Page 97 of How to Prevent a Fumble

I also never liked kids, but Elara’s alright. Even if she wants to eat my heart, apparently.

It’s thirty minutes before I hear the key in the door.

It opens slowly, and a second later I hear the quiet pitter patter of small paws on the hardwood. A second later, Champ turns the corner, her brown eyes meeting mine before she breaks into a full sprint toward me, leaping onto my lap.

“Have fun today?” I ask her with a smile as her eyes stareinto mine. She jumps forward, trying her absolute hardest to lick my face.

I’m not sure I’m ready for that stage of dog parenting yet.

Briar walks by me, a sleeping Elara in her arms.

“Bri—”

Her eyes meet mine, and they’re angry.

Because of course they are. I knew they would be.

She shakes her head, her gaze flickering down to her daughter in her arms as she continues down the hall to Elara’s room.

About five minutes later, she returns, her arms crossed over her chest.

And she’s silent.

“I’m sorry,” I start, looking at my hands.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for doing all of that without asking you.”

She bites her lip, her hand massaging the back of her neck as she looks at the ceiling. “Leo, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me.”

I don’t reply.

“Why? I need you to tell me why you did it.”

It’s an easy question. “Because I want you to be happy.”

“But what are you going to want for it? That SUV alone is over a hundred thousand dollars, Leo. You’re paying for Elara’s college basically. Giving us a roof over our head. Why are you doing it?”

“Because I care.”

She shakes her head.

“Is it because you care? Or is it because you need some sort of control?”

Heat floods me as the sound of her voice starts to feel further and further away. “I want?—”

“Leo, normal people don’t do that, and I don’t need to owe you anything.”

I know she has a point. I know that this is trauma talking.I know that she has every right to question a man she’s not in a real relationship with, one she has a contractual obligation to, giving her expensive gifts.

I get it.

But as much as I’m angry about my motives being questioned, I have to ask myself if I’m more upset that that’s what she thinks simply because I so desperately want her to ask if I’m doing it because Ilikeher instead.

I want her to think, even just for a moment, that this is me trying to win her over.

But I should know better. Women like Briar don’t settle forthings.

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