Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
And I’d do just about anything to take away that fear in her eyes.
Almost anything.
I wouldn’t give her me.
She may think she could handle my fucked up self, but she’d be wrong.
Chapter 11
I set my alarm early so I have time to lie in bed and be sad that I have to get up.
-Text from Kitt to Ridley
28 weeks pregnant
Kitt
My eyes fluttered open, and I smiled at seeing Apple so close.
I leaned forward, pressing my lips against his, and sighed in contentment.
Then the position I was in slowly became apparent.
“What…” I started to say, realizing I wasn’t wearing any pants.
“Sorry,” Apple muttered. “Didn’t know what else to do.”
I wanted to throw up.
“What happened?” I croaked.
The door to the house creaked open signaling Ridley’s return, and Apple got up to go.
“Don’t leave!” I pleaded, my hand shooting out to wrap around Apple’s wrist.
Apple pulled his hand away gently.
“Don’t worry. He won’t know I was here,” Apple promised.
I blinked in surprise.
“I don’t care whether my brother finds out that you’re here or not,” I snarled. “What I care about is you,” I shot back.
Apple’s eyes narrowed. “Then why do you keep asking that man to go to Dallas with you instead of me?”
I blinked.
“Because you were working, as well as Ridley and the rest of the Saints. What did you want me to do? Call a cab to take me the entire way?” I asked him.
Apple shrugged, not bothering to answer. He knew the answer was the same. I couldn’t call a cab. I also didn’t have anyone that could take me to Dallas every week. All of my friends and family had lives that kept them busy during the week when I had my appointments.
“You could’ve scheduled it a day when I could take you,” Apple suggested, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
My lips thinned and I stood, bringing my blanket with me to wrap around my lower half.
“I did,” I told him. “But you got called in, remember? At least that’s the excuse you gave me.”
“I also asked you to change the appointment to the day before or the day after,” he shot back.
I sighed.
“You can’t just reschedule an appointment in Dallas,” I told him. “This one was made about four months ago. I have a recurring slot every week. If I cancel, there'll be another lady willing to take it that has to drive double the distance. Trust me.”
Apple scowled and sat down on the bed.
Bending over, he slipped both feet into his boots, then stood once again.
Gathering his phone, keys, wallet, gun and drink from the bedside table, he looked down at me.
I really wish he’d been leaving my bed under different circumstances. I really hated that he only came to see me when I was sick, in trouble, or I had an appointment.
There was always a reason for him not to delve too deep under the surface, and I hated it. He used them as excuses to never talk about him.
I’d known the man seven months now, and not one damn time had I learned anything personal about him.
What I had learned about him was not even from him.
I’d met his father all of one time, and that was only because they’d delivered a package to my house that was addressed to Apple, and I’d hand delivered it in hopes that I’d get to see him.
Apple hadn’t been home, but his father was.
His father that was in a wheelchair and had obvious stroke impairments.
And I’d wanted to introduce myself to him so badly, but I’d held off, knowing Apple wouldn’t like me insinuating myself into his life like that.
But I was at a loss as to what to do.
I felt like I was left spinning, with no way to stop myself when it came to him.
“Make sure you call me to let me know you got there and home safely,” he started toward the door.
“Apple,” I rasped softly. “Why do you even care?”
I winced almost as soon as I said it.
I should’ve never just blurted that out there.
Apple’s shoulders stiffened, and he turned around to stare at me almost blankly.
“Because my child’s inside you,” he said somberly. “It’s the one good thing I’ve ever made in my life, and I’ll protect it with everything that’s in me.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked him, my heart hurting for him. “Why won’t you just talk to me? I’m here. I’ll listen, and I’ll never judge you.”
He smiled sadly as he backed toward the door.
“You already have,” he muttered. “You just don’t know it yet.”
I stared at the closed door after he left, sadness practically leaking out of my every pore.
I felt utterly defeated, and I didn’t think I could do this anymore.
I physically did not have the ability to keep up.
My belly jumped, and I threaded my hand under my shirt, rubbing my hand over my belly where I’d felt the movement.