Page 104 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

She looked down, her eyes studying the white sheets beneath us, before looking back up. “But what’s in it for you?”

My stomach knotted.

“You,” I whispered. “I get you.”

She was already shaking her head in defeat. “I’m no prize, Jeremiah. I come with a lot of baggage. I have zero experience doing anything besides working the front counter at a candy store. I have had one, and only one, sexual encounter that resulted in a child. A child that’s scared to death of speaking above a whisper because my father yelled any time she got over a certain decibel. I have no clue what I want to do with my life. I have no money, horrible credit, and a laundry list of negatives that practically scream that I’m a bad catch. I’m not worth it, Jeremiah.”

My stomach dropped. The fact that she thought she wasn’t worth it. That she wasn’t a prize.

I shot an arm forward and pulled her into my heat, then rolled, putting her underneath my body. “You’re everything that I’ve ever dreamed of.”

She started shaking her head. “I’m not that…”

“I peed the bed until I was twelve,” I persisted.

Her mouth dropped open.

“Every time I lose a game, I get in the worst fucking mood ever.” I continued to list my faults. “When I get sick, I turn into a baby that my family hates to be around. Even my own grandmother can’t stand me.”

She snorted. “That’s not a bad thing. You can’t help how you act when you’re sick.”

“No.” I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe you’ll be finding out in a couple of days because your daughter’s sick. What I’m saying is, I have so many faults. Maybe it’ll be you that wants nothing to do with me.”

She snorted.

“I donate or give away almost three-quarters of my salary,” I said. “If I see a homeless person on the side of the road, I give them everything that I have in my wallet.”

Her lips tipped up. “That’s a bad thing?”

“It is when you needed to give that money to someone who was expecting it,” I said. “I can’t manage it, either. I seriously can’t control my spending habits. At any given time, I very well might be in the negative and not even know it until my bank calls and tells me that I am.”

She laughed. “You’re delusional, Jeremiah. All you have to do is get an accountant that can help you. Or a financial adviser.”

“My grandmother does it,” I admitted. “She gives me an allowance every week.”

She giggled, which was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I have a college education,” I admitted. “But only because I was extremely good at playing hockey. I would’ve flunked out, no question, had my coaches not wanted me to play at their college so badly. They talked to the teachers, and I got a diploma, but seriously, it’s in name only.” I looked deep into her eyes. “I’m not dumb. I just have some serious ADD—attention deficit disorder. I can’t sit still. I hate just being cooped up, forced to do something I don’t want to be doing.”

She reached up and ran her finger along my bristled jaw. “Jeremiah…”

“I work a lot. Our season extends from October to April, and we have eighty-two games a year,” I continued. “I’m gone. A lot. Sometimes I’m only home for a day or two, then I’m gone again. When I am home, we’re practicing. When I’m off during the off-season, we’re still doing a ton of promo for the team. I might as well not be off.” I sighed. “There are so many things about me that say I’m a bad bet, too.”

She sighed. “I think those are uncontrollable aspects…”

“And yours aren’t?” I asked. “You didn’t ask for you to be blessed with a father that’s a complete dick.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Jeremiah…”

“I like how you say my name.”

Her eyes studied my face. “I’ll only let you help me until I can help pay my own way.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly.

“And you let me help as much as I can,” she continued.

“You’ll stay?” I asked.

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