Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“The day he beat you unconscious, and I hid in the closet?” I finish for her.
“Don’t say it like that. Again, you were a child and yes, you hid…but you should have. And you also called 911 and saved my life. That’s the part you always seem to forget. You. Saved. My. Life. That’s what you did. You were a child. I was supposed to protect you, and I didn’t. You saved my life, and you will never be your father.”
I flinch at the last part, her words like a knife digging into me. It’s a fear I’ve never voiced aloud, not to anyone, yet I’m not surprised Mom senses it.
“The fact that you worry about it proves it. The fact that you’ve never so much as raised a hand in anger to anyone proves it. You hardly even raise your voice to anyone. You’re a caretaker, you protect people, and I know you’re afraid that his blood flows through your veins, but you don’t need to be. It’s impossible. Not you.”
“Thanks, Ma.” I kiss the top of her head. It’s so strange, the irrational fears people can have. Or maybe this is a rational one; I don’t know. There is nothing or no one I hate in this world the way I hate the sperm donor. I’ve never hurt anyone. I couldn’t live with myself if I did, but that doesn’t change the fact that his blood flows through me, that when I look into the mirror, my eyes match his. “I’m being weird. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”
I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that Evan is in my head all the time, in such a different way than he had been before. Our puppy training sessions have become the highlights of my day. I think about things I want to try with him and hear his soft whimper in my head. Smile when I think of the playful growl and get filled with pride at his growing comfort.
It’s like we’re taking this journey with each other that we never anticipated taking, like we’re learning things about ourselves along the way, and I can’t wait to experience every fucking second of it.
My mind feels like a sort of confusing place right now, though. I’m thinking about the sperm donor, which as Mom says, I often do around this time of year, but it’s twisted up in the excitement of what’s going on with Evan, and yeah, the hot-as-fucking-hell kiss we shared. Usually if I want someone, I go for it. We hook up or whatever and then go on our way. I’ve never shared the kind of kiss I did with Evan with someone I’m so close to. But on the other hand, it was just a kiss, and it’s Evan, so I can’t figure out why my thoughts are so twisted up in it.
“Well…you are a little strange. Always have been,” Mom teases, which pulls me out of my head.
“I get it from you.”
She sits up, her brows pulling together. “Well, of course,” she replies as if there’s no other option here. We laugh and visit a little while longer before I head back to Midtown. I’m meeting Donovan for dinner since our night got cut short last time.
We meet at a sports bar down the block from Flirt. We order beers, burgers, and fries as we sit in a booth tucked into one of the corners.
“Who was the kid the other night?” Donovan asks. He doesn’t really know the crew I hang with now since I didn’t spend time with them when he lived here before. Donovan’s been known to be a bit of a wanderer, not settling in one spot for too long, but he always ends up back in Atlanta.
“Evan. I live with him at Metropolis.” The words don’t sound deep enough for what Evan and I are. “He’s a friend…a good one.”
Donovan nods and pops a fry into his mouth. “He’s fucking beautiful.”
I nod because he’s right. It’s the first thing I noticed about Evan when I saw him, but I also know he’s so much more than that. “Yeah, he is. He’s a good guy too. Sweet.”
“Is that your way of trying to warn me off him?” Donovan asks with a chuckle, and my stomach tenses up briefly.
“No.” I hadn’t even thought of that but now I sort of am—thinking about it, I mean. I don’t know why, though. “He’s not your type.”
“What? I like sweet. I can do sweet. I’m incredibly fucking sweet.”
“You’re sweet as fucking sugar, but Evan still isn’t your type.”
“I’m giving you shit. I know protective Frankie when I see him.”
“How long are you back in town for?” I ask, purposely trying to get off the subject of Evan but unsure why. My thoughts are still sort of all over the place, thinking about him and the conversation I had with Mom earlier too.