Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Annemarie,” I say, my voice shaking uncontrollably with anger. “Whose child is that?”
The pretty brunette’s eyes go wide, but to her credit, she doesn’t cry, although her lips thin into a flat line. Her dark brown eyes lock with mine and she takes a deep breath while staring up at me. “He’s mine,” she says finally, without a trace of doubt in her voice. “That boy is my son.”
I nod slowly, rage building inside my chest.
“Yes, and who is his father?” comes my angry hiss.
Her eyes flit to the ground again, and I notice her hands are trembling before she clenches them tight once more.
“You are, Bruce,” she finally says in a quiet voice. “His name is Riley, and he’s your son.”
Shock overcomes my frame, and I can’t move. My feet are rooted in place as my head spins, the world suddenly going blurry around me. My son? Annemarie and I have a child together? My mouth feels dry, and I’m unable to speak, much less breathe.
But then I swallow, straighten my shoulders, and try again. “How do you know?” I ask in a gravelly voice. “Are you sure?”
She nods, quivering like a leaf, but she doesn’t look away.
“Yes,” she says quietly. “That night in Springdale was the night Riley was conceived. It was unexpected. A chance encounter, if anything, and I didn’t think I would get pregnant. I was on the pill, and we didn’t use a condom, remember? But the contraception failed, Bruce, and I had your baby a year later, and… and…” Now a tear trickles slowly down her cheek. “I didn’t know your last name back then, Bruce. I couldn’t find you to tell you that I’d delivered our baby.”
Holy fuck. Her words echo over and over in my mind, so mind-blowing that I feel like my brain is falling apart. And as much as I don’t want it to, it makes sense. We didn’t use a condom. It didn’t even cross my mind at the time because she was so hot, sweet, and giving. All I was thinking about was tight teenage pussy, even though I was a grown man who should have known better.
Fuck. I’m the father of a child. Not just any child, but Annemarie’s child. And -
“And you kept it a secret,” I say flatly. My voice sounds far away, even to my own ears.
“I didn’t know who you were,” Annemarie repeats again, taking a step towards me while raising one hand. “I didn’t get your number, or even your last name. Again, it was just a fun roll in the hay for both of us, or at least that’s what I thought at the time.” She reaches out to touch my face, but I duck away from her hand, disgusted. That’s not the problem. I should have gotten her contact info that fateful night in Springdale, so I’m just as much at fault. But it’s been several months now since we reconnected, without the truth ever coming out. Why the hell didn’t she tell me?
That omission makes my blood boil. My lips pull back in a half-sneer, half-grimace, and the anger comes back, three times as strong. What now? For once, I’m at a loss. This isn’t a situation that business savvy and financial resources will fix, and even if it were, I’m too shattered from the revelation to think clearly. All I know is that I have to get away from here.
Finally, I’m able to get my legs moving, and I push past the curvy girl, almost knocking her to the floor. She gasps but rights herself, and I feel her eyes on me as I stalk over to her opened suitcase on the bed. It’s easy enough for me to grab random fistfuls of clothes, lingerie, and jewelry, my vision blurring with rage. I shove the items into her suitcase, moving fast.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Annemarie edge closer to me, hugging her arms around herself. She’s crying hard now, and in spite of all the lies, part of me still wants to pull her close, kiss her lips and tell her everything’s going to be alright. It’s not as strong as the part of me that’s seething with hurt, however, so I push the urge away, my attention on the suitcase.
“I was going to tell you,” Annemarie whispers as I grab her closed laptop off of the desk. Chills rush down my spine as she says this, my shoulders tensing. “I never got the opportunity,” she explains, and that’s what finally does it.
I whirl around, eyes blazing, clutching her computer so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. I stride back up to her, gesturing accusingly with the computer. “You never had the opportunity?” I rage, shouting now but too angry to care. “You never had the opportunity to tell me I have a fucking child? That you had our baby in secret?”