Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
“Her name is Gravity.” I ignored his words.
“I know,” he said dispassionately, still eye-fucking me. “My parents told me.”
His parents didn’t stay in town after he ran away. They moved to Montana. They’d only seen Grav once.
Tucker’s gaze broke away from mine, landing on my hand and the diamond that sparkled on my finger. Smothering darkness fell over his face. I knew this look. He was furious.
“Are you…” He didn’t finish the question.
“Oh yes,” I confirmed, waiting to feel triumphant, redeemed, or just a little less humiliated, but that victorious feeling never came. “I’m engaged to Rhyland Coltridge. Remember him?”
A muscle jumped in Tucker’s jaw. I tried not to flinch. His anger always upset me. It was like a dark cloud following every decent moment in our relationship. And still, my big, feisty mouth couldn’t help itself. I wanted to rile him up.
“I always thought he was hot. Had a thing for him growing up.” A croupy laugh bubbled out of me. “Actually, remember that night we first hooked up? That was because he rejected me. It was always him. Everything worked out fine in the end.”
It was the same night I went ballistic over Cal and Row having sex behind my back. Definitely something I wanted to forget.
“No, it didn’t,” he said tightly, his monotonous, clipped voice sounding extra harsh in my ears. “You belong with me. You and my kid.”
Gravity, you asshole. That’s her name.
“You’re high if you believe your own words,” I informed him.
He ignored me, shaking his head. “I deserve a second chance. I freaked out. I wasn’t ready…”
Holding back tears, I jerked my trembling chin up. “Well, you can’t meet her. You don’t deserve her. Never have.”
“Don’t be a bitch. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Are you kidding me? A second ago, you were fine not knowing whether she was alive or not.” I tried to sidestep him again.
“But now you’re here, and—”
“And it doesn’t change anything,” I bit out. “You’re still a stranger, and I still don’t want you anywhere near my daughter.” I squeezed past him.
“God dammit, Dylan, why do you always have to be so difficult?” He snatched my wrist as I fled, digging his fingers into my delicate skin and yanking me back.
My back crashed against the wall, the little stones in it digging into my spine. The pain knocked my breath away. I tried to jerk away, but it was too late. A ring of white-hot ache formed over the fragile bones in my hand. I looked up at him, shocked.
“I didn’t mean to.” He dumped my hand suddenly, and it crashed against the wall, which hurt even more. “Hey, don’t look at me like I attacked you or whatever. You can’t just up and fucking leave in the middle of a grown-up conversation, Dylan.”
The pain still reverberated all over my wrist.
“You’ve always been so flighty.” He chuckled to himself. “Anyway, so—”
I stormed off into the night.
Whatever calm I’d tried to maintain today evaporated like mist.
My dreamless life had just turned into a nightmare.
RHYLAND
Her Highness returned to her apartment at 7:30 p.m. to find me slumped on the couch belly-down, her child sitting on my back making biscuits out of my hair. It was sometime around half an hour ago that I realized Gravity didn’t know how to braid and was winging it, turning my hair into one giant knot. I’d have to shave my head completely after she was done with it. But being bald was a small price to pay to keep her calm and in the same spot for more than ten seconds flat.
“Mommy!” The child jumped up, stepping over my head in the process of running to her mother.
Dylan picked her up and flung her in the air, spinning her and nuzzling into her neck. They shared a five-minute conversation in high-pitched, ridiculous voices in which Dylan found out Gravity had spent her day eating McDonald’s, getting temporary tattoos, scribbling all over her new bed frame, and watching Family Guy.
Dylan seemed strangely subdued and unaffected by my version of child-rearing, even when her child attempted to fart the alphabet using her hand and her armpit. Her eyes also looked puffy. I’d think she’d been crying, but I knew Dylan, and that bad bitch didn’t even cry when her father died, when Tucker left her, or during childbirth. She was no crier.
“Did Uncle Rhyland give you a bath and dinner?” Dylan brushed her kid’s hair with her fingers.
“Kentucky Fried Chicken!” the child gurgled. “Mommy, Mommy, he let me dunk my chicken in the beans and then in the milkshake, and we ate it, because he said everything ends up in the same place anyway!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, and I did bath with my Barbies.”
“So cool. Why don’t you brush your teeth and pick your bedtime story?” Dylan suggested warmly. “Mommy needs to talk to Uncle Rhyland a little.”