Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
The casual mention of her brother causes me to turn my body toward her and get serious.
“Does he watch her a lot?”
A pit forms in my stomach that feels something oddly like jealousy or resentment, although I can’t quite pinpoint it because it’s so new. Another strike against her, perhaps? The fact that she had another man help her raise my daughter when I wasn’t good enough to do it?
This isn’t me being petty—these are facts.
“He wasn’t around as much when Skip was a baby. My mom was still around, and she had been living with him at the time. When Skipper was born, Mom moved into my place with me and helped out. Then Davis got injured and had to retire, and everything revolved around the baby. In some ways, she saved our family.”
Penelope chances a look at me. She’d been staring off into the distance as she spoke, almost hesitantly saying the words. She instantly regrets them by the looks of her.
I must have a look on my face.
“But if you’re asking if he raised her? No, he didn’t. He helped out when he could, but he most certainly didn’t raise her, and no, she doesn’t think of him as her dad.” She pauses. “Sure, he is her only male influence, but…it’s not the same.”
I shift on the bench, not sure what to say.
“I’m sure it was a blessing to have their help. You were so young.”
“Yes.” She nods. “Young, no degree. No job. A new baby. It was…a struggle. Obviously, my mother freaked out. She was hysterical when I told her. I’d assumed she would be supportive from day one, but it took her months to come around. Once she did…” Penelope fiddles with her hands. “She was great. I’m glad she was able to spend that much time with Harper before she died.”
Wouldn’t it have been great for my mother and father to spend time with their granddaughter before they died? It’s on the tip of my tongue to sarcastically ask.
I don’t because I have zero desire to sound bitter when we’re in the middle of being civil.
Instead, I clear my throat. “I’m sure it’s nice being so close to your brother, just in case.”
“It is. Plus, he owns the house, so I don’t have rent or a mortgage, which is helpful.”
More information that makes my ass cheeks clench, though it’s information I already knew. It doesn’t make me happy—not when I’m the one who wanted to own a house with her, not when I’m the one who could be supporting her while she worked toward her degree.
That’s what she wants, yeah? To finish school so she can get a promotion and one day become her own boss?
But no.
She relies on her brother, and that’s just how it is.
Relax, dude—this has nothing to do with you.
Wrong. It has everything to do with me.
Everything.
I’ll be honest, this conversation is starting to make me uncomfortable. Making me feel inept and resentful of both her and her brother. I can’t stop the feelings, and I won’t apologize for having them.
“I want to say something, and I hope you believe me.” Penelope turns toward me, shifting her body to face me, one leg crossed on the bench, the other still on the ground. “I knew what I did was wrong, Jack. I knew it then, and I know it now. Not a day has gone by when I haven’t hated myself or punished myself in some way. It was wrong.” Her head gives a little shake of sadness. “I wasn’t old enough to be a mother when I got pregnant. Clearly, my decisions have exhibited that lack of maturity. But I can’t take any of those decisions back. I can’t rewrite all the wrong I’ve done.”
Nope. She sure can’t.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so, so sorry, Jack.” Her head bows as if she were crying, and when her shoulders give a small shudder, I know that she is.
I rest my hand on her shoulder, pressing gently, comforting the woman who did me wrong. “Don’t cry, Penn.”
That only serves to make the tears fall even more. “I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I loved you so much.” She whispers again as if she were only speaking to herself and not to me. “I loved you so much, and I didn’t know what to do.”
A tear escapes from my eye, too, my head bending toward hers as we sit on the bench in a park under the glow of the lamplights.
“I loved you too, Penn.” That’s why I was so crushed when you left. When you wouldn’t see me. When I started my career and didn’t have you beside me.
I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d found out she was pregnant. I have no idea how I would have reacted because I didn’t have the chance. But I am a grown man now, and things are different. I have a somewhat stable job and a fantastic income, with limitless potential post player.