Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to calm my breathing. “But maybe that slip…” He’s already healing, while I’m still broken. Soon I’ll be lonely once again.
“No, don’t you dare go there. I told you I’m okay with us not having kids, and I meant it.” He scrubs his face in frustration. I know he feels bad for what he said, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t mean it. “I really am sorry,” he says again.
“It’s okay,” I promise him, my tone betraying my words.
We arrive at The Ritz Carlton, where Killian has booked us the penthouse suite, even though I told him any old hotel will do. He said it’s near his parents, which prevented me from continuing the argument. After we check in, he suggests we hang out and order lunch in, since he’ll be leaving in a few hours to meet Melanie. When he originally made the plans with her, he asked if I would like to go. I told him I appreciated him wanting to include me but felt this is something he needs to do on his own. I’ll be here when he gets back.
After we eat lunch, we settle on the couch. I wait for Killian to grab the remote, but he surprises me when he instead pulls out Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and insists on reading the next chapter to me. I’m shocked to learn he’s already on chapter eleven: Who Stole the Tarts? Less than ten minutes into him reading, though, my eyes slowly shut, and I pass out in Killian’s arms, dreaming of hearts instead of tarts being stolen.
Twenty-Five
Killian
I arrive at the restaurant Melanie suggested and let the hostess know there’ll be two people. It’s a small hole-in-the-wall place that if it wasn’t for how good it smells, I’d be a bit concerned. I’m sitting on the bench when Melanie walks in. She looks the same as she did twelve years ago, only a bit older. Her blond hair is a tad lighter and instead of her glasses, she must be wearing contacts. Her body has transformed from a teenager to a woman. She smiles shyly at me, and I pull her into a friendly hug.
“Killian,” she murmurs into my ear, her voice thick with emotion. “I never thought I would see you again.” She pulls back, her eyes filled with unshed tears.
“You mean you don’t watch football?” I joke, and she laughs. The tears spill over and she quickly wipes them away.
“My husband does,” she says with a soft smile.
The hostess comes over and lets us know our table is ready. We sit and each order a Coke.
“So, you’re married?” I ask, not sure how to start a conversation I requested to have.
“I am. His name is Brian. We’ll be married for six years in August…” She looks like she’s about to say more, so I don’t say anything. And then she adds, “And we have two daughters: Brenda and Bridgette.”
“How old?” I ask, unsure of what else to say.
“They’re actually twins.” She laughs softly. “They just turned three.”
“I’m happy for you, Mel,” I tell her truthfully, because I am. Regardless of what happened, I’m glad she’s found happiness.
The waiter delivers our drinks and we place our food order. Based on the menu, this place is known for their seafood, so I order the Salmon and Melanie orders a Mahi sandwich.
“Killian, I need to apologize to you,” Melanie says once the waiter leaves.
“I’m the one who should be apologizing to you,” I argue.
“Just let me go first, please,” she requests, so I do. “When I found out I was pregnant, I was scared and I went to you in hopes of you comforting me, but I didn’t even give you a chance. I had known I was pregnant for weeks. I had time to process and scream and cry and curse the world and everything else. I didn’t even give you ten minutes to process.”
A loud sob escapes her, and she covers her face with shaking hands. I’m not sure if I should comfort her or wait for her to speak again. I’m so far out of my comfort zone here. Grabbing a napkin, I hand it to her so she can wipe her face.
“Thank you.” She smiles sadly. “I was a teenager and scared, and I should’ve given you more time, but instead I ran and had an abortion, and for that I am truly sorry.” Her lips tremble as she cries. “Every day I have regretted my decision. I often wonder if it would’ve been a boy or a girl. If she would’ve had my eyes or if he would’ve been an athlete like you.”
A flood of new tears gush down her ashen cheeks. “Every day that I look at my beautiful daughters, I ask God to forgive me for not giving our baby a chance in this world. I’m…” She chokes on a sob. “I’m so sorry.” My heart aches over her words. She doesn’t blame me. She’s given me an out, but I don’t want one.