Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Because I’m going to raise them.
No adoption. No abortion. I’m keeping this baby, and I’m raising them whether Baptist is involved or not. It’s a hard decision and one I’m still struggling with, but having Max stay with me taught me something important—
I’m ready and I can do this.
It’s not like I’m raising my little brother. He’s a teenager now and doesn’t take all that much maintenance, at least not in the same way as a baby, but having him around taught me that I’m capable of caring for another person in an intense way. I can do it, even if it’s hard, because it’s worth it for me.
That’s my decision, and I don’t care if it hurts, it’s mine.
“You look terrible.”
I grimace and turn, ready to tell off whatever crazy asshole decided to mess with me today. My father’s standing behind me, not smiling, head tilted to the side. He’s studying me as intently as I was studying myself, and embarrassment creeps into my cheeks, followed by a surge of anger, as I realize it’s even worse than some psycho dickhead—it’s the king of all psycho dickheads. Second only to Tony Cowan on my shit list.
“What the hell are you doing here? Did you drive into the city just to insult me?”
“Not only that, but it’s an added bonus.” His lips quirk and I realize he’s joking. “I wanted to check in with you. You haven’t been answering my calls.”
“That should’ve been your first hint. I’m doing great because I haven’t been talking to you.” I breeze past him, hurrying toward the exit. He follows, keeping pace. My father’s tall and lean, and one of his steps equals two of mine, so it feels like I’m jogging to try to get away, but he’s not giving me any space.
We head out onto the stairs out in front of the building. The sidewalk isn’t crowded yet, but soon more office workers will stream from these doors, from the glass-wrapped towers, and pour down the streets, back into the world. I love it when work’s over, and not because the job’s done for the day—I actually crave the business right now—but because I love people-watching, and sometimes I leave a few minutes early just so I can stand off to the side and enjoy the commotion.
“I know I’m not your favorite person in the world, but I need to talk to you.”
“What do you want? Seriously Dad, I’m not interested.”
“Blair.” His tone is sharp, the tone he’s used all my life to tell me how I’m a worthless failure, how I’ll never live up to his legacy, how he’s the smart and strong one in the family and I’m nothing but a failed loser. I grimace at his voice but refuse to give in and hurry down the steps.
“Make an appointment next time.” I hurry away, not looking back as he pauses on the bottom step.
“Blair, I know where Baptist is, and I think you should go talk to him.”
Chapter 25
Blair
I stop walking, all the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, and slowly turn.
Dad’s not smiling. This isn’t some mocking joke. A taxi screeches past and a woman talking on the phone hurries down the sidewalk as a cold breeze brings the smell of car exhaust and street dust. I stand there, trembling, trying to make sense of this. Why the heck would my father know anything about Baptist, and why would he care?
“That’s not funny,” I say finally, glaring, because this has to be some elaborate prank. I’m still raw from Cowan’s chain-jerking to give Dad any benefit of the doubt.
“I’m not joking.” He steps off the stairs but doesn’t keep coming closer. “I know where Baptist is, and I know he’s the father of that baby.” He makes a face and points toward my midsection like he’s gesturing toward a sack of unpleasant garbage.
My breath catches in my throat. We haven’t spoken about the baby, not once, although I’m sure he’s aware by now. I told Max he didn’t need to keep it a secret since everyone will find out eventually. But Dad never said anything in the last month and I figured that’s how we’d play it—pretend like the problem doesn’t exist, and when the baby’s born, we’ll deal with it.
I have to force my voice out like I’m pushing through an ice wall. “Now you want to talk about my pregnancy?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it at all. It’s your choice and your damn problem as far as I’m concerned.”
“Problem? Dad, this is your grandchild.”
He rolls his eyes. “Regardless. Honey, listen to me. You should go talk to the father of that thing.”
“That thing is my future baby, and I don’t want to talk to him. Why the hell do you even care?”