Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
“Camryn?”
“What?”
“I said, shut up.”
“Where is he now?”
“April’s getting him ready and taking him to school.” Dec pushes his lips into my head and starts unravelling our legs. “My phone.” He scrambles to the edge, the vibrating phone breaking through the rustle of the sheets. As Dec roots through the pocket of his sweatpants, I think of all the times we weren’t together over the past few weeks. The calls he took quietly. The calls he missed. The fact he didn’t come to see me later on his birthday. He was taking care of his boy. I can’t ask myself how I didn’t know, because who would have? There were no signs whatsoever. No kids’ stuff around his house, no smears on his expensive suits, no crumbs in his car.
“How did you get into my flat?” I ask, sitting up in the bed, the duvet puddled around my naked body.
He unbends, his phone in one hand, my keys in the other. “You left them in the door.” Disapproving eyebrows are raised as he chucks them onto the bed, and I shrink. “April?” he says, wandering over to the window, looking out at the view of the street. I rest back against the headboard and check the time. Eight thirty. I need to call the office. My lips twist in contemplation as I find Dec by the window again. Naked. He works. Is a single dad. Where the hell does he find the time to work out, because that body can’t naturally be that firm? “Put him on the phone,” he says, wedging a hand into the window frame, making his back muscles undulate. I grab my phone to distract myself, feeling all kinds of wrong admiring his body while he’s on the phone to his son. I start texting Thomas to let him know I’m feeling no better.
“Hey, little fella,” Dec says, turning and coming back to the bed, sitting on the edge. “We talked about this, remember?” He squints, listening hard. “You loved it yesterday. Lynette spent weeks making it, and you look so cool.” He blinks. Frowns. Sighs. “Put Aunty April back on.” He drops to his back and stares at the ceiling. “On a scale of one to full-blown meltdown, where are we?” His palm meets his forehead. “Okay, I’m on my way.” Hanging up, he drops his head to the side. “I’ve got to go.”
“Is everything okay?”
Getting up, Dec pulls on his sweatpants and feeds his arms through the sleeves of his hoodie, stretching the neck to get it over his head. “It’s the nativity play today at school. He’s decided he’s not going to be in it.” He gives me a pained look. “I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t apologise.” I wave him off, but, unreasonably, feel the loss already.
Dec comes to me, bending over the bed as he pulls his hoodie down his torso. “I’ll call you, okay?”
I want to say, Will you? Please do. Don’t forget about me. But that would be inappropriate. Of course his son comes first. “Okay.” I cup his face with both hands and kiss him square on the lips. “I hope you figure it out.”
He blows out his cheeks. “I’m not hopeful. He’s got his granddad’s stubborn streak, and it’s definitely nature not nurture, because he never fucking sees him.” I press my lips together, not sure if it’s fitting to laugh. “I love you,” he says, our eyes level.
“I love you too.”
Pushing off the bed, he strides to the door but stops on the threshold. It’s a few long seconds before he turns around. “Why don’t you come?” he asks and then bites down on his lip.
I still on the bed, thrown. “What?” I murmur, as if I didn’t hear him. “Oh, I’m not sure . . .” I fade off. That it’s a good idea? “I think—” My eyes drop to the mattress and dart.
“No, fuck, that was a stupid idea.” Dec shakes his head. “Forget I said anything.” Forcing a smile, he backs out, and I feel so fucking awful, like I’ve rejected him but, even worse, rejected the most precious thing in his world.
Again.
Dec disappears, and I sigh, wanting to kick my own arse around the bedroom.
Re-reading my message to Thomas, I click send and then falter from throwing my phone aside in frustration with myself when I see Dec’s messages from last night. I click them open. And my heart slows with every word I read on all of the five messages.
I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.
I love you. I don’t know if it means anything anymore, but I love you.
Please, tell me we can figure this out. I’ll do anything you need me to do.
I love you.
I need to come to you, Camryn, but I’m terrified you’ll reject me.
I stare at his final message, sent at midnight. He was scared, and yet he came anyway.