Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Kendrix. Her name is Kendrix.”
He nods. “How old is she?”
“She’ll be five in March.” I watch as he processes what I’m telling him. “She looks like you.”
His face goes pale. Even behind his beard, I can see it. “Is she mine?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” I hate that I can’t remember. What I do know is that the similarities between the two are uncanny.
“C-Can I see her? I mean, do you have a picture of her?” His gaze penetrates mine as he swallows hard, waiting for my reply. His jaw is still, and his eyes dark—almost black with the storm of emotions raging inside him.
I can see it. He’s worked the time out in his head. He knows as well as I do that my daughter is also his. I just wish I could remember. And what about my mom? The story she told me is nothing like what this handsome stranger—well, I guess he’s not a stranger—is telling me. Is he lying? Did she lie to me? I don’t know. I don’t see the harm in showing him her picture. It will get a reaction out of him. He can see what I see and we’ll have to take it from there. I’m used to that. My life is one big “we’ll take it from here.” I hate there are these huge missing pieces of my past that I can’t put together. Maybe Kenton will be my missing piece? Maybe he can help me remember?
Nodding, I reach for my phone in my back pocket. Unlocking the screen, I scroll through my pictures until I find one of just her and me. Turning the phone toward him, I show him the picture of Kendrix and me the day I left to come here. “She’s with my mom. She convinced me to let her stay with her so I could get everything on track with the attorney and the construction crew. Well, you.” I offer him a smile. My mother was adamant that Kendrix stayed with her, and it wasn’t worth the fight. I didn’t know the condition of the house. But to hear Mom tell it, it was in dire straits. I wanted to check it out before I brought my daughter here. Is this why, though? The real reason? Was she afraid Kenton would see her? That he would recognize himself in her?
“She has your eyes,” he says, not tearing away from the image on the screen. “Big blue eyes just like her mamma.”
“And black hair,” I state the obvious. “A trait she had to have gotten from her father.”
“Yo, Kent, let’s go!” one of the guys yells out.
He sighs heavily. “We need to talk. I have so many questions. I don’t know what this means, but she looks like me. Like us. If I’m her father, I want to be in her life. I just— Have dinner with me tonight?” He pulls his eyes from my phone to look at me. “I feel it deep in here”—he taps my hand that is still resting on his chest over his heart—“that she’s mine, Laney.” He shortens my name and it sparks something inside me. No one calls me Laney, yet it’s so familiar. I get this feeling of déjà vu every time he does it. “I want her. I want both of you. I know you don’t remember us, but I do. We have to talk about this.” His voice is pleading and stern at the same time.
He’s not going to back down and honestly, I don’t want him to. I can’t explain it, but I feel connected to him, and not just because my body is plastered against his. It’s more than that.
Deeper.
“Okay.” I don’t even hesitate. Something tells me that this man is a huge missing link to my life, to my daughter’s life. I want to hear his side. I have my mother’s side, her version of what happened before my accident. Now I want his. I can only hope that eventually, it will all come back to me, and I will learn the truth. Although, something tells me Kenton is a straight shooter. I feel as though I can trust him. But… I can trust my mother too, right? At least one would think so. I do remember growing up, everything until college, and my mom has always been a control freak. That’s a memory that just came back a few months ago, but this isn’t something I would put past her. I didn’t have a choice but to believe her. I didn’t have a name or a location or anything else to go off of.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Okay,” I say again, because what else is there to say? From the look on his face, he didn’t know about me being pregnant, if he is actually the father, but there are too many similarities for him not to be. Not to mention, something in my gut tells me he is. I’ve learned to trust that instinct since I don’t have the memories to back me up.