Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 82060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I touched his chubby cheek, his little nose, then bent over to kiss him before I pulled up the side of the crib and locked it into place.
It was a moot action. He’d learned how to climb out, which was why I had stacks of pillows around the crib just in case.
If he woke before me (and he always woke before me), they’d come in handy.
Before I left him in there with his blue elephant night-light glowing, I made sure the pillows were where they needed to be, and only then did I head out.
We had a two-bedroom apartment, even though the second bedroom was just bigger than a closet. Since Liam didn’t need tons of room yet, it worked. But I needed to get my degree and get a job that paid better, because soon he’d need his own space, and more of it. Liam was at the top of the scales height wise. He was going to be tall, like his daddy. And it was time to get him out of the crib and into a bed.
These were my thoughts when I went out of his room, headed for our tiny kitchen to get myself a glass of water before I got ready for bed.
I stopped dead and squeaked when I saw the man standing in my living room.
After the surprise wore off, I saw the man.
He had his arms crossed on his chest. He’d had his hair done into twists. He’d lost weight, looking lean…
And mean.
But no less beautiful.
Darius.
Shirleen had told him I’d been out looking for him.
“Who’s the kid?” he asked.
Oh God.
He’d seen me with Liam.
This wasn’t how I’d wanted this to go.
“Darius—”
“Who’s the fuckin’ kid, Malia?”
“How did you—?”
He leaned toward me, not uncrossing his arms, and gritted, “Who’s the fucking kid?”
I’d turned the light on in our tiny entryway to guide my way through the apartment, so even though no other lights were on, I could see him.
He was still handsome. Fit. Broad shoulders and trim hips and long legs that made his simple T-shirt and jeans look like a fashion statement.
But his expression was all wrong.
His eyes were cold, his face hard.
“Malia—”
I cut him off this time by blurting, “Liam Edward Clark.”
He leaned back with a jerk and the air in the room got oppressive.
This was it. It wasn’t how I wanted it to go, but I had no choice. I had to work with it.
“I had to guess, but I named him what I thought you’d want to name him,” I shared.
And I had. Liam, his best friend Lee’s name. And Edward, for his other best friend, Eddie.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ shitting me.”
“No.”
“You had my kid, and you didn’t fuckin’ tell me?”
His voice was quiet, nevertheless, his rage was glaringly evident.
The man he was now, I was certain most people quaked in their boots at his mood.
But…wait.
Hang on.
I was pretty even-tempered. I had great parents. I was close with my sister Lena, who was my other best friend, along with Toni. I had a tight-knit family. I had friends like Toni who thought I was an idiot, and she still packed her scarf and sunglasses to go on some moronic quest with me. Growing up, we weren’t rolling in money, but we were never hurting. I was a teenage mom and not a single member of my family or that first friend did anything but support me and help me through my pregnancy and beyond.
I didn’t have much to get shitty about.
But with what Darius just said, I was feeling the need to get shitty.
“Well, you know,” I started sarcastically, “I did call…eighty thousand times. You refused to speak to me.”
“You got my baby in your belly, you figure out a way to fuckin’ tell me,” he shot back.
“I’m sorry.” Yep. Still sarcasm. “How was that supposed to go? ‘Oh, hey, Miss Dorothea, I know you have a few things on your mind, but I really need to speak with Darius, since he got me pregnant.’”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Malia,” he said in that quiet, scary voice. “You don’t got the high ground here.”
Oh yeah.
I felt the need to get shitty.
“I don’t? Wait, was it you who found out you were pregnant at sixteen? And was it you who called and called and posted letters and begged to speak to me, only to be shut out time and time and time again? And was it you who carried a child, pushed that child out, breastfed that child, changed his diapers, chased after him when he started crawling, chased after him more when he started walking, struggled to put clothes on him when he went through that phase where he decided the only suit he wanted to wear was his birthday suit? And was it you who took classes even though all this was going on, leaning on your family to help out, so you could eventually make decent money to put a roof over his head and food in his belly? Sorry, I thought that all was me.”