Page 97 of Starting Over

“That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

Spinning around, I glared at him.

“He didn’t know she existed. As soon as he did, he stepped up. He loved her. He wanted her in his life. The asshole that knocked up my mom hasn’t wanted anything to do with me, ever. He doesn’t get a say in what I do with my life,” I yelled, turning my back on him again.

I refused to cry over a man I had met once in my life. A man who looked right at me and had no idea I was his daughter.

“I wish you had never told me, baby,” he whispered, wrapping me in his arms again. Caught up in my outburst, Inever heard him move behind me. “If I could have claimed you before I knew the truth... it would be different. But I can’t. Not knowing what I know.”

“If you wanted to, you could.”

“Please don’t do this. Not tonight,” he begged.

Pulling away again, I went back to the coffeepot, replacing the pod, and setting a second cup under the spout. I pushed the buttons to brew myself a cup and handed him the one that had just finished. I leaned against the counter and waited.

Neither of us said anything as we watched each other, waiting to see who would speak first.

When my coffee was ready, I turned off the machine and added sugar and cream to my cup. I broke the silence, knowing if I didn’t, I’d never get any sleep.

“Why are you here?”

“I needed you.”

Looking up at the ceiling, I blinked back the tears.

Why did I let him do this to me?

Why did those three words hit me in a way‘I love you’never would?

“You’re a coward,” I whispered as a single tear escaped and ran down my cheek.

“I know.”

Setting his coffee down, he stalked toward me.

I quickly placed mine on the counter, knowing that when he reached me, I would open my arms and let him consume me. He lifted me off the floor, and I wrapped my legs around him, burying my face in his neck this time.

He held me so tight I could feel his resolve breaking. I wouldn’t take advantage, though. That wasn’t the way to draw him in. He would never forgive me for using his weakness against him. I needed him to want me more than he wanted my father’s respect.

“What happened?” I asked, knowing he needed to talk. That was why he always came here.

To talk.

To unburden himself.

And I let him.

I would happily do anything in my power to lessen the burdens he carried.

Slowly he set me back on my feet, my body sliding along his, torturing us both with every move. Reaching over, he picked up my cup, handing it to me. He turned away without a word and walked to the couch. Following behind him, I grabbed his coffee and brought it with me, setting it down in front of him.

He dropped onto my sofa, laying his head back with a heavy sigh. It must be bad. Usually, when he came to me at night, it was superficial. We talked about nothing. We argued about us, about my father. He would sleep on my couch and was always gone before I woke up.

I couldn’t explain our connection. It had been there since the first night we met. When I angrily, and foolishly, told him everything.

Who I was.

Why I was here.

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