Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
A small smile curves his lips, and he just…stares.
“Hey,” I whisper, and slowly, his head turns my way. “Penny for your thoughts?”
The sharp angles of his face are soft in this moment, and he adjusts his chair so it’s facing mine, then bends forward, yanking mine closer.
He reaches out, tugging on one of my braids, and takes my hand. “You can have them for free.” He holds my gaze, promising, “You can have anything you want from me.”
Can I have your future?
The thought is so sudden I jolt, and Mason catches it, his eyes piercing mine as he searches for the source.
“Mase,” I whisper, glancing at the others and back. “What are we doing?”
Mason swallows, his thumb rubbing circles over mine. “Whatever you want.”
“But what do you want?”
“You. Him.” His answer is instant. Sure.
Absolute.
It’s as exhilarating as it is alarming. How could he be so certain? “You’re so young—”
“Older than you, Pretty Little.”
“You know what I mean,” I murmur, my heart rate doubling. “This is my life. I made choices that led me here, and I understand my responsibilities. I welcome them now, but you…” I trail off, Mason’s head shaking as if to deny or refute my words, but they’re true.
I am a mother.
I have a son.
He is my life, and every decision I make will be with him in mind. Those decisions won’t always be easy, and sometimes, they’ll be sacrificial, but I am prepared for that. It’s my reality.
It’s not his.
It doesn’t have to be his.
“You can walk away anytime you want, you know,” I manage to say. “You have no obligation here.”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He frowns, pulling away and pushing to his feet, but only so he can come closer and tug me to mine. His hand comes around me, cupping the back of my neck, and he holds my gaze to his. “My father told me once a man worthy of the woman he wants lives and functions one way and one way only. It made no sense to me before, and I kind of thought he was crazy, but I get it now. He said when I knew, I’d be selfish.”
An unexpected laugh leaves me. “That is…not the philosophical line I was expecting. I was waiting for something earth-shatteringly profound.”
“My dad is more about action than words.” He grins but quickly grows somber once more. “But it’s true, Pretty Little. I feel it. When it comes to you, to both of you, I am selfish. I want all your time. All your tears. All your smiles. I want all of you, always, and I don’t want to share. I’m a good five seconds from going over there and killing my sister’s mood ’cause I want to show Little D the fish and the ducks, and I want to hold his little hands while he pretends like he’s walking on his own across the bridge. Because I’m selfish. Because I know what I want.” His eyes hold mine, his thumb running along my cheek. “I want you. Any way you’ll let me. Always.”
Before I can respond or break down in tears, as I’m pretty sure they’re coming, Ari and Noah rejoin us.
The conversation quickly shifts, and for the rest of the afternoon, I find all I’m waiting for is when the three of us can go up to our room, grab our things, and head back to the Avix campus to spend the last few hours we have together locked away in Mason’s room.
My lips curve as I peek over at Mason, Deaton now locked in his lap.
I guess he’s not the only one feeling a little selfish.
The moment the thought enters, a second, sobering one follows.
I’m not allowed to be selfish.
I have a child to think about.
His future to consider.
To be the best mom I can, to protect him from another potential loss, I can’t be selfish.
I have to be selfless.
It’s a little after ten when I finally move Deaton into the playpen. I kept him on the bed as long as I could, trying to make sense of the million thoughts and concerns and worries working their way through my mind.
My nerves are wound tight, my hands wringing together as I step back around the small divider Mason put up that separates the living room space from the bed, and there he is, as in tune with me as ever.
Mason sits on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, a dejected expression on his handsome face as he meets my gaze with a small, forced smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Come here, Pretty Little,” he whispers, holding a hand out and widening his legs so I can slip between them.
I do, the position one of the few that brings us nearly eye level, mine just a few inches above his. His hand comes up, and as gently as ever, he tugs on my braids, a soft smile on his lips. “I love your hair like this.”