Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
“What is that exactly?” Farrow asks.
“My diary.”
His eyes narrow on the cover, no title or words. “No shit?”
“I just found it this morning.” I’m tentative to open it, so I push it aside and watch Cassidy drink her milk. Farrow asks if I want to feed her, and my heart grows, excited for baby snuggles. Once the soft newborn is in my arms, I tilt the bottle so she can easily suck out the milk. “Hi there, little teeny tiny Cassidy,” I whisper, her tufts of hair hidden under a purple cotton beanie. She’s a brunette girl, but her hair color could have been inherited just as likely from Farrow as it could’ve from Jane.
Her eyes are a deep, deep blue, but those could also change color as she ages too. Maybe they’ll morph into brown to match Farrow’s.
A strange, ugly feeling twists inside of me. I realize how much I don’t want her to resemble Jane. I hate that I’m wishing against the possibility.
“What’s wrong?” Farrow asks me, his palms on the island.
I look over at him. He’s in a casual lunge, not at all worried about me holding his baby, let alone feeding her. A pain sits on my heart. “Did I ever offer to donate my eggs?”
Farrow is taken aback.
“I didn’t?” My pulse races.
“No—”
“Why didn’t I?” I ask him fast, breathing harder. “I would’ve wanted to.”
He combs his fingers through his ash-brown hair. “Shit.” He glances at the door, like maybe he’s hoping Maximoff will come assist him with this conversation.
I frown. “You would’ve said no,” I realize—maybe that’s why I never tried. I knew his answer. “You would’ve picked Jane—”
“No,” he cuts in, his eyes glassing but he fights away the rise of emotion. “If you offered, it would’ve been harder not to pick you.”
My ribs clench around my lungs. “I wonder if I thought you wouldn’t choose me, so maybe that’s why I never tried.”
“Maybe,” he breathes, “but Maximoff would’ve wanted to go with Jane.”
I try to understand before the tidal wave of hurt crashes forth. “How come?”
“Probably because you’re younger, and he’d have a point.” Farrow pops a bubblegum bubble, then chews again. “And also the same reason why we might never use his sperm. Hale genetics.” He lifts and lowers his brows. “Addiction.”
Oh.
I blink a few times and cast a tiny glance back at Baby Ripley. He’s still enjoying the banana popsicle and babbles to Arkham. I look back at Farrow. “He’s a child of addicts too.” They’re already raising a son who has addiction in his lineage.
“Which is why I don’t give a shit about your parents’ history of addiction.” He tips his head. “Your brother overthinks a fuck ton. I think he’ll come around one day, but not right now.”
I tilt the bottle of milk higher. I’m not vying to see myself in their baby. That’s not where the jealousy stems. It has more to do with being the sister I wish I could be. The one who’d make this big grand gesture for two people I wholeheartedly, completely love.
Given the chance back then, I didn’t take it. I hate that I didn’t take it. “Maybe it’s too late,” I say quietly, “but if you’re ever thinking of having more kids, I’d be willing to donate eggs. I want to help you both if I can.”
Farrow nods a couple times, emotion returning to his eyes, but before he can speak, the door flies open. Donnelly saunters in, no one else, and he shuts the door gently behind him.
Just seeing him makes my whole being inflate with oxygen, with life. He makes my blood-cells sing.
“From my fresh newly-sprung experience,” Donnelly tells Farrow, “if you’re ever thinking it, don’t drop bad news on Loren Hale’s lap. He’ll fling it back at you.”
“Man, why the fuck did you tell him Greg died to begin with?”
My grandfather died. I haven’t been thinking about it much, but now my stomach tosses.
“He cornered me,” Donnelly refutes, standing beside his best friend. “I’m almost positive he loves putting me in positions where I can’t escape. Probably because he knows I can worm my way out of a lot.” He acknowledges me with an up-nod and a smile, one that softens when he sees the baby in my arms.
“You want to feed her?” I ask him. “She has a quarter of the bottle left.”
“Nah, that’s okay.” His face is unreadable. “She looks comfy in your arms.” He gives me another smile, and I send one back.
We professed our love to each other on the front lawn, his family is locked away in jail, and so today does feel like a renewal for Donnelly and me. A fresh start with the version of myself who only has a diary and a month of experiences with him. The newness is exhilarating and nerve-wracking because I can’t figure out where we go from here.