Page 68 of Knocked up By the Minotaur

My heart drops, and I turn away. “Sure, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah. “

“Grace.” He touches my forearm, and I look back. “I don’t… I don’t like that you saw melike that. The way Sera was—it was still a reflection of me. Of the male I was, the male I don’t want to be. He’s shallow, hollow, and constantly running. I don’t want to run anymore.”

I stare at him, at the way his brows are creased and his eyes are darting all over my face as if desperately mapping every detail.

“I’m sorry about Sera, because I’m sorry that part of myself ever had to touch you at all. You’re so much better than that.”

My chest pangs, and the defensive stiffness in my shoulders loosens. I let out a breath and begin walking again. “Oli, I’ve never held your past against you. I’m not judging you.”

He keeps pace beside me. “You have every right to.”

“I’m not judging you.” I level him with a glare, and he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and smiles fleetingly.

We walk on in silence again. Lucas continues to dart around nearby, keeping close, until eventually Oli speaks with a quiet voice.

“I’m sorry that I made you feel as if I didn’t want…this. Our… Our ch—” he huffs and falls silent, before grabbing my hand and stopping us again.

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how to be a father.”

My heart plummets, sinking straight through my stomach and to the floor, but I purse my lips and force myself to hear him out.

“I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never had one—not a good one, anyway. My father, he—” Oli shoves both his hands into his bomber jacket again, and now his eyes are flying everywhere—to the sky, to the floor, to the trees. He looks flighty, somehow. Uncomfortable. His ears make little twitching flicks against his horns, and his shoulders hunch. “My father had a Mating Mark on his wrist, the sign of Fated Mates for minotaurs. But my mother died giving birth to me, and I don’t think he ever forgave me for it.” Oli’s eyes are no longer meeting mine, and now my heart is twisting for a different reason. “He raised me, because that’s what she would have wanted. But he was… absent. He supported me financially, he existed and allowed me to exist by his side. But he… He wasn’t… All I’ve ever known is loneliness.”

His lips curl into a smile completely devoid of warmth, and he seems to force himself to look back at me. “His heart died with his mate, and he had nothing left to give to me, or any female he brought into his life for the convenience of helping to raise me. He disappeared when I was eighteen. I don’t know if he’s still alive, or not.”

A chill runs through me, and it’s from more than just the cold breeze that picks up around us.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling a lump forming in my throat.

“I know I hurt you last night with my reaction,” he continues softly. “I don’t know what being a father looks like. I was… scared. Terrified, actually, as pathetic as that is.”

“Oli, don’t… “

“I’m a fifty-year-old male, and I’m scared. Of you. Of the miracle you’re growing inside you. Last night, I p—I panicked.” He draws in a breath, and it sounds desperate. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—didn’t want to react like that, I—I just—”

“Oli,” My throat feels tight, and my words come out thick as I dart towards him, laying both my hands on his chest. Tears sting the back of my eyes and my heart hurts for him, as I watch him try so hard to hold himself together. “It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you. Come here.”

I hug him tightly, and he sinks down into my embrace. His arms wrap tight around my back, his nose presses into my hair, and he takes several slow, deep breaths.

“I lo—I love you, Grace,” he whispers, and I squeeze my eyes shut as tears form behind my lids. “I don’t know how to be a father, but I want to try. I want to try with you.”

A whirlwind of emotions crash through me—relief, joy, shock, and a burst of hot, almost violent love rushes through me, as if every feeling I’ve been making myself hold back has finally smashed through my walls and is pouring into me uncontrollably. The weight I’ve been carrying, the fear of being hurt again, and that desperate voice at the back of my head always telling me to be careful, to hold back—it all disappears.

When I pull back to look at him, the sincerity in his eyes is unmistakable. It’s real, tinged with fear and self-doubt, and all the more beautiful for it.

Suddenly, a little body barrels into our legs and I startle, before laughing tearily and looking down into Lucas’s delighted, confused face.

“Why’re we hugging? I wanna hug, too!”

I’m about to pick him up but Oli beats me to it, bending down to scoop him against his chest. “You wanna help me with something, little lamb?”

When Lucas nods enthusiastically, Oli bends again, dropping into the dirt on one knee. He sits Lucas on his bent thigh, and smiles. “Can you reach into my pocket, and take out what you find there?”

Lucas does so, pulling out a small, dark navy box. My heart stutters, and I dart my eyes between the box and Oli’s face.

“What…”

“Open it,” Oli tells my son, “and hold it up for your mom to see.”

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