Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
I am not going to be enough for you, was what I left unsaid.
Kane’s face had been impassive when I started speaking, but by the time I was done, he was scowling, eyes blazing with fury.
“You really think that little of me?” he asked quietly. “Think that I’m so fuckin’ shallow that what I want for the rest of my life are empty adventures?”
I opened my mouth, realizing how cruel I’d sounded. He didn’t let me speak.
“You don’t get to say what you think isn’t enough for me.” I bristled at how cold he sounded, putting the dishes down on the coffee table. “You don’t even get to insinuate that a life where I’m a dad, where I get to watch our daughter grow, learn, laugh, discover is too fuckin’ ordinary for me. And you sure as shit don’t get to tell me that watching my woman become a mother, care for our little girl, isn’t fuckin’ enough just because I don’t get to fuck you in a bar anymore.” He stepped forward. His face was menacing, his wired energy practically oozing from him. “And, Chef, I don’t think my days of fuckin’ you in bars are done. If they are, that’s fine with me. Any way I get to be inside of you, feel you clench against my cock, is just fuckin’ fine with me. And on top of that, any day I get to wake up with you, drink coffee with you and our daughter is the best fuckin’ day of my life. You thinking that I need more than that, need more than you, is total fuckin’ bullshit.”
Again, I opened my mouth to say something, to say anything, but before I could, he walked away.
He didn’t slam the door shut behind him, but I got the feeling he would’ve if he could’ve.
Nor did I hear the sound of his motorcycle leaving.
So after calming myself down enough to breathe evenly, I went to look out the window to see what he was doing.
His bike wasn’t there.
He must’ve pushed it down the drive so the noise didn’t wake Mabel.
Even in his fury with me, he protected our daughter. Like always.
Regret, painful and all-encompassing, hit me then, the organ beneath my sternum aching. I’d just belittled him as a partner, and more importantly, as a father. I’d insinuated that he didn’t have the depth to love something pure and simply.
Yes, I’d voiced my greatest fears, but they were more about myself than Kane.
I wanted to race after him, wanted to crack open a bottle of tequila and drown my sorrows. I wanted to crawl into bed, cover my head and welcome oblivion.
With a squawk, Mabel not so gently reminded me I could do none of those things. I was a mother. So instead of immersing myself in the luxury of sorrow or any kind of breakdown, I tended to my daughter and hoped that Kane would come back.
Kane came back.
It was never a question, really. He gave no indication that he was going to leave us. He was not that kind of man.
Yet I was still off-kilter from the news of my father. He hadn’t seemed like that kind of man either. Not in a million years. Yet he left.
Add to that severe sleep deprivation, and I didn’t trust my own mind, let alone the mind of someone else.
Yet Kane came back. Less than two hours later.
My entire body relaxed, as did Mabel’s, but that could’ve been out of sheer exhaustion from crying every moment Kane was gone.
He sauntered through the door, anger still hardening his face until he saw our daughter. He took her from my arms wordlessly.
“She eaten?” he asked, his voice void of emotion.
That flat tone hurt me, but I deserved it.
I nodded.
“She slept?”
“Not a wink.”
“Okay, let’s get you to bed, little one,” he murmured, kissing Mabel’s head. Before leaving, he looked at me. “I love you, Chef. Still need time, but we’ll talk later. Then we’ll have angry makeup sex.”
On that, he turned and ascended the stairs with our baby.
“Are we going to talk?” I asked in a whisper, mindful of Mabel sleeping in the bassinet beside us. She’d grown accustomed to the noises of us getting ready for bed, but it was a crapshoot as to whether a whisper would wake her or she’d sleep through me dropping an entire glass of water on the floor. No rhyme or reason.
We’d gone about our routine after Mabel woke up from her last nap—changing her, entertaining her, me cooking while Kane walked with her out on the beach. Us sitting together taking turns holding a crying Mabel, me ending up breastfeeding her at the table while eating my meal one handed, quickly, barely tasting the food.
Then dishes, then bathtime with the calming music, massage and Mabel screaming on and off throughout the routine.