Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Annemarie shrinks back. “Please, Bruce,” she begs, “you have to understand –”
“Understand what?” I roar. “There’s nothing to understand! We’ve been dating almost three months, and you never once decided to tell me you had my son. You’ve denied me Three. Fucking. Months.”
“I’m sorry,” Annemarie cries, as if a simple apology will make it all better. Her shoulders shake as she sobs harder. “I’m so sorry. What are you doing? Bruce, please—”
But not even a heartfelt plea is enough to sway me at this point. I toss her computer into her suitcase, zip it up, and then pull out my phone, already searching for the number of a private car service.
“What are you doing?” Annemarie asks again, sounding frightened. “Bruce?”
“Calling a limo,” I growl, not looking at her. “We’re going back to New York.”
“Wait,” she protests. “Can’t we talk about this?”
I glare daggers at her. “We’re past the point of talking,” I spit, and then the operator’s voice sounds on the other end of the line. “I need a limo to the Reykjavik airport,” I tell him. “We’re at the Ice Palace. Tell them to get here as soon as possible.”
Hanging up, I stuff my phone back in my pocket and turn to stare at the king-sized bed in the middle of the suite. The sheets haven’t even been turned down yet, and it seems almost impossible that this was going to be a romantic, sex-filled vacation up until just a few minutes ago. So much for seeing Iceland. Hell, so much for our arrangement. My mind is struggling to parse what this revelation means, and it’s coming up empty every time. The reality of the situation hasn’t even fully sunk in yet, and in spite of my anger, I catch myself wondering what he’s like. My son. What did she say his name was? Riley?
I press my lips together. It’s a good name, at least. Has she told Riley about me? Was she ever planning on coming clean?
Rage suffuses my form once more because I already know the answer to that. Clearly, Annemarie had no fucking intention of ever telling me. Yet, that doesn’t make sense either because I would have found out, sooner or later. How the fuck did she think she was going to hide a baby, much less my baby, from me forever?
“What happens now?” Annemarie asks from the far corner of the room, looking absolutely miserable.
I shoot her a cold glance, but don’t respond. The truth is, I don’t give a flying fuck about her right now. All I want is my son.
The limo arrives after only a few minutes, and within seconds, we’re on our way to the airport. Annemarie is a mess, crying and sniffling on the leather seat across from me but I ignore her. How could she do this? my mind rages. This woman kept me from my son!
I stare out the window, ignoring her as best I can. I’m filled with a certain emotion. Rage certainly, but also something else that I can’t put my finger on. I’m used to being the leader of the pack: unshakable, with a steely will and an indomitable spirit. I’m supposed to be invincible, like a He-Man of sorts. After all, I’ve spent my career climbing the corporate ladder, stomping on those beneath me without so much as a look over my shoulder. So why is it that I feel so weak all of a sudden? Has my karma finally come back to bite me? Am I paying for decades of ruthlessness in my professional life through this bizarre turn of events? After all, my son must be at least a year old now, and I’ve missed out on precious moments of his life.
I puzzle over these confusing events the whole ride, making sure to avoid looking in Annemarie’s direction. After all, this is her fault. She had every opportunity to tell me about our son in the last few months, and yet she kept her lips sewn tightly shut. I hate her for it, and even more, I hate myself. Why didn’t I ask? Why didn’t I intuit that something was missing from our perfect love story? After all, it was too perfect, looking back in hindsight.
It’s only as we pull up outside the airport that I finally identify the emotion I’m feeling. It’s heartbreak. I hate that we’re in this position. I hate that Annemarie had my son as a scared, lonely teenager, and that I had no idea. I hate that she felt she had to hide Riley from me, as if I wouldn’t want my own child. I realize, as we step into the terminal, that heartbreak is fucking painful, and it’s only then that my emotions fracture into a million pieces, leaving me a beaten man. With a shake of my head, I pick up my suitcase. What happens next is entirely up to me, and yet I feel as if nothing is under my control.