Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Gia had tears in her eyes. Her voice cracked. “What?”
“Shut the fuck up about money once and for all.”
She laughed. “Okay.”
“Moving on. Your middle school guidance counselor is not going to appear out of thin air and tell your twelve-year-old schoolgirl secrets. Just because you write romance novels doesn’t make you a degenerate. Is Stephen King a psycho killer just because he writes twisted shit? No. So kick that crap from your mind, too. As far as the car—I’ll trade in my Mustang tomorrow and drive a minivan if it makes you feel better. Although no one is going to be looking at the model of your car to determine if you’re a good mother. And Melody would probably lie for you if you wanted her to, but she won’t have to. She already thinks you’re going to be an amazing mother. So don’t worry about that either. The dolls…” I scratched my chin. “Okay. I’ll give you that one. It’s a little wacky. But if Social Services ever does pop in, I promise to hide them for you. I’ll eat them if I have to.”
Gia smiled. “Are you done, crazy man?”
“Almost. Lastly, living out of wedlock. We can fix that in an hour if you’re going to worry about that. While I’d prefer to surprise you with a nice ring someday because that’s what you deserve, I’d go to the courthouse and marry the shit out of you tomorrow. You know why?”
Tears started to leak from her eyes. I wiped them away with my thumb.
“Why?” Her voice cracked.
“Because I love you, and I’m in this for good. A piece of paper isn’t going to change that one way or the other.”
Gia stared at me. Her eyes seemed to search deep into mine for something. Finding whatever she needed, her face turned serious. “You would really marry me, tomorrow, wouldn’t you?”
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, sweetheart.”
Gia had fallen asleep a few hours ago. But I couldn’t relax enough to let myself drift off. Even though I’d assured her that there was no way in hell that Elliott would get custody of the baby, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like if he even had visitation.
Edward had a long-term relationship with my mother before she’d gotten pregnant, and he had a good role model in his own father. Elliott had neither. He didn’t know Gia at all, and he had watched the way his own father treated my mother and me. There was no doubt in my mind that Elliott would only see Gia’s child as a pawn in a game to manipulate the two of us. It would be like my childhood all over again—seeking approval and love from a man who had no interest in me. I couldn’t let that happen to Gia’s child. To our child.
Old memories were haunting me as I lay in bed staring at my beautiful, sleeping girl. In sixth grade, my school held a father-son night. The kind where they tell you to wear deodorant, respect girls, and give you a clinical intro to the birds and the bees. My mother had thought it might be a good bonding experience, so she invited Edward to take me. I’d never have admitted it, but I was excited. My friends were all going with their dads. Joe Parma’s dad had come straight from work and invited us to sit with them. He was a sanitation worker in the City and didn’t have time to stop home and change. Edward wiped his hand off after he’d been forced to shake the man’s hand. Then he spent the rest of the night making snide comments about how public school produced criminals. The next week, I smoked pot for the first time and stole a bicycle. Wouldn’t have wanted to prove dear old dad wrong.
When I graduated high school, Edward mailed me a card. By then, I’d grown from being disappointed in my sperm donor to hating his fucking guts. I should’ve tossed the card in the garbage. Instead, I opened it to see if the prick had at least sent me a check. He had, but he’d also signed the card Edward, not Dad. I used the check and card as kindling to start a bonfire in the yard and accidentally set the shed on fire.
There was no way I wanted that constant disappointment for my child. Forced contact from a man who didn’t give a shit about you was way worse than no communication. Look at Gia; she didn’t even know her mother—yet she turned out more emotionally stable than most people with two parents. The continual reminder that you weren’t wanted could really screw with a kid’s head.
I needed to protect our son.
And I had a feeling I might be able to.