Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
My blood runs cold. “Fuck that.” I close my eyes.
“I offered her a flat five million if she would sign over rights to him,” she says, and I wait for it. “Not surprisingly, she jumped on it.”
“Fucking bitch,” I say out loud, and then I don’t have time to think anything else when she continues.
“I didn’t get to the best part yet. If you do any interviews about or with Jack, she needs to be involved.”
“What the fuck does she think? I’m going to do a spread in People?” I ask, closing my eyes.
“Well, if you do, she wants to be there every step of the way. The loving mother.”
“She’s fucking insane. My son starts a new drug in the coming weeks.”
“How much is it costing you?” she asks me.
“I have no fucking clue, and I don’t care either,” I tell her. “I would give everything I have to make him better.”
“They don’t make men like you anymore,” she says and then stops abruptly. “I’ll let you know if she makes any other demands.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait to see what else she comes up with. Botox for life.”
“Shh.” She laughs. “Don’t give her any ideas.”
I laugh and hang up the phone, letting my head hang forward. “The loving mother, my fucking ass,” I say and then turn to walk upstairs, wondering where Jack and Denise are.
I walk into my room toward the en suite and see that the lights are off. I turn on the lights and see that the bubbles are the only thing still in the tub. Turning back around, I walk out to the left and slowly approach Jack’s room as I hear them talking.
“Would you read me a bedtime story?” Jack asks her.
“Only if we get to cuddle in that comfy bed of yours,” she says, and he claps his hands. “Which story did you have in mind?”
“Love you Forever,” he says, and I close my eyes, standing outside the room. He would ask his mother to read that book to him every single night, and she never had the time. She always said it was bedtime.
“That’s my favorite,” Denise says, and my heart fills. I stand in the hallway and listen to her read him the story. Peeking in, I see them cuddled in the middle of his queen-size bed. Her back propped up on the pillows and one arm is outstretched so Jack can lay on her arm. One hand holds the book while she reads the story to him.
“When I get big, I’m going to rock my dad,” Jack says to her, looking up.
“Really?” Denise says. “You need to get big and strong for that.”
“I will.” He looks at her. “And you are going to make me strong.”
“Honey,” she whispers to him, “we are going to do everything we can to make you strong again.”
“And I’m going to have hair like Michael,” he tells her.
“You are?” She looks at him, and he just nods his head.
She finishes reading to him, and she just stays there, rocking him in her arms as his eyes get heavier and heavier. She leans down and kisses him on the head once he is fully out and slowly peels herself away from him. Turning off the light by his bed, she walks out of the room and sees me.
“Sorry, did you usually tuck him in?” she says. “I didn’t even think to call you.”
“He is five years old,” I tell her, my voice low, “and his mother never held him like that at bedtime.” I’m not sure why I’m telling her, but I am.
“That’s her loss then,” she says.
“It is, but it also made it hard for me to watch”—I look down—“you with him. I just hope I’m enough for him.”
She comes close to me, reaching up and touching my cheek. “You are everything to him.” If I turned my face, I would be able to kiss her hand. If I reached out with my hand, I would be able to hold her in my arms. If I was bold enough, I would take her in my arms and hug her, feel her. But instead, I just nod my head at her. “I should go,” she says and turns to walk down the stairs. I follow her, biting my tongue to keep from asking her to stay.
Instead, I watch her put her jacket on and slip on her boots and then tell her, “Thank you for coming over and cooking.”
Her smile is the most genuine I’ve ever seen. “It was so much fun,” she says, and she means every single word of it.
“Any word on Sarah?” she asks me.
“She has strep,” I tell her. “She sent me a message that she is just starting meds.”
“Are you going to be okay with Jack?” she asks me, and I shrug my shoulders.