Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
PART 2
24
THE SPERM DONOR
Four years later …
MILO
The last time I saw Indiana Ellington was in Ruthie’s sewing room. I told Jolene I was using the restroom. Then, one of the servers said they saw me come out of the sewing room, and a few minutes later, they saw Indie leave the same room.
Jolene had a breakdown as soon as the guests left, believable only to Fletcher and Pauline, the only two people who mattered. Fletcher had Ty take me to the back of the barn. One day, he was standing at the altar with me as a witness to my marriage; the next day, he held a gun to my head all the way to the barn and pistol-whipped me until I passed out. When I awoke, my hands were tied behind my back, and Fletcher kicked the living shit out of me with his steel-toed boots. I coughed up blood for the first half of my honeymoon, and Jolene shook her head, silently scolding.
Indie?
No one’s seen or heard from her since the server snitched on us.
She hasn’t touched her bank account, and her phone was left on her bed next to a note that read: Nobody owns me. And she signed it, Million Dollar Indigo.
That day, I felt like Archer, taking it all, bearing the most significant burden, and choosing someone else’s life over my own. Three months later, my brother died by lethal injection. Fletcher forced me to go with him to watch.
“You fucking own your fate, your place in life, and bear witness to the sacrifices made so that you could live.” He put Archer right up there with Jesus.
That day hardened me in ways I never imagined possible.
“Two more weeks. Are you ready?” Jolene asks when I walk into the bedroom a little after nine at night.
She eyes my holstered gun and frowns. “I don’t want that in the house.”
“Then you don’t want me in the house because it goes where I go.”
“Maybe if you didn’t make so many enemies, you wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder all the time.”
I shake my head and grunt while making my way to the bathroom.
“Fletcher doesn’t carry a gun,” she chirps.
“You’re correct.” I unbutton my shirt. “The three-hundred-pound man always at his side is the one packing.” I roll my eyes. Some days I can’t deal with her. Most days.
“Did you hear me say two more weeks? You’re going to be a dad.”
“Sperm donor,” I mumble to myself. “I’m a sperm donor.”
Barely two minutes into my steam-filled shower, Jolene steps into my space, wearing a grin. “I won my case today. A forty-two-million-dollar payout. I think that calls for a celebration.”
“Not tonight.” I squirt shampoo into my hair, massaging my aching head with crimped fingers that ache just as much. If I ignore her … will she disappear?
“You need a trim, baby.” She presses her front to my backside and slides her hand through the back of my hair. That same hand glides along my shoulder to my abdomen and down to my dick.
I grab her wrist, drawing in a deep breath to control the repulsion I feel when she touches me. If I’m not highly intoxicated, I can’t stomach it. Right now, I’m sober. “Not. Tonight.”
She rips her arm away from me with a huff and stomps out of the shower. “I hope you’re a better father than a husband because you’re an asshole husband.”
After a long shower, I drag my tired ass to bed.
Jolene is perched at the foot, wrapped in a black satin robe, hair pulled into a bun. The room reeks of her godawful perfume. “If you’re fucking someone on the side, it ends now. We will be a family when we bring our child into this house. You will step up and be a real husband and father. Do you understand me?”
“Sure.” I collapse into the bed and shut off my light.
Even in the dimly lit room, I sense her glowering at me. “If I were pregnant, would you treat me better?”
“Sure.”
“Nice, Milo. Do you not have anything else to say other than sure?”
Praying for an easy way out of this conversation, I throw an arm over my head. “What are you looking for? Praise for hiring the surrogate? Excitement over a child who doesn’t feel real to me yet? I jacked off to a five-minute porn video. Someone took the cup of donated sperm. And a woman I’ve met once is carrying a baby that’s genetically half mine. Sorry if I’m not appropriately excited. This child feels like the next expected step in our business arrangement.”
“This baby is part of you and part of me. We can’t undo what’s been done. Don’t you want what’s best for him?”
I sigh. God, I’m so exhausted. “What’s best for him? Are you going to quit your job, stay home, and raise him? Playdates? PTO? Trips to the zoo? Are you going to sew Halloween costumes?”