Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Doesn’t change anything?” I challenged. “Jackson, that’s the mother of your child. All you’ve ever wanted was for her to come home, and now she’s here!”
“Claire isn’t living with me. She’s living with her mom. We’re not together. She’s just here because Fin has an appointment for her kindergarten shots. Nothing changes between you and me, Morgan. Nothing.” The plea in his eyes nearly undid me.
“Jax! We have to get going!” Claire shouted from the driveway.
Everything this man wanted was wrapped up in that gorgeous little package, from her perfect fucking hair to her designer clothes. She was Finley’s mama. She was his chance at the happily ever after he’d waited for since the day she left.
It was just too much. Too complicated. Too…oh, screw this.
“Morgan, we’ll talk later, I promise.” Jackson raked his hand over his hair.
I pushed past the pain and forced a smile. “Your family is waiting for you, Jackson.”
Then I walked away, keeping my composure as I made my way up my steps.
“Morgan, please!”
“Jax!” Mercy, that woman’s voice was loud, but I guess mine was, too.
“I’m at my emotional capacity for the day. Now go,” I told him, because he was still standing there, staring up at me with so much angst in those eyes that I couldn’t stand it. I dropped the pretense of dignity and flat-out ran the rest of the way, slamming my front door once I was through it.
“Everything okay?” Sam asked, her eyes widening as she took in my expression.
“I found another thing about Jackson that I don’t like.” It was the biggest understatement of my life. I was so sick of this shit. What was so wrong with me that I couldn’t have just a glimmer of happiness? Was that too much to ask? Or at least a little less pain? Less pain—God, that sounded good. Numb sounded even better. Yep, that was the goal for the night.
“Oh no.” She sighed.
“Call Mia. We’re going out.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jackson
“Two Finley-less weekends in a row?” Sawyer questioned as the bartender handed him a draft.
“She’s with Claire.” I sipped on ice water and stared up at the ball game playing on the flat screen above the bar.
Garrett’s eyebrows shot up on the other side of me, and I didn’t miss the look that passed between my friends.
“And how is that going?” Sawyer asked, trying not to make it awkward but managing the opposite.
“Well, she’s made it two hours without calling me to ask a question that Finley can answer herself, so I guess that’s improvement. At least she’s with Vivian, so I don’t have to worry about the fact that my daughter’s mother knows jack and shit about her kid.” I rubbed the condensation from my glass and wondered for the fiftieth time where Morgan had hidden herself away.
She wasn’t at home. The minute I’d dropped Fin off for her first “weekend with Mom,” I’d headed straight to Morgan’s. I hadn’t even parked in my own driveway. Not that it mattered. Morgan and Sam weren’t there.
Sawyer sent Garrett a beseeching look, and Garrett sighed in response. Guess he drew the short straw. “So…is she here to stay? Claire?” he asked, peeling the label off a bottle he hadn’t taken a sip from.
“She says she is, but hell if I know. That woman’s mind changes with the weather, and usually I don’t care, but she’s told Finley she’s staying, and that means I’ll have a broken-hearted five-year-old when something bigger and better comes along.” Hence why I wasn’t drinking. For all I knew, Claire would call in an hour and say she changed her mind and Finley needed to come home.
“And…are you two together?” Sawyer asked, taking a cue from Garrett.
“Hell no. Never again.” Did seeing her fuck with my head a little? Sure. Was I remotely interested in rekindling something that had died so thoroughly it would need life support and a miracle? Not in the least.
“Okay…” Garrett narrowed his eyes at Sawyer and then huffed. “So that means you and Morgan?”
“What is it with the questions?” I shot both my best friends a glare.
“We’re trying to be supportive,” Sawyer said with a shrug, then winked at a girl across the bar.
“Well, stop. You’re just making it really fucking weird.” My cell phone vibrated, and I lifted my ass off the barstool just enough to slide it out of my back pocket. Morgan. I fumbled for the answer button, which earned me a WTF look from Garrett, but I managed to swipe it across without making too much of an ass out of myself. “Morgan?”
“No, it’s Sam!” she shouted over the background noise.
“Sam? Is Morgan okay?” My brow puckered.
“Define okay,” she answered.
“Is she hurt?”
“No, nothing like that, but I think I might need your help.” There was a muffled scrape, like she had put her hand over the mic. “Mia! Don’t encourage her!” The background noise swamped the call again. “Sorry. Look, I swore I would never call a guy to help me pull a friend off a bar—”