Page 126 of Who's Your Daddy
He pulls me to his chest, tucking my head beneath his. We’re both still on our knees, making the position awkward, but I’ll never complain about receiving a hug from the man I love.
“Does that mean you’re moving in?” he whispers against my hair.
Ten minutes ago, the idea was absurd. Now? It feels right.
“Yes, Cal, I’ll move into your terrible apartment with you. I love you, but the cat is not sleeping in our room.”
“That’s okay.” He buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply. “He prefers Brian’s anyway.”
Chapter 45
Cal
“Want to take these wine glasses?” I call over my shoulder.
It’s official. She’s moving in with us.
But how the hell has she accumulated so much shite in the three months she’s lived here?
“Um—” Her tone is measured, unsure. She’s trying not to be difficult. She’s been so good about this move.
“I think you should,” I say, taking pity on her. She can bring whatever the bloody hell she wants. “Ours are rubbish. We can toss them.” I wrap the first and ease it into the box, humming as I work.
It’s hard to believe that Lola is truly mine. It feels like a dream. The best kind. And I never want to wake up.
When my mobile buzzes on the counter, I flip it over to check the incoming message and almost drop the glass I’m wrapping when the sender’s name registers.
Brandy: Hi Cal! Thanks for the updates! Looks like Murphy is loving New York. That makes this a bit easier…
Brandy: I got another gig. It’s in L.A. Let’s work out a plan for Murphy to visit me soon.
My stomach rolls. This can’t be real. For three bloody months, we haven’t heard a word from her, and now she thinks she can have Murphy back just like that? She didn’t respond to a single one of the messages I sent. Fuck. Did she even read them? Unlikely, since she thinks we still live in New York.
How is it possible that this woman could care so little for her own child?
I stomp into Lola’s room.
“Okay, you’re walking very hard. I can live without the glasses. But I do need a place to put all my shoes.”
Lola is in her closet, staring at the dozens of shoes that I’ve obviously already set a place for in my bedroom.
“You can have whatever you want, but she”—I thrust my mobile out to her—“can’t have Murphy.”
Lola eyes me over her shoulder, her movements jerky. “What?”
I wiggle the mobile in front of me, too fucking brassed off to speak.
She jumps to her feet and snatches the device from me. As her eyes dart back and forth, her lips move, forming the words of each text silently, her face reddening. “She’s got to be kidding,” she growls.
I squeeze my eyes closed to stave off tears. “Can she do this? Can she just take him back?”
Lola shakes her head, shoulders pulled back. “No. We’ll fight it. She abandoned her child. They won’t just hand him back over to her. But it’s likely that the court will order some type of visitation eventually.”
Heart cracking in two, I pound out a response.
Me: He’s not a zoo animal. You don’t get to drop him off and then come back into his life when it’s convenient for you. You’re either in or out. If you’re in, we can work together to find a solution that’s best for Murphy, but think long and hard about what you really want because this is the only time I’ll grant you that kindness.
I shove it toward Lola, hand shaking, and let her review it. She’s better at this than I am. More levelheaded. And I trust her to know what’s best for Murphy.
