Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Yes. I’ve known for a while.”
“Lucas, I’m sorry about that. I really am.”
“I wish you would have told my brother about your pregnancy. He could have helped you.”
“I thought about it. But I wasn’t sure if I could trust him, and let’s be honest with each other. Would you have wanted a baby? Think back to who you were then. I understand you’ve come a long way but try to remember.”
I do remember, and it isn’t as difficult as she might think. I’ve come a long way. Maybe I have, but I’ve also slipped back quite a bit. I’m more in touch with that side of myself than I’ve been in a long time, maybe because I’m not pretending he doesn’t exist the way I tried before.
And no, that version of me had no interest in being a father. “I know you’re right. I’m sorry you didn’t think you could tell me about her.”
“More than anything, I don’t want you to think I’ve been gallivanting around Europe, avoiding my responsibilities.”
“I don’t think I could ever imagine you doing something like that.” Me, on the other hand? It’s a lot easier to imagine.
“I miss her. I really would like to see her as soon as possible. She needs a mother in her life, and I’ve needed her all this time.”
“Why don’t you let me talk to her first? I don’t think it would do her any favors, her birth mother appearing out of the blue. She deserves a warning, at least. Some time to process it.” Right now, I know all about being given no time to process things. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the conversation I’m having with this woman. She’s alive. My past, alive and well after all this time. Yet another reminder of who I used to be.
“I’m sure you’re right. She doesn’t need me showing up and upsetting her. But please, could you talk to her soon? I hate to be pushy, but…”
“I get it.” I need to get off the phone. I need to drink this away. I can’t stand how thirsty I suddenly feel.
“Thank you. You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that.”
“I’ll get back to you soon—”
“Wait! Don’t hang up yet. I just want to know… is she happy? I mean, now, at Corium?”
“Yes. I think she is happy here. She wasn’t at first, but now she is with Quinton, and he treats her well.”
“I’m glad.” Charlotte sighs, and I can hear the relief in her voice.
“Where can I reach you?” She gives me her number, and I promise to call as soon as I’ve had the discussion with Aspen. Then I have to hang up. I can’t keep it together anymore.
Alive. All this time, she’s been alive.
How am I supposed to tell Aspen about this? Where do I begin? I’m nobody’s idea of cool or calm, and tact has never been my strong suit. There’s nothing to prepare me for this. I’ll find a way to fuck it up, I’m sure.
I can’t believe how much I care about how she’ll take this. I want to do the right thing by her, which means forgetting about my apprehension, getting over how awkward and painful this will be, and finding a way to frame this in a positive light. She thought she’d lost her parents, and now she has them both back. We might not be what she bargained for, but there’s plenty of time to make up for the years we’ve lost.
All I can do is hope she’ll buy it.
Fuck. I take a swig of the whiskey, but now I can hardly taste it. It might as well be water. I can’t think of anything, but what I know will be shock and amazement and maybe betrayal on her face.
How am I supposed to explain why her own mother stayed away? How can I expect her to believe it? That’s not my problem, though, right? That’s the thing about having a kid, I’ve realized. All of a sudden, their problems become your problems. I want to spare her any additional pain.
I’ve drained nearly a third of the bottle when my phone rings again. I yank the receiver from the cradle, prepared to scream for my assistant to hold my calls for the rest of the day once I’m finished.
“What?” I bark, noting the extension to the history department on the screen.
“We have a problem on the dorm level. Two female students were fighting. One had a knife.”
As if I need to deal with this piddly bullshit. “Deal with them.”
There’s a shuffling noise, then his voice drops to little more than a mumble. “Don’t you think it would be more effective, coming from you?”
He’s right. This is part of my job, like it or not. “I’ll be there in a minute.” I cap the bottle and set it aside before standing and straightening my shirt and tie. There I was, hoping to lay low for the rest of the day while I piece together a plan of action for Aspen. I should know by now there’s no rest for the wicked. I make my way to the office, hoping I don’t smell like a distillery or look as pissed off as I feel. The last thing I expect to find on reaching the office is Anja—and Delilah, standing in the corner with her arms folded.