Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Hi.” I shake his hand. “I’m . . .” I glance at Laird, who grins. “I’m going to get out of the way—”
“You’re not in the way,” Laird says before I finish.
I smile and notice Tommy’s brow furrowed as he turns to look at Laird again. He chooses to stay quiet. Although I don’t feel I can say it in front of company, I don’t think I should be a part of the initial conversation. I need to support Laird, not distract him.
With the three of us standing in silence, I thumb over my shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to pack my suitcase anyway.”
Tommy asks, “Oh, are you flying out?”
Volleying my gaze between him and Laird, I reply, “I live in LA. I’ve been here for a few days.”
“She was at Deer Lake with me,” Laird adds with a sense of pride. “She’s a chef.”
“Oh wow, that’s a score. I’m sure the food’s been great.”
I laugh, though I’m not sure it’s even funny, but I say it anyway, “I’ve not actually gotten to cook too much, except for the past few days.”
Laird says, “We lost power at the lake.”
Shrugging, I say, “We were stuck with non-perishables for the most part.”
“Don’t let her downplay her skills,” Laird says with a chuckle. “She totally made a pasta dish that we reheated by fire, and yesterday we ate Mediterranean.” Laird snaps his fingers. “I forgot what you called it—”
“Harissa honey chicken.”
“It was amazing.”
Tommy moves to a barstool. “I feel like I’m interrupting, but now I’m also hungry.”
Even the lightest of laughter feels good to break some of the tension. “Well,” I start again, “I’m going to pack. I need to go to my place for clothes and…”
“I can go with you after this.”
I go to him first, lift onto my toes, and kiss him. For both of us. “I’m not going anywhere just yet.” I leave but can feel their eyes on me as I walk down the hall.
When I enter the room, I am about to close it, but I stop, realizing I left my phone in the living room. There’s no way I’m going out there to retrieve it. That doesn’t leave me much to do other than packing, which will take me all of five minutes.
“I told Mike we’d call him when I got here,” Tommy says, his voice carrying down the hallway. I still where I am. “The papers were delivered to Outlaw Records, but we sent copies to him since you need your lawyer involved.”
Footsteps and then the sound of papers is heard. Laird says, “Makes sense.”
A phone rings over speakerphone, and then another man answers, “Hey, Laird, how are you doing, man?” The concern in his attorney’s tone makes me nervous. Should I be, or am I overreacting?
“Shock?” A tugging in my chest has me wanting to run out and hug him. I don’t. But the rawness in his voice reveals his worries that he was trying to hide from me.
I shouldn’t stand here and eavesdrop. I hate that I even heard that much, guilt already clawing at my throat. I just can’t bring myself to close the door.
His attorney says, “That’s normal in these types of situations.” A pause. “Let me explain what this means. It’s a court-ordered paternity test. Standard in Tennessee and California. Pretty much everywhere. Although we use different terms in some places, it means the same thing. I’m not seeing any gotcha language, which is good, and being frank, it’s telling. She might not be coming after you. It reads to me as if she’s only trying to establish paternity of the biological father. I assume for child support, probably medical history, but there’s no paperwork in this filing for that. Yet.”
This has nothing to do with me, but I still find my heart breaking, suddenly grieving expectations I had no right to have. Not at this stage in the relationship. Reason plays no role in dreaming, though. I start to question if I know him as well as I thought I did.
“Yet?” Laird asks.
Walking to the suitcase, I push a few things around, unable to stop listening now.
“If you’re determined to be the father,” Mike says. Determined . . . determined to be the father, he’ll be in his life. Right? “That will be the next step. It’s not something that usually happens before facts are established.”
I don’t want to listen anymore, but that door will squeak, drawing their attention if I close it, and they will know I was eavesdropping. I move to the bed to lie down, but I can’t escape their conversation because the speaker’s volume is turned up so loud.
Ugh.
He goes on and on about needing to acknowledge receipt, scheduling the appointment with an approved lab, and if he wants to send a response.
I roll to my side, wishing these wooden floors didn’t carry every sound into the bedroom. Grabbing the other pillow, I cover my head, muffling the world and hoping to block it out entirely. I close my eyes, praying sleep distracts me enough from this reality.