Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Stormy
The boys look no different from how they did a few days ago at the funeral, but I imagine it’s going to take quite a while before they stop looking sad, withdrawn, and uncertain.
Mila looks like she’s aged several years just in the time since I left Janet and Carlen’s house.
I’m able to take all three of them in in a matter of seconds, but I get tangled up on the little girl on Mila’s hip.
That’s part of the equation I get snagged on. That child doesn’t make sense. Did Mila mention having a kid? I can’t recall a single conversation with Carlen where he mentioned a child either.
She looks nothing like her mother who has straight, dark hair and dark eyes. Her hair is sandy blonde and a mess of curls around her head. Her eyes the brightest blue. My heart kicks up, pounding in my chest.
She looks to be two or so. My teeth grind as I work out the fucking math in my head.
“We saw him. Can we go now?” Jace asks, annoyance in his tone.
I step to the side, realizing I’ve been blocking their entry into the room.
Mila doesn’t make eye contact with me as she enters. Dutifully, Jace and Luca follow her into the hotel suite. The little girl watches me over her mother’s shoulder, and my eyes are locked on her as well.
My mouth is dry, and there’s an unfamiliar tremble in my hands as I close the door to the hotel room and flip the top lock.
“I’ve never been in a room like this,” Jace says as he spins in place to take it all in.
There’s nothing really special about it, other than the fact that it’s a suite with a small living room and two bedrooms with en suites on either side of it.
I knew when I booked the room that the boys would be coming, and I wanted there to be ample space for everyone.
Mila sets the little girl down who immediately heads to the remote sitting on the small coffee table. Jace picks it up before she can grab it, pointing it at the screen before looking in my direction.
“What channel are the cartoons on?”
I shrug, but Mila is quick to hand him over a card that has the channels listed, her eyes still avoiding mine.
It only takes Jace a few seconds to find the channel he’s looking for, the animated show on the screen drawing the attention of both of the younger kids. His focus is more diligent, his eyes darting back in my direction several times before he takes a seat on the floor between Luca and the little girl.
“Is that all you brought?” I ask, forcing her attention to me as I point to the bag Jace brought in with him.
“It’s Sutton’s diaper bag,” she says, a quiver in her voice.
I’m not one to suddenly jump to conclusions, but everything, her demeanor, the way she’s actively avoiding looking at me, all leads me to believe that little girl is mine.
The sound of her name brings cold chills to my skin and a tremble that skates its way up my spine. I swallow, needing to be the one to look away this time. As much as I’d like to confront her, I know better than to do something like that in front of the kids.
“Is there more in the car?”
Wouldn’t it make things so much easier if she was a shit parent and a horrible guardian?
“There’s luggage in the car,” she says, her eyes darting between the kids and me more than once.
I can see the indecision in her eyes. She wants to go get their belongings, but she’s also wary of leaving them with me. Many would be offended, but it’s one sign that she’s not as incompetent as I’d hoped she would be. Parents should limit their trust to very few people where their children are concerned. I’ve seen too many horrible things happen to parents who were either afraid to voice their concerns or who doled out trust long before it was earned.
“Give me the keys,” I tell her, holding my hand out. “I’ll get them.”
She’s quick to hand them over, making me wonder if she won’t gather them right back up and dart out of a back exit while I’m gone.
I have to shove the keys into my pocket rather than risk dropping them as I leave the room due to the tremble in my hands.
I’m no one’s father.
I said those words to Mr. Dobbs days ago when he mentioned the Clarkes’ will naming me the guardian of their boys in the case of their deaths. I meant it, but this changes things. I’d never put the boys in an unsafe situation, but my plans with this trip back to St. Louis didn’t include bringing those boys back with me.