Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
My heart deflates that it’s not the apology I was hoping for. The one I deserve.
Shaking my head, I go grab his hat off the kitchen table, then walk back over and slap it against his chest. “Here. Now leave.”
I begin my retreat, desperate to escape as tears threaten to spill, but I don’t make it far before he snags my wrist and pulls me into his arms, the warmth and strength of his embrace breaking through my defenses.
“I’m sorry, Elle,” he murmurs, his tone thick with regret. “Really sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice drives home every word, morphing my anger into heartbreak. The dam breaks, sending the first of many tears streaming down my face.
“You really hurt me,” I cry.
He hugs me closer, his arms tightening around me. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m a shitty best friend. The shittiest of shit, and I don’t deserve you, but I’m here to make it right.”
My curiosity piques at those words. “Really? How?” I ask between sniffles, shamelessly wiping my nose on his shirt. “Did you bring fudge?”
That’s usually his go-to when I need cheering up.
My hands search his pockets, but they come up empty.
“Sorry, not this time.” He chuckles, amused. “But I have something else to offer you. Something you really want.”
The shift in his tone has me lifting my head from his chest and the somber expression I find etched across his face fills me with a hint of unease.
“What’s that?” I ask, my voice betraying the uncertainty.
His gaze holds mine, unwavering and intense. “A baby.”
Those words hit me on impact. Every muscle in my body stills, dread weighing me down like an anchor.
I search his gaze, expecting to find the hint of a cruel joke, but I find nothing of the sort, and it sends my heart plummeting straight to my stomach.
“You are unbelievable.” Shoving away from him, I head for the kitchen. “You are not going to do this to me.”
“Do what?” he asks, falling in step behind me. “Give you what you asked for the other day?”
“Exactly that,” I snap, turning on him. “You don’t give someone a baby as an apology, Gunnar. What the hell is the matter with you?”
“It’s not an apology.”
“Bull!” I point at him, calling out the lie. “You made your feelings perfectly clear about this. You can’t take that back.”
“The hell I can’t,” he fires back. “You caught me off guard. It was a knee-jerk reaction.”
“A knee-jerk reaction?” I choke out a bitter laugh. “Seriously?”
“Yes, and it was a shitty one, I get that.”
I don’t think he does. I don’t think he gets any of this.
“Look, I’ve thought a lot about what you said,” he continues. “And you’re right, we’re perfect for this. I’m perfect for this.”
“Yeah?” I challenge that response, propping my hands on my hips. “Tell me why.”
Confusion flashes across his face. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me why you’re perfect for this,” I press, my voice steady. “And I want to hear your reasons. Not mine.”
His gaze meets mine, full of determination. “Fine. How about the fact that I’m going to be in this child’s life every day from the moment it’s born because it turns out I can’t go longer than that without seeing you? I mean, Christ, Elle, these last two days without you about fucking killed me.”
That confession penetrates some of my anger, softening the edges of my heart.
Good. I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only one suffering.
Stepping forward, he takes my shoulders in a gentle grasp, the sincerity in his gaze carving its way into my soul. “Or how about the fact that I am going to teach this child everything I know, protect it with everything I am, and take care of you both, whether you need me to or not because that’s how it is between us. That’s how it’s always been and it’s how I always want it to be. You and me, forever, remember?”
It’s everything I longed to hear the other day, everything my heart yearned for, but he can’t commit this quickly. I see that now and I shouldn’t have expected him to.
“Listen, Gunnar, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. Really, I do. For you to even consider being the donor means so much, but—”
“I’m not considering it,” he interjects, cutting me off.
I pause, thinking I misheard him. “What?”
“I don’t want to be a donor, Elle.”
The rejection stings all over again. “I don’t understand. You just said you wanted to be the father.”
“I know, and I do.”
That response leaves me even more confused. “You’re losing me here, Gunnar.”
“I want to have this baby with you, but I’m not jacking off in some cup,” he says, putting it bluntly. “If we do this, we’re doing it the old-fashioned way.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding. It takes me several moments to process their meaning, each second stretching into an eternity.