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)
“The anger,” he snarls, “of not being with you. I wish you were here.”
“College semester will be over soon,” I murmur, “and it’s early in the pregnancy. I think I’ll be okay to fly.”
He lets out a shuddering breath. “I want that so badly.”
“That’s why I’m going to do it. Tonight.” A pause, and I say, “Logan?”
“I heard you. That’s good, Emma, but don’t feel rushed.”
“What’s wrong?” Then I realize, of course. “It’s because of last week, right?”
I said I would tell Dad then, too, but as I approached him, I seized up. It was like my ability to speak just left me. I felt so weak and pathetic.
“I know you’re going to do it,” he says.
“You’re just not sure I’ll do it tonight.”
“I’m sorry, Emma. I’m not angry with you.”
I laugh like Logan does sometimes—gruff, almost darkly. “Maybe that’s part of the problem. It might be easier if you yelled at me and demanded that I tell him.”
“I don’t want to shout at you. I just want to be with you.” He sighs. “Anyway, I have to focus. I feel like a selfish ass, but it’s the truth.”
“No, it’s not selfish. You’re doing the best for your team and your legacy. I wish I were there to massage your sore back after a game.”
“I’d be doing some massaging of my own,” he says breathily. “Anyway, tell me about your story. You said you’d written four thousand words? What’s happened?”
“Nah-uh. You have to wait until I finish it.”
He chuckles. “I love it when you do that with all the voices you do. I can’t wait to watch you read to our baby. They’re going to love it too.”
There are lots of “loves” in there, but neither of us has outright said it. It seems like an immature thing to fixate on, yet I find myself longing to hear it.
“I’m almost home,” I tell him. “I’ll speak to you later.”
“It’ll probably be tomorrow now,” he says. “We’ve got an early training session. Then some drills. I wish I could spend the whole night with you and hold you, but…”
“I understand,” I tell him. “We’re more than boyfriend and girlfriend, remember? We can make this work.”
After we say goodbye, I pull into the driveway, climbing from the car. It’s the family sedan. The door’s still dented from a couple of weeks ago when Logan smashed the masked man against it. Dad’s not usually the type to leave the car busted for so long, but he’s been busy with work lately.
I walk into the house. It’s after seven. Mom is sitting on the couch, her legs tucked up, watching TV with a magazine on her lap. Eric sits on the other chair, playing his Nintendo Switch with his headphones.
“Evening, hon,” Mom says. “There’s lasagna in the oven.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
However, I have to make a stop first. I can’t let myself go one more second without telling Dad the truth. I can’t allow any more sneaking around, any more cowardice. It’s time to do the right thing, just like Logan is, even if it hurts him to be away from me and the baby. He’s playing his game, focusing on the now. That’s how I’ll have to do this, one step at a time.
I approach his office and knock.
“Wait a second,” he snaps, his tone uncharacteristically taut.
I step back, breathing slowly. Maybe it’s a work call. My mind flits to those dangerous-looking men, but Mom won’t tell me anything about them. When I asked Dad, he told me they were work friends. That’s what he called them—work friends.
Finally, the door opens. Dad’s eyes are bloodshot. He doesn’t look good at all. “I’m busy,” he says bluntly.
“Dad, I—”
He shuts the door hard. He doesn’t slam it. I wouldn’t go that far, but he closes it more forcefully than expected. I hear his footsteps pounding across the office.
Turning, I go into the kitchen and dish up some lasagna. I don’t even want to eat, which is unusual for me. Logan is always encouraging me to keep the baby healthy. He’s right. I have to put the baby first.
Afterward, I go upstairs, shut the door, and wonder what the heck is going on with Dad. Maybe it’s those men. Maybe something bad is happening. I’ve never seen his eyes so bloodshot and with that panicked look. No, not never. That day on the porch, I saw it.
I’m so tired from not sleeping last night that I pass out in my clothes. Like the norm these days, I wake up a few hours later at one a.m. At least I’m getting plenty of practice for when the baby arrives.
I need the bathroom. I walk into the hallway and push on the door. It’s locked. “Occupied,” Eric says.
I groan. “How long?”
“Don’t blame me. Blame the curry Jack’s mom made us for lunch.”