Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“No,” I say, before Harper can speak up. Ella glares, Hunter laughs, and Harper cries harder.
“My baby boy is moving out and my baby girl has a serious boyfriend.” Harper sobs.
“Serious?” I growl. “What do you mean ‘serious’?” Like hell it’s serious.
“Dad, please,” Ella begs, hitting me with that fucking pout and puppy dog eyes.
“No, don’t give me that shit.” I cover my eyes, and Hunter laughs harder. “Today is a family day. Your brother is getting drafted.”
“And you said Greg could come to the celebration,” Ella states.
Fuck! We did say that.
“Fine, you can go hang out with him… but only if your brother goes.”
“Oh, hell no.” Hunter scoffs. “My chaperoning days are over.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m about to be a Major League baseball player.”
“I don’t give a shit. You’re still her brother.”
“Landon…” Harper begins. “We’ve talked about this.”
I stand, annoyed as fuck. We didn’t talk about shit. Harper told me Ella is growing up and we have to let her spread her wings. Fuck. That. Shit.
“Whatever,” I grumble. “I’m going to see if Brady and Noah are awake yet.”
“Don’t you dare wake them up,” Harper hisses.
I stomp up the stairs of our house. When Harper found out she was pregnant with Brady, we made the decision to buy a bigger place, so the older kids wouldn’t have to share with the younger ones. After house searching for several months, we found the perfect place in the same neighborhood as Simon and Bridget, who are currently pregnant with baby number five as well.
“Dad, wait,” Ella says, running up the stairs after me. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”
My heart constricts in my chest at her question. “No, El, I’m not mad at you,” I say, giving her a smile. “I just don’t like the idea of my little girl growing up. One day you’re nine years old, asking me to build you a balance beam and the next you’re fifteen asking to take off with a boy. I guess your mom isn’t the only sentimental one around here.”
Ella grins. “I’ll always be your little girl,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I really want you to give Greg a chance.” She looks up at me. “It would mean a lot to me if you liked him. What girl doesn’t want her dad’s approval?”
Fuck, see what I mean? I don’t stand a chance. There’s a reason God only gave us one girl. There’s no way I could handle having more than one daughter.
“I’ll try,” I tell her.
“Thank you,” she says. “So, can I hang out with him today?”
“I’ll talk to your mom and let you know.”
“Okay, thanks,” she says, then takes off to her room.
Just before I step into the boys’ room, Hunter calls my name, stopping me in my tracks.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks, looking kind of nervous.
“Of course. What’s up?” We walk down the hall and into the sitting room that doubles as the kids’ playroom.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, “before everything gets crazy later with the draft.” He chews on his bottom lip and his eyes fill with unshed tears. “Richard told me he won’t be able to make it today. His new wife is due next month and doesn’t want to travel.”
“I’m so sorry, Hunter.” If I thought for a second, Harper or I could say something to Richie to make him change his mind, I would try, for Hunter’s sake. But I’ve learned over the years, Richie only cares about himself. As long as he keeps depositing the child support into the bank, he thinks he’s being a good father. The day Harper and I got married, she put a stop to his alimony. There was no reason for her ex-husband to continue to provide for her when she has me. It drove him nuts to know he no longer had a hold over her.
“It’s all right,” Hunter says. “I didn’t really expect him to show up.” He shrugs, putting on a front I can see right through. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. For being here, these last several years. For taking care of my mom and El and me, and for being a good dad to Brady and Noah.”
“You never have to thank me, Son,” I say, looking him in the eye. “That’s my job.”
“No, it’s not,” he says. “It’s your choice. Nobody has to be there for anybody, but you choose to be. And I just want you to know it means a lot to me.”
He’s quiet for a moment and then he says, “I also… umm… wanted to”—he clears his throat—“ask you something.”
“What is it?” I ask, curious as to what Hunter could want to ask that’s making him nervous. Over the years, his habit of stuttering when he’s afraid he’ll be let down has decreased, but every now and then, he’ll still do it when he’s nervous.