I was . . . I was jealous because he’d gotten someone else pregnant, and trust me, I recognized the ridiculousness of that. I realized how incredibly horrid that was. How wrong.

I drew in a deep breath. “That had to have hurt you—for her to lose the pregnancy.”

Brock flopped onto his back, rubbing his hands down his face. “It wasn’t good for either of us, Jillian.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” His chest rose with a deep breath. “I wasn’t ready to have a child. Wasn’t even something I was thinking about when she got pregnant, but I grew to be happy with the idea.” He dropped his hands to his chest as he tilted his head up so his gaze found mine. “Wasn’t meant to be.”

“She said that you felt guilty over it.”

His brows furrowed together.

“That you felt responsible for her losing the baby,” I said. “That your guilt over losing the baby drove you to ask her to marry you.”

Those eyes turned to midnight. “What else did she say to you?”

He didn’t deny it.

My heart sunk. “She . . . she told me that you never really loved her.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I have absolutely no idea why she told you that, but I cared for her. I think a part of me loved her, but I wasn’t in love with her. That part is correct.”

I winced. While there was a terrible, horrible little part of me which was pleased to hear that, to know his heart had yet to belong to someone, there was a greater part of me that could not fathom how he could spend six years with someone, get that person pregnant, ask for their hand in marriage, and still not be in love.

Then again, people stayed together all the time for a hundred reasons other than love. Finances. Children. Loneliness. Sometimes it was just easier to stay with someone, so why would guilt be so farfetched?

It wasn’t.

But this was the person he’d picked over me that night. I’d let that go. At least, I thought I had. Sometimes I wasn’t so sure. I guessed that would always be a work in progress for me, and there was nothing wrong with that as long as I truly worked at letting it go. But, what if Brock stayed with me for years and years and never loved me, never loved me like he should?

“What else did she say to you, Jillian?”

“She told me that she was . . . or had been trying to get back with you.” A flash of anger lit me up. “Why didn’t you tell me she was still contacting you?”

“Why would I?”

I cringed. “Seriously? Why? I’m your girlfriend—“