Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I looked over at my girl, saw the tears and unhappiness streaming down her face, and decided that before I said anything I’d regret later, I’d better go.
“Okay,” I grunted, then walked to the door.
“Thank fuckin’ God,” I heard a male voice say. Drake again. “Fuckin’ fucked up kid shouldn’t be here if she’s going to act like that.”
Fucking fucked up kid.
Fucking. Fucked up. Kid.
And that’s when I lost it.
But, since Mary was still in my arms, now pulling at her ear rather roughly, I kept my feet moving forward even though I wanted to turn around and slam that guy’s stupid face into the fucking table he was pounding on.
The old Dante would’ve let it go. The old Dante who’d been all about not making a scene? Yeah, he was gone. He was buried with my children and wife.
The new Dante?
Well, he didn’t give one single fuck about making a scene.
Placing Mary in the car seat and strapping her in, I closed the door very softly, then marched right back inside.
I met Cobie on the way out and handed her the keys. “Start it up, will you?”
Cobie looked at me, looked at the truck, then back at me again.
Then she nodded and walked to the truck, stiffly.
I hesitated, seeing that she was very uncomfortable now, and closed my eyes.
After taking a deep, calming breath, I turned back around, opened the door for Cobie, took the food from her hand and placed it on the floorboard, then snatched the keys from Cobie’s hands.
It was when I was rounding the truck’s nose that I saw Drake was now standing in the doorway glaring at me.
He didn’t say a word as I got into my truck and that’s probably what saved him from having his face beat in.
Chapter 15
I may look like a potato now, but one day I’ll be that tasty basket of fries and you’ll want me then.
-Cobie’s secret thoughts
Cobie
Day 12 Post Surgery
Was there anything sexier than seeing a man, holding a sick baby who had an ear infection, shirtless?
No. I didn’t think there was, either.
I may be under the weather, but my body wasn’t dead.
And the things I was feeling for the man that was clearly only ever going to be my friend was quite scary.
Day 13 Post Surgery
I shivered and pulled the quilt off the back of the couch, wrapping it around both Mary—who’d been in my lap for over an hour now just lying there—and myself.
She snuggled down into the quilt, her little fingers touching a patterned heart.
My eyes zeroed in on the heart, and I realized that the quilt wasn’t just a quilt.
On the back of the couch, how it had been folded, it looked just like a chevron patterned quilt.
But on the other side was anything but a plain quilt.
Hundreds of squares of tiny little outfits were sewn onto twelve-by-twelve squares.
Some of them were the entire outfit. While other outfits were tilted so you could see the tiny neckline of a onesie or the patterned smiling face embroidered on the foot of a sleeper.
It was darling. And in an instant, I knew that these outfits were the clothes that Dante’s kids had worn growing up.
One, in particular, brought my attention to it. A tiny little onesie, the size of a preemie at most, was in the center of the quilt. The front read “Daddy Loves Me” on it.
And my heart broke.
I ran the edge of my finger over it. Saw the yellow stain on one side of the onesie that was either from formula or breast milk. There was no way to really tell without asking.
And I felt a tear leak out of my eye.
God.
My eyes flicked up to Mary, and I wondered if Dante had thought to save any of her clothes.
Marianne wouldn’t have had a chance to save any, would she?
It was the first quilt I’d seen like it. Likely not every parent saved all those clothes. But I knew, if the impossible ever happened and I became a parent, I’d save them. Then I’d make something exactly like it.
I’d just repositioned, moving Mary to rest a little more comfortably in the crook of my leg, and tried to ignore the pain.
While I was doing that, Mary chose that moment to throw up.
Whatever green she’d eaten earlier projectiled everywhere. All over the quilt, all over the floor.
And some of it even hit the wall.
Oh, no.
“Dante!”
He came running, and at first, he wasn’t mad. Then he saw the quilt, and his entire body strung tight like a bowstring.
He gently pulled Mary up and out of my arms, walking away without a word.
I got up myself, folded the quilt into itself, and took it to the laundry room.
My intention was to clean it, but within moments of me getting to the laundry room with it, he followed me in there, ripped it out of my hands, and walked it out to the garage without another word.