Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Do you not like kids?” I ask.
She smiles. “I love kids. Just not other people’s little kids.”
Rochelle laughs. “I understand that. It’s not for everyone.”
“You gonna give her a baby, Kent?” Gabe asks, snickering. “Or are you too old for that?”
Dad looks at Aurora fondly. “I’d give this woman anything she wants.”
Aurora places her hand on his arm, smiling at him.
“We talk about starting a family all the time,” Dad says. “It’s just the two of us now that our parents are gone. Aurora lost hers last year in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, my heart sinking.
“So we figured once we got into our house and did some traveling, we’d have a kid or two,” Dad says. “It’d be nice having some young blood around and doing the whole baseball dad thing or whatever.”
“Hell, you might as well,” Gabe says.
Yeah, you might as well.
I fight back an urge to remind him that he had the chance to do the whole softball dad thing or whatever. I was a cheerleader, played volleyball, and played band. I even did theater one summer and was the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz.
He was nowhere to be seen.
“Were you not a sports kid?” Rochelle innocently asks me. “I was a book kid, myself. No judgment.”
I laugh anxiously. “I was a sports kid, actually. And band. And theater. I did a little of everything.”
“I hear that from so many parents,” Rochelle says, looking around the table. “They complain about the sports and schedules and commitments while their kids are little and then miss it so much once they’re grown. I guess it goes back to that old saying about not knowing what you got until you no longer have it.”
Dad reaches over and presses a kiss to Aurora’s temple. “I know what I got, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Wow. Okay.
I shift in my seat, trying to find a way to change the topic.
“What’s everyone going to have to eat?” Gabe asks, pulling out his menu. “That ribeye looks good.”
“Oh, it does,” Aurora says, as we open our menus together. “I’m thinking maybe the shrimp, though. What about you, Carys?”
“Um, I’m not sure. The chicken sounds good.”
“Don’t get chicken at a steakhouse,” Gabe says. “Get the steak. I’m buying.”
“It’s not that,” I say, laughing nervously.
“Leave her alone, Gabe. She’s going to do what she wants to do. She’s just like her mother.”
My gaze raises slowly over the menu until it smacks into my father’s. His eyes are cold, daring me to talk back.
The last time I saw him, he barely acknowledged my presence. This time, he’s going out of his way to be a dick. He’s been in and out of my life for twenty-seven years. Whenever he pops back up, I give him the benefit of the doubt.
Why do I do that? Do I think I need him to love me so I’m lovable? Do I need his approval so I can feel worthy for other men?
What kind of fucked-up bullshit is that?
No more. I’m not doing it anymore.
I lay my menu down and fold my hands on the table. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Kent,” Aurora hisses.
“Gabe, did you tell Kent about your upcoming deep-sea fishing trip?” Rochelle asks too loudly. “I got it for him for Christmas last year, but the thought of going out in the water like that terrifies me. I’ll be in the hotel with a book.”
“I’m sorry, Carys,” Aurora whispers. “He’s been drinking.”
“Don’t blame it on my drinking,” Dad says, staring holes through me. “What do you want? Why do you keep coming around?”
And there it is. The admission of his disdain for me.
Damn.
I’ve always known this was the case, but to hear him admit it is a different kind of feeling. It’s salt into a seeping wound that I’ve carried for years. Sadly, it’s also vindication that I was right.
“Kent, cut it out,” Aurora says, louder this time.
Tears cloud my vision, and a lump the size of Texas clogs my throat. The sting of his words lingers, yet at the same time, having it all out on the table is a relief.
“Why do you keep coming around?”
That says all I needed to hear.
“You walk around with a fakeness you learned from your goddamn mother,” Dad says, glaring at me. “Always pretending like you give a fuck. But let’s be honest, you don’t give a shit about me. You’re just sticking around to see what you can get from the old man when I croak. But you’re wasting your time. There won’t be a dime for you.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my brows hitting the ceiling.
“Just admit it and be done with it. It’s time to tell the truth,” he says.
I laugh in disbelief. “Yeah. Okay.” I nod. “Let’s tell the truth.” I lean forward, lasering my focus on him. “The truth is that I’ve never asked you for a damn thing. Not one dime. I’ve never said a word to you about missing every game I’ve ever played, every birthday, and every holiday.”