Page 222 of Mountain Daddy
Pity?
She thinks I’m here because of something as small as pity?
I choke on the idea.
Then I get out of my chair, stopping before her in one step.
I drop to my knees.
Kendra twists forward, and I grip her hips.
“I need you to hear me.” Like this, we’re eye level. And I make sure her eyes are on mine. “I feelsorrythat you had to go through that. I feelangerthat you had to go through that. I feelhorrible, all-consuming fearknowing that you had to go through that. And I feelsickthinking about you doing it alone.” I fight to keep my voice steady. “But I don’t pity you, Baby Doll. And affection is just one of the things I’ll give you if you let me. I’ll give you everything I have. If you need a treatment. If you need money for a specialist. If you need to go to the doctor… I’ll go with you. But I’ll do it because I don’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else. This has nothing to do with pity, Baby. Not at all.”
Her eyes shimmer. But she dips her chin, nodding once. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I watch her watching me. “I was wrong. Everything I said to you… I was wrong about all of it. And I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you.”
She nods again. “You should’ve. I would’ve told you.”
“I know.” Shame fills me. Because I do know that. If only I’d asked. She would’ve told me anything.
“But it doesn’t change anything about my dad.” Kendra leaves her mug on the armrest and twines her fingers together in her lap.
I shuffle closer on my knees until hers are pressed against my chest. “It changes everything. Joe was an excuse I used to make letting you go hurt less.” I shake my head. “But it didn’t work.”
Her brows furrow. “You’re not worried about him finding out about…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Because the description of what’s between us is too complicated.
I shake my head. “I’m not worried about him. We’ll wait to tell him. Until we have this sorted. Until…”Until you love me back.
“I don’t understand.” Her eyes plead with me to explain. “You said you weren’t right for me. And now that you know…” She lifts that damn shoulder. “Now that you know I can’t have kids, you’re suddenly okay with… me?”
It hurts. Hearing her say that. But it’s what I did. I earned this pain.
“You’re still too good for me, Baby Doll.” My tone is somber. Because it’s true. “But I’m greedy enough not to care. You’re too fucking good and too fucking sweet for an old man like me. And I couldn’t live with myself if I kept you from a future I thought you wanted. So, instead of talking to you, I let you go.” I lower my eyes to her lap. To where she’s gripping her hands together so tightly her knuckles are turning white. “I let you go… Because I didn’t want to hold you back. Didn’t want to make you choose. But I should have asked.” I sigh and lift my gaze back to meet hers. “I should’ve told you.”
“Told me what?” She’s back to whispering.
I fill my lungs. “I should have told you I can’t have children either.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.
First time I’ve told another person.
“But…” She flattens her hands against her thighs. “What about Ashley?”
I think of my daughter.
Think of the joy she’s brought me.
Think about how much I love her.
And I silently beg her forgiveness for saying this next part.
“She’s not mine.” Admitting it tastes like ash on my tongue.
In every other sense of the word, she is. But biologically, she’s not.
