Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“I can’t explain yet, but I won’t be here. Tell coach.”
Picking up my bag, I walk down the hallway. There goes my heartbeat again. As I leave the hotel and climb into a taxi, I know why I’m smiling, even if I almost had a meltdown upstairs. Or maybe I did have a meltdown, but it doesn’t matter. I’m smiling because I know I’m doing the right thing, getting closer to my child.
I tried to trick myself into thinking Emma might be lying, but the closer I get to the airport, the more confident I am. I’m going to be with my child and my woman. Protect their mother. Forever.
CHAPTER NINE
Emma
I sit on the porch, my eyes feeling heavy after last night. The phone call with Logan didn’t go as planned at all. When he got mad, it was like some evil witch took control of my tongue, forcing me to spit out the stuff Dad told me in confidence when he was drunk. I’ve betrayed his trust and made Logan doubt me in one quick move.
It’s late afternoon, early evening. I’ve been to class, staring through bleary eyes, and now I’m watching as Eric and his friend grind along the railed box on their inline skates. They’ve been practicing for three or four years now. They’re incredible at putting their skates in different configurations, spinning out one way or another, landing in slides, and leaping to their feet. Their skates, anyway.
Taking a sip of my hot cocoa, I think of last night. Though, it’s not as if I’ve been doing anything except thinking of last night. When he asked me if I wanted him here, I should’ve just said yes, and let whatever happened after happen, but I got so pissed when his tone changed. He became defensive like he was suddenly dealing with a blackmailing fan or something.
I didn’t handle it well. After I hung up, I answered when he called me. He blanked me, even when I tried him again, then a third time. After there was still no answer, I curled up in bed, hand over my belly, feeling our baby, imagining we were holding hands, taking comfort from each other.
Dad walks onto the porch, sitting beside me, and pulls a blanket over his knees. He’s in his work shirt and dark cargo pants. From inside the house, I hear Mom singing to the radio. Dad taps his fingers on his knees, a small, content smile on his face as we watch Eric grind along the rail in the dusky lowlight.
“Good day, kiddo?” he asks after a while.
“Oh, it was okay,” I reply, with that awkwardness I’ve felt in every exchange since coming home, every single moment we’ve been together for six weeks. “I got three thousand words done.”
“For school or your own work?”
“One thousand for school. Two for my own.”
“It’s usually the other way around,” Dad says, still with that soft smile, but I can tell he’s feeling the vague awkwardness, too. It’s vague for him, anyway, since he doesn’t know about the fire, the heat, looking up and seeing Logan’s chest brimming with lust.
“I’m really getting into my children’s book,” I tell him.
It was easy to write today in the library after class with my headphones in. That was only because I could think about my and Logan’s child, the playfulness in their eyes at a particular line, a laugh, or maybe they’d clap at this or that dialogue. It all felt so vivid. I wanted to hug my child after I finished writing, as though they’d been there the whole time, and they’re not inside of me, still so small, so precious. Oh, jeez. I’m almost crying. I quickly sip some soda and gather myself.
“You’re going to be a huge success one day,” Dad says. “Just wait. You’ll have dozens of books published. You’ll have the family you always dreamed of.”
“Are you looking forward to being a grandfather?” I ask, though really, I should change the subject. This is needlessly masochistic.
“I’d never want you to rush,” Dad says, eyes still on the boys, the scree of their skates against the rail. “But yeah, Em. If you found a man who loved and respected you, who treated you how you deserved, and you wanted to get married and have kids, I’d support you. Honestly? I can’t wait to meet my grandkids.”
My belly twists like the baby is already somehow kicking. Dad said if I found a man who loved and respected me. Did Logan respect me, quickly pulling away after he was done, getting dressed, hardly even looking at me before leaving the hotel room? What else was he supposed to do, stay and cuddle?
A car slowly pulls up at our dead-end street. Our road has a circle at the end for turning around, and Eric and his friend have set up their grind box on the edge, away from the cars. This large pickup is raised off the ground, the paint shiny and brand new. They stop right in front of the grind box.