Page 95 of Stone Rules

“They’re good,” she says. “But I have a question.”

“Anything. Ask me anything,” he says.

“You claim you didn’t know I was being abused until I told you earlier this year, and you say you didn’t know I was molested until last December. But how is it then, that you wrote all these children’s books about those very subjects?”

“The books started out to be more about helping myself than others,” he says. “I knew that as a man, if it was that easy for me to live with and deny being abused, that it must be even worse for women and children. So I wrote a book about abuse, only I geared it towards children. I wanted them to know it wasn’t okay. None of it—the yelling, the slapping, the controlling. I thought that maybe if someone had educated me on the subject as a child, I’d have never gotten myself in that situation. Or at the very least, I never would have allowed it to continue.

“Writing that book was therapy for me. So after that, I researched other issues that might help children. Bullying, peer pressure, divorce. And I just started writing, making it a complete series, funny and interesting enough for kids to follow, but with clear messages about the sensitive subjects I wanted them to learn about.”

“But you named your main character after me,” she says.

He nods. “I did. I guess it was my way of keeping you with me somehow.”

She looks down at her stomach, rubbing her hands over it. “I’ll read them to him someday.”

“Or her,” I say, helping her up off the couch.

Tears fall from George’s eyes and for the first time, I think they might be happy ones.

She walks towards him but still keeps her distance. “Ethan is right. I still need time. I’m not sure what to do with all this information. So please give me some space. Someday, I might be ready to talk more. Someday I might be ready to see if we can be more than strangers. But please don’t ask me to call you Dad.”

He sighs, relief rolling across his body from head to toe. “Okay,” he says, offering her his hand. “How about we just start with George.”

She reaches her hand out to shake his. My own hand comes up to cover my heart, or more specifically the tattoo etched over the top of it.

Chapter Forty-three

I look at my stunning fiancée as we ride in the cab to dinner. She is dressed to the nines for our night out with the guys and their Mitchell ladies. Even as big as her belly has gotten, she’ll still be the most beautiful woman in the room.

Charlie is breathing a bit easier these days, which is ironic considering she’s thirty-two weeks pregnant and the baby is taking up a lot more room in her body, pressing up against her lungs.

We haven’t heard from Zach Thompson or his attorney in three months. The hope is, he’s given up and moved on to some other scam. The nagging feeling in the back of my mind tells me differently. This guy wants money, and he’ll do anything to get it. And I’m sure his attorney has been able to estimate how much Charlie is worth by now. She’s sold her mom’s apartment, received another life insurance payout, and the estate has been closed, with all money and future royalties put in her name. In the past eight months, she’s amassed her own small fortune, albeit one she never wanted. Add that to mine and Thompson is probably drooling all over himself.

When we arrive at the restaurant, the girls hug and kiss and fawn over each other’s dresses and shoes while the guys stand back and watch in amusement. You’d think they haven’t seen each other in years, not days.

Over dinner, I catch up with the guys to find out what’s happened since last Monday’s poker game. Gavin’s production company just contracted with a popular Iraqi author whose memoirs of the war have become a best-selling novel. He’s excited to get the opportunity to produce something other than chick flicks. He started Mad Max Productions by producing a movie based on one of Baylor’s romance novels. I felt obligated to watch it after Charlie and I got together. It earned Gavin some high-fives, but I couldn’t look Baylor in the eye for months. The movie he produced was based on their own story. And it was very, very, um . . . R-rated.

Griffin tells us about his latest photo shoot, and Mason is still on a high from getting to play more than half of the game last Sunday after the starting quarterback got injured. They won, largely because of Mason’s performance, and we all secretly hope Johnny Henley’s days as starting quarterback are numbered. Henley is good, but he’s getting up there in years. Mason is young and strong and has paid his dues.

Charlie and I have gone to every home game, and it’s nice to see her enjoy football again. She’s even started to open up to me more about the times she and her dad bonded over the sport.

Although she hasn’t seen George since that day at the office, they have been corresponding by email. Emails she shares with me, and I’m more than delighted to see a relationship blossoming between the two of them. My hope is she will see him again soon. Maybe even when the baby comes.

“Are you guys up for some drinks?” Griffin asks after dinner. “I know a great club down the street. That is if Charlie isn’t too tired.”

“I’m not,” she says. “That sounds fun.” She rubs her belly. “Obviously, I won’t be drinking though.”

“Well, if Charlie’s not drinking, neither am I,” Skylar says. “You shouldn’t have to be the only sober one there.”

“I’m with you two,” Baylor says. “It’ll be fun watching everyone else make asses out of themselves.”

“Did you just call us asses, darlin’?” Gavin drawls.

“Not you,” she says, laughing. “Everyone else at the club.”

“How about it, Piper,” Skylar asks. “Are you with us? You know, one for all?”

“Are you seriously putting peer pressure on menotto drink?” she asks, looking at each of them.

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