Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Otherwise it would destroy you.
The problem wasn’t love itself. The problem was allowing yourself to care for someone so deeply that the loss of them cut you deep to the bone, so deep you lost a piece of yourself. And that piece was your trust in God, your faith in the universe, your belief that if you wished hard enough and prayed long enough and loved fiercely enough, it would save a life. It would save your family. It would save you.
So you had to be vigilant if you wanted to protect yourself. And I was. I did. I had hardened my heart to the point where nothing and nobody could get to me. I’d never fallen in love. I’d never been tempted to get married. And I’d certainly never planned on being a father. I know some guys who think spreading their seed is the ultimate act of manhood, but fuck that. As far as I was concerned, my seed could stay in the vault where it belonged. Maybe I’d get a vasectomy after this; that is, if having a baby didn’t ruin my sex life forever.
I looked over at Emme.
Her breathing was deep and slow. She’d rolled over and was facing the other direction, but her long hair was trailing over toward my pillow. It smelled so fucking good—like cake or something. Every now and again, she mumbled something that I couldn’t make out, but it almost made me smile. Ten bucks says she’s arguing with me, even in her sleep. Thank God she’d agreed to stay here tonight—I’d never wanted a woman to spend the night so badly, and there wasn’t even sex involved.
And it was fucking surreal to think that Rachel and I had created a life during our marathon, whiskey-fueled sexcapade last year. Part of me still couldn’t believe it. What were the odds? Weren’t condoms like ninety-nine percent effective when used properly? How had I fucked that up? Was the condom defective? Or did I have some sort of bionic sperm that was able to penetrate latex? For a moment, I felt kind of proud of my herculean swimmers, but the feeling quickly vanished when I remembered the end result.
Speaking of which, she hadn’t made any noise in a while.
My heart started to pound and I immediately checked to see that she was breathing. She was perfectly fine, but something in me couldn’t believe I hadn’t fucked up yet. How the hell did people do this? Were you supposed to just go to sleep and trust you’d wake up if your baby needed something? What if you were a sound sleeper? I wasn’t, not particularly, but what if I was? And how could she be comfortable in that thing, all strapped in that way? I’d have unbuckled her, except then I would’ve been scared about her falling out somehow. So far, parenting seemed to me like nothing but worry, panic, doubt, and guilt. Why the fuck would anyone choose this? I certainly hadn’t. And I didn’t want it.
But like Emme said, what I wanted no longer mattered.
“Everything okay?” Emme whispered behind me.
I turned to see her propped up on one elbow. “Yeah. Just checking on her.”
She put her head down again and lay facing me. “What a good dad.”
I rolled to face her too, bunching my pillow beneath my head. “I have no fucking idea how to be a good dad.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight, Nate. Give yourself some time.”
“What if Rachel doesn’t come back?”
“Then you’ll find her. And in the meantime—” she reached out and took my hand—“you’re not alone. Okay?”
“Okay.” I squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”
She closed her eyes and fell back asleep, and I thought about how lucky I was to have her as my friend. How peaceful she looked in her sleep. How pretty she was. How she’d left her hand nestled in mine, and it fit there so perfectly. I’d slept with my fair share of women, but I couldn’t think of one time I’d held someone’s hand during the night. In fact, if one of them had reached for my hand, I’d most likely have pulled away.
Tonight, it was oddly comforting.
At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I was awakened a few hours later by my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I rolled over and looked at the screen.
It’s Rachel. How is she?
In a split second I was out of bed and halfway down the stairs, calling back the number she had texted from. It rang twice before she answered.
“Nate?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my voice down, squinting at the early morning sunlight pouring through the windows.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, which you would know if you hadn’t abandoned her at my doorstep.” I began pacing the living room floor. “What the hell were you thinking?”