Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
She pushes back, her eyes searching mine as if she’s lost a piece of herself and is desperate to find it again. “What would I have to be afraid of?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, Noah?” She starts gathering my socks and jacket before I have time to address the question.
“Look at me, Liv.”
“Don’t you mean Olivia?” she snaps as if her name is a bad word all of a sudden, as if I’ve sworn it off as such.
“Don’t do this.”
Offense straightens her back right quick. “Don’t do what?”
I go to her and take my shoes out of her hands. “I meant that I know he’s safe in the current situation.”
She cradles the rest of my stuff to her chest like a lifeline. “Current situation? I’m all he knows.” Her voice tightens, her hands fisting the clothes to her body. “You’re not coming in here to disrupt his life.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“But I don’t know what you’re thinking. I don’t know how to feel or . . . My world hinges on what you decide to do. What do you want, Noah? Tell me. Please. Please tell me.”
“I can’t. I just found out I’m his father, and you want me to make a life-altering decision on the spot. Here’s one—I want to get to know him. I want him to know me as his dad.” I hate that my voice rises, but I can’t seem to control it any longer. “We need to calm down.”
“Calm down?” Panic rises in her eyes, but her tone is clearer, firm in her stance. “I want you in his life, but I can’t lose him. I won’t. You can’t have him.”
If there was a button, she just pushed it. “I can’t have him? He’s my son. If I want to—”
Dropping the clothes, she walks into the bedroom, leaving me with the great proclamation I was ready to make hanging on the edge of my tongue. “Fuck.” Yep, she knows just the buttons to push. I follow her into the bedroom, ready to hash this out tonight. Before I can get a word out, she points at the door. “I think it’s best if you leave.”
“Leave? What the hell are you talking about? Don’t act like this—”
“It’s not an act. You’ve crossed a line—”
“I’ve crossed a line?” I balk, tapping my leg. “Let’s get something straight. The reason you are all that Maxwell knows is because I fucking didn’t know about him. So I haven’t crossed a line. I haven’t even gotten close to it.” She stands her ground when I get even closer to her. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. You turn this into a fight, we’ll fucking fight.” I point toward his bedroom. “But you have no right to control how I react to finding out I have a child, a child that I’ve missed every day of his life for fourteen months until now.”
I leave her in the bedroom, needing space to think, to pace, and to clear my head. Though it’s tempting to leave altogether, I have a son to consider . . . a son? I have a child, a part of my soul in the other room. How can I leave and act like I don’t know that? How can I leave him behind and walk out her door?
I can’t.
I know I can’t, but I may have no choice tonight.
This is her apartment. She has rightful custody of him. She’s raised him. She’s everything to him. I’m nothing to him but a guy who babysat for a few hours.
Dropping to the couch, I let go of my shoes, and my head falls into my hands. My eyes water under the strain of the shock I’m in, the anger of being forced out before I have a say in the matter. “What the fuck?” I want to rage, to throw something, to punch a wall, to turn back time and get to be there for him before he was born. A tear escapes, which fucking angers me even more.
The couch dips beside me. I can’t look. I don’t want her to see me this way. I’m in no place to be rational or reasonable, to behave in some way that she deems respectable. I just need to sit here to process what the hell is happening.
Liv’s hand covers the back of my neck, and she whispers, “I’m sorry.” Her head falls forward to rest against my shoulder, and she says, “I didn’t know your last name.”
First names were enough. That was the deal we made.
I regretted it then. I hate myself for it now.
My anger felt justified when it was aimed at her. Now, I don’t know how to feel other than numb. I lift my head and wrap my arm around her.
None of this makes sense, but we made a deal that we can’t change the terms of now. So is it fair that I hold some resentment toward her? I don’t fucking know.