Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
That told me, didn’t it?
Well, fuck that.
“Anything more than becoming a father,” I retort. “And wanting to be involved in a child’s life? Our child’s life.” That’s my pivot, of course. I’m not giving up.
The thought of Ryan walking away . . . it’s unthinkable. Because as much as I want to be in this child’s life, I want her too. It’s early days, and I get that these are big words and promises, life-changing sentiments. But I want her in my bed. In my arms. In my life. I want this to work.
I want that chance, at least. And I can’t have it while she’s living somewhere else.
“Turn off your skeptic’s radar for just a minute and listen to what I have to say. Please.”
She gives a lift of her shoulder. A tiny if I must. But I sense her discomfort. Feel her stubbornness creeping in.
“We didn’t plan this. I know the timing is rough. I mean, Monday? But you didn’t come all this way to just end up going back, did you?”
“I don’t have much of a choice,” she murmurs, gathering her hair to pull it over her shoulder.
“But you like it here? In London, I mean.”
“Yeah. I was just beginning to find my feet.”
“So stay. Stay for you.”
“Matt . . .”
“Okay, stay for me. Stay and let me be part of this experience. I don’t want to miss out, Ryan.”
“You really mean that?”
“This is how much I mean it. Move in with me.”
“What? No!” She almost recoils, but for the back of the stool. “We barely know each other.”
“Isn’t that a reason you should, then? We’re gonna be parents, and we barely know a thing about each other. How can we raise a child on that basis?”
“I just . . .” She looks so small right now. I mean, she is small, but her presence, her fucking aura, should be as apparent as the Burj Al Arab. But I suppose she’s had a rough few days. The stuff she’s gone through must’ve felt like a colossal head fuck.
But still . . . back to me and my role in this.
“I want to be part of this kid’s life.”
“I hear you.”
“I just don’t think it’s right for him to come into the world and learn his parents didn’t really know each other.”
“I don’t want that. I don’t want her to think she’s a mistake.” Her eyes are so solemn, her next words so quiet, I’m sure they aren’t meant for my ears. “Or the regret of her mother’s life.”
My heart instantly aches for her. “Hey.” I touch her shoulder, like we’re mates.
“How to Mess Up Your Kid’s World 101, right?” She shoots me a sad smile as she reaches for her glass. That way she doesn’t have to be responsible for moving my hand.
“No child deserves that.” And she didn’t deserve you. “And our child isn’t a mistake.”
“No, I don’t think so either.”
“A blessing.”
“Right,” she whispers.
A blessing in disguise. I clear my throat, but it’s not so easy to clear the emotion. “We need to know about each other—to learn about each other—so when birthdays roll around and he asks us what kinds of things the other likes, we can tell him what his mother’s favorite investment strategy is and name the name of his father’s favorite rugby team.”
“Okay,” she says, a little bemused.
“That way we get a decent birthday present and not any old shit.”
A laugh jumps out of her before she presses her hand to her cheek. “This is madness, though. Isn’t it?”
“It’s just building a foundation, a solid one. With stories and experiences to reflect upon. It’s not like we’ll be on top of each other.” At least, not immediately. “I haven’t shown you round the place yet, but you can see the house is huge.”
“Matt, come on. Be reasonable. You can’t expect me to do this.”
“Yeah, I can. It’s not like I’m asking for a huge commitment or anything.” Again, not immediately. “I just want to be part of this—and I want to be with you through this. Shoulder the responsibility in all the ways that I can.”
With a sigh, she slides her gaze to the gray, cold garden. So I pull out my trump card.
“The house has a self-contained apartment. You could stay there.” Though I’d rather you stay in my bed. “You could work. Or not. And we could hang out, get to know each other. After all, we’ve a lifetime to be together.”
“A lifetime?” Her gaze slides back slowly, her expression unreadable.
“Our child’s life,” I answer quickly.
Fatherhood. It’s something I always assumed I’d get to experience, though the details were hazy beyond that fact. I suppose even after Ryan told me, I don’t think I took it all in. It didn’t truly become real until I heard our child’s heartbeat. Everything changed then because there was power in that sound, something ancient and inevitable pulling at me. Probably the weight of responsibility, but the sense of it felt—feels—so right.