Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“No, I didn’t give up on you. You seem to have memory confusion because it was you who fucked me, then threw me away. Told me I was nothing but a fuck. One you could replace easily enough.”
Slamming my car door, I clasp onto her face, holding her cheeks between my palms. “That’s a fucking lie, and you know it,” I growl. “I bet my heart on you, and I lost! I offered you to come home with me. To help me. To love me. You told me no. I fucking loved you! Damn, I still love you, Breezy. I’ve never gotten you out of my system. Hell, I’ve been watching you for months, obsessed without even knowing it was you. You’re ingrained in me. I seek you out in every woman. In everything.”
She’s sobbing, and I can’t fucking stand to see her so distressed and broken.
I crash her to me, pinning her to my chest while running my hands through her hair and kissing her head. She grips my shirt, tugging and crying against me. It’s so strangled and broken, my knees almost buckle from the weight of her pain.
The porch light suddenly turns on, blinding me, and her mother appears in her robe at the top of the steps.
“Autumn, honey, is that you?”
Pulling away from my hold, she swipes at her face and clears her throat. “Yes, Mother. I’ll be right in.”
“Christian is asking for you,” her mother calls back, making me stiffen. There’s that fucking name again.
“Who is Christian, Autumn?” I choke.
“Who is that with you?” her mother asks. The woman won’t shut up.
“Who is Christian, Autumn?” I repeat.
Her sad, expressive eyes gaze up at me, and her lip trembles. And then, the world dims from focus when a small form joins her mother on the porch, and calls out, “Mommy?”
No…no way. Autumn holds her hand out to me as she backs away toward the house. I can’t take my eyes from the young boy clinging to Autumn’s mother’s leg.
When she reaches the steps, she turns, transforming from broken dancer to beaming mother. “It’s late, mister. Why are you still up?”
“I can’t sleep,” the boy tells her.
My insides swish around like I’m on a spin cycle. What the hell is happening?
“Who is that with you?” her mother asks.
“A friend. He followed me home after I was having car trouble to make sure I arrived safely. Now, please take Christian inside, Mother. It’s late and cold.” She ruffles the boy’s hair. “I’ll be in to read you a story in just a minute, sweetheart.” She waits until they’ve gone back inside, then descends the steps and comes back over to me. I must look like a deer in the headlights because my jaw is unhinged and I can’t form words.
She’s a mom.
“You have a kid,” I manage to choke out after a silent pause.
“Christian, yes. He’s my son.” She studies me, her arms crossed in a defensive way, her teeth nibbling away anxiously at her lip. My head fucking whirls, and I try to gauge his age and who she could have been with after me. “How old is he?”
Her chin wobbles, and her face crashes as she weakly offers, “Five.”
Five.
Five.
She must have gotten pregnant with him almost immediately. She moved on and had a fucking kid while I was grieving not just my dad, but her—my life with her.
“You moved on real quick, huh? Couldn’t give up school and move with me, but could go off and have a fucking kid with who? Who the fuck knocked you up and left you? Because he sure didn’t stick around. Otherwise, why the hell are you living with your mom and working that ass to pay the bills!”
Damn, I’m angry. Distraught at the thought of her being pregnant with another man’s baby. Sharing something so sacred with someone who isn’t me. She’s silent, gulping down tears and shaking her head at me with a furrowed brow.
“Who?” I bark. If it’s someone I know, I’m going to lose my shit.
“He’s…” She gags, then retches, doubling over and vomiting all over the ground. Oh my fucking God. Is she going to tell me something horrible? I can’t fucking take this shit. It’s all too much at once. Swiping a hand over her mouth, she rights herself, and says, “I’m sorry, Lucca.”
“Sorry for what?” I laugh without humor. She’s mumbling words, and I don’t know what the fuck to say or think.
“For not telling you.” She cradles herself and closes her eyes.
“Not telling me what?” I demand.
“He’s your son,” she blurts out, her lips trembling.
He’s your son. He’s your son. He’s your son.
Air flees my lungs, and a buzzing noise invades my head. Her words rattle around on repeat, stabbing at me with sickness.
“What?” I breathe, dragging oxygen in to keep myself standing.