaw. “He prefers to move first.”
Of course he does.
“He told me to hear your version before you gave it to me.”
Alexander’s eyes held mine. Steady.
“Then I’ll give it to you.”
Something about the way he said that—
Like it wasn’t a choice anymore.
“I found out the morning after,” he said. “I ran a search. I do it with anyone I spend time with.”
“Of course you do.”
“It’s standard procedure.”
“For you.”
“Yes.”
I let that sit there.
“And then what?” I asked. “You find out I’m the woman your brother humiliated in front of four hundred people and you just… what? Go to work? Have breakfast?”
“I should have called you.”
He said it without hesitation.
It didn't sound like an excuse.
“I didn’t.”
I swallowed.
That shouldn’t matter to me.
But it did.
“Why?”
He held my gaze.
“Because I hadn’t decided yet if I was going to.”
I actually laughed.
It came out wrong. Sharp and way too loud for the empty diner. It echoed in the space around us, and the few people in the diner looked at me strangely.
“That’s—”
I shook my head.
“That’s worse, you know that, right?”
“I do.”
“You just—what, weighed it? Pros and cons? Decided if I was worth the inconvenience?”
“That’s not—”
“Then what?”
He stopped.
Just stopped.
And that was it.
That was the answer I got, and what I needed.
My chest tightened.
“The weeks after,” I said, quieter now. “What were you doing then?”
“Watching.”
I blinked.
“Watching? Watching what or who?”
“You.” He said without skipping a beat, his eyes holding mine.
“Why?”
“Making sure you were alright.”
“No.”
I shook my head immediately.
“No, don’t—don’t say it like that.”
“Then tell me how it sounds.”
“It sounds like you inserted yourself into my life without asking.” My voice was steady but my hands were not, they were trembling. I tucked them under the table to hide them. “Like you were just… there. Somewhere. While I was trying to breathe and I didn’t even know it.”
“You’re right.”
That stopped me.
No defense, no correction.
Just concession.
God, I hate that.
I hate that more than if he’d argued.
“You made decisions about me,” I said. “Twice. That night. And every day after. And I didn’t get a say in any of it.”
“I know.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I know.”
I exhaled hard.
I didn’t know what to do with someone who didn’t push back.
“What do you want?” I asked. “And don’t give me something rehearsed. I swear to God—”
“I want to make sure the child is taken care of.”
His answer was straight and immediate.
“I want to be involved in the decisions.”
A pause.
His hand shifted slightly on the table and stilled.
“And I want to—”
He stopped.
Just for a second.
“I want to know you.”
Something in my chest tightened.
No.
No, absolutely not.
I looked away.
The diner kept moving around us like nothing had just happened.
“Don’t say things like that,” I muttered.
“Why.”
“Because you don’t mean them.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“That’s convenient.”
“It’s accurate.”
God.
I hated that I didn’t know how to argue with that.
My phone buzzed.
We both looked down.
Jason.
Of course.
Alexander didn’t react.
Which was a reaction.
“You can answer it,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’m not telling you to—”
“I know.”
I flipped the phone face-down.
“I’ll deal with him when I want to. Not when he decides I should.”
Something in his posture shifted. Subtle. Like something unclenched.
“The envelope,” I said. “This morning.”
Silence again. Different this time.
“Estate-related.”
“Related to the pregnancy?”
A pause.
“…Potentially.”
I stared at him.
“Alexander.”
He didn’t move.
“I have had four hours of sleep. I am pregnant. My life is in disarray and I don't understand anything going on” I stopped. Pressed my lips together, trying to stop the tears threatening to drop. “Don’t say potentially. Just say it.”
He stared at me for a while.
Then—
“My father’s estate has a provision,” he said. “First legitimate grandchild inherits control over a trust tied to the family’s original assets.”
I blinked.
“No.”
“It’s real.”
“No, that’s—no. That’s insane.”
“It’s legal.”
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