Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Thank God this is a pilot, and she’ll never see this. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.
He folds his hands between his knees. “I understand that, actually.”
“Really?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m scared.”
“God forbid.”
“But I’m nervous that I don’t quite have what it takes to be a good dad.”
His words fall through the air like dead weight, landing on the ice and slipping away. Regret shifts across his face, and I wonder if he regrets telling me that. If so, that makes me sad—mostly because I suspect he hasn’t really shared this with anyone before and now he’s clamming up on me.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He gets to his feet and picks up his bag, so I hurry to stand and gather my things, too. We remove our audio packs, and he shoves them hastily into his bag. I’m not sure what caused the sudden change in him, but I scramble to keep up.
We make our way to the exit and step onto the sidewalk. The freedom from the cameras is a relief as the warm air heats my bones. Ripley walks me to my car without saying a word, and I give him space, thinking he’ll eventually talk. But he doesn’t.
I should let it go. I should let this be his problem elsewhere. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, why should I care?
And I don’t care, really. But …
We stop at my car, I toss my things in the back seat, and then I take off his gloves.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, hesitating. I’m not sure which Ripley I’m going to get, nor do I know if he’ll still be interested in talking to me like he was a moment ago. But I know I can’t go home without trying … both for my curiosity and his well-being.
“Sure.”
I lean my back against my car. “Why would you think you don’t have what it takes to be a good dad? I mean, I might hate you …” I grin at him. “But that’s a personal decision. You seem like a pretty decent guy to the rest of the world.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. That’s how I know it’s a big deal.
A shadow crosses his face as he licks his lips. “Someone told me once that I don’t have a lot of value as a person. And while I know that’s bullshit, it lingers in the back of my brain.”
“Who told you that?” I ask, instantly angry.
“My father.”
I touch my lips to keep from gasping. My wide eyes gawk at him. I want to reach out and pull him into me and hug the embarrassment off his handsome face. But I don’t. I hold back. For both of our goods.
“Ripley, fuck that guy,” I say instead. “I mean it.”
He laughs sadly. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Who says that to someone, let alone their child?”
“It’s okay.”
“Give me his prison address and I’ll write him really mean letters,” I say, wanting to do something.
“Georgia, it’s okay.” He smiles. “Really.”
It’s not okay. Not even a little. “What would cause someone to be such a complete bastard?”
“We always butted heads. I guess I just didn’t accept his bullshit. Like, by the age of six, when he’d come home yelling at everyone, I’d call him out on it. He hated that. Who was I to challenge the great Reid Brewer?”
I bite my lip as he continues.
“I wanted to box, so he made me play soccer. I wanted to be a chef for a while, and he called me a pussy.” He takes a breath. “I lost my scholarship, and he broke my nose. It’s the only thing I’d ever done that made him proud of me and I lost it.”
“He broke your nose?” I yelp.
“Yeah.”
“And no one hit him back?”
“You don’t always win violence with violence, Peaches.”
“I want to fight him. I’d have to train a while first, but I want to at least get a couple of shots off on him.”
Ripley shakes his head, his chest bouncing with a suppressed chuckle.
Our gazes hold each other tight, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. My heart pounds so hard I wonder if he can hear it. The energy between us crackles—I can hear it—and I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never been before.
“It’s getting late. Do you want to film our confessionals at home?” he asks, his voice low.
As the sun goes down behind him, creating a beautiful backdrop, his skin glows from the golden hour, and I wish I had a camera to capture the moment.
“That sounds good,” I say. “I’ll send mine to Myla tonight. Our next date is supposed to be an adventure and I’m not very adventurous, so I don’t know what you want to do with that.”
“I think you were very adventurous today.”