Total pages in book: 296
Estimated words: 284055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1420(@200wpm)___ 1136(@250wpm)___ 947(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 284055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1420(@200wpm)___ 1136(@250wpm)___ 947(@300wpm)
“Look.” I keep my voice as calm as I can. “She told me about Dawson. I felt it was my duty to come here and see for myself. If he’s my kid, it’s my right to know.”
Her face softens, and she looks up at the sky, releasing a slow breath. Tears well on the rims of her eyes, and she tries to play it off, but I notice her wiping her cheeks.
“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. Laurel has Dawson’s and your best interest in mind. She cares about you, but I gotta admit, you’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do.” I pause briefly until our eyes meet. “Like why it wasn’t you tellin’ me.”
Chelsea looks around as if she doesn’t want any of her neighbors to hear us. “Would you like to come in?”
Shaking my head, I rub my palms down my jeans. This whole situation is making me sweat.
Chelsea gives me a small smile and tilts her head toward the inside of her apartment. “I think it’s time you met your son, Diesel.”
My mouth falls open, and I lick my dry lips. “Okay,” I muster, but my emotions are going haywire, a convoluted internal mess.
She opens the door, stepping aside for me to enter. I see my son sitting on the couch with a toy tractor in his hand, watching TV. He smiles at me but has no idea who I am.
“Hi,” he says in a small voice. When he grins, an overwhelming amount of joy and fear rushes through me. I’m his dad. Holy fuck.
“Hey,” I say, then look back at Chelsea who’s standing with her hands in her pocket, but she seems happy. She nods for me to move closer to him, so I do. “What kinda toy do you have there?”
“This is my favorite tractor,” he says, raising it up high where I can see it better. Then he waves it proudly, giggling as he hands it to me.
I sit down next to him on the couch, angling my body toward his. “You know, I have one like this at my house. A real one. A big green John Deere.”
“You do?” he asks with wide eyes.
“Yep. I have lots of tractors actually.” I pause briefly, then continue, “Maybe I can show you someday?”
He smiles when I hand it back.
“Yeah!” he shouts loudly, causing Chelsea and me to laugh. “I’m thirsty.”
I swallow hard, not sure how to interact with a two-and-a-half-year-old. This feels like some weird reality show, and I’m waiting for Ashton Kutcher to come out and say “You just got punk’d!” But now that I see Dawson, as scary as it sounds, a part of me wants it to be true.
Chelsea walks into the kitchen, then returns with a sippy cup of water and hands it to Dawson.
“What do you say?” She gives him a pointed look.
“Thank you, Mommy.”
“You’re welcome, baby.” She glances at me, then lowers herself to Dawson’s eye level. “My friend and I are going to talk in the other room. Can you be a good boy for me and stay here for a bit?”
“Okay, Mommy,” he says, then sits back with his cup.
I stand and follow her to a small breakfast nook. It’s hard not to look around her quaint home where she’s raising our son. While it’s small, it’s clean and perfect for them.
“You want some coffee?” she asks as she pours water into the top of the maker.
“Sure, that’d be great.”
Chelsea’s stalling, that’s more than obvious, but I’m happy for it. Once the drip is finished, she grabs two mugs from the cabinet and fills them.
“Cream?” she asks.
“Nah, I’m good.”
She hands it over, then sits in front of me once she’s added milk and sugar to hers.
We sigh in unison, which causes us both to let out our nervous laughter.
“I don’t really know what to say.” Her words break through the silence. “Except that I’m pissed off at my sister.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it wasn’t my plan to ever find you. I didn’t know anything about you except that you lived in Texas. You were a complete stranger to me, and it made the most sense to keep it that way given we only hooked up once. Guys like you have handfuls of one-night stands, and it’s not like it meant anything to either of us. It was purely physical, and I was being realistic with my expectations of a twenty-one-year-old.”
“Realistic?” My nostrils flare at her assumptions. “You were being selfish, Chelsea. I have a son—who’s had birthdays and celebrated holidays—and I didn’t get to take part in that. I don’t care what your preconceived notions about me were, didn’t you think it was my right to know? What about his right to know his father?” I lean over the table, keeping my voice low so I don’t alarm Dawson.