Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
“Oh really,” she says sarcastically. “You think you can barge in just like that.”
Misty grips her baby tightly, her eyes still shooting sparks. But there are also tears brimming on her lashes, and now that I have a chance to look at her more closely, I can see that she’s pale and tired. Her clothes are patched, and her hair is clean, but it’s lost some of its glossy shine. Her stroller looks second-hand too, with silver duct tape wrapped around the handles and the front wheels slightly warped.
Suddenly, I know without a doubt that Misty is barely clinging to survival. She and my son have been living on the edge of poverty, and there’s no way I’m going to let this go on. I’m a wealthy man, and possession flows through my veins like molten lava because this woman needs me ... and I’m here to answer her call.
“What the fuck?” Barrett gasps. “Are you shitting me?”
“No,” I growl into the phone. “Misty’s back, and she had our baby. His name is Sylvester.”
“Oh shit,” Barrett muses. “But how did she get pregnant? I thought those chicks from Sweet Lies always use protection. Like the site won’t let them create a profile if they don’t provide proof of protection.”
I shrug, my expression resolute.
“I don’t know, but it happened, and it doesn’t matter now.”
“But why didn’t she tell us?” Barrett asks. “What the fuck? Didn’t she think we’d want to know? We’re the fathers, goddamit!”
I shake my head again, suddenly tired.
“I think Misty didn’t tell us because she couldn’t find us, bro. We used fake names, and you know how those services are. Sweet Lies wasn’t going to give up our real identities just because a girl claims to be pregnant. Hell, they’re probably used to that ploy. Except, it was real in our case.”
“Are you sure the baby’s ours?” Barrett asks. I raise a dark eyebrow at my friend through the screen.
“Would it matter if he wasn’t?”
My buddy stops to consider for a moment because the truth is that we’ve been in love with Misty Earnshaw for two years now. The moment her car left the cabin, we knew we’d made a big mistake. She was the ray of sunshine we’d been missing from our lives, and the piece of the puzzle that completed us. She was the remedy for years of mindless fucking and sucking, trashing women’s bodies without any emotion. Of course, there’s a place and time for that kind of shit, but Misty rendered it unpalatable. We weren’t interested anymore, and definitely not after we’d had a taste of the real thing.
We had half a mind to call her back, and to try and establish some kind of connection, but why would she want us? We destroyed Misty’s innocence, and not only that, but humiliated her in the process.
Plus, the young girl deserves better than two asshole motherfuckers who did what we did. She deserves a man who will kiss the ground that she walks on, and who will give her a sweet life, complete with babies and a house with a white picket fence. Me and Barrett, by contrast? Shit, we’re old. We’re grizzled, hardened, and cynical, with a shit ton of baggage. Misty deserves rainbows and smiles, and not the cold, hard realities of being with two older men.
But now, everything’s changed. The curvy girl is back, and even more beautiful than before. She’s tired too, from life as a single mother to a newborn, and there’s no way we’re going to let her continue to struggle. There’s no way we’ll let our son grow up as the poor kid in his class, with patched clothes while drinking government-issued milk. He and Misty deserve more. Hell, they deserve everything, and we’re going to make sure they get it.
“So what do we do?” Barrett asks, his question somewhat rhetorical.
“We’re going to have a talk with her,” I growl, frowning as I contemplate possibilities. “Then, we’re going to turn the life of Miss Misty Earnshaw upside-down ... whether she’s ready or not.”
13
Misty
Aharsh knock sounds on the door to my apartment, and I take a deep breath. The baby’s asleep in the back room, thank god, and I had ten minutes to clean-up as best I could.
Of course, there’s no hiding the fact that my fifth-floor walk-up is shabby. The windowsills sag, the windows themselves are dirty, and there’s a water stain in one corner of the ceiling. The kitchen isn’t really a separate room either; it’s just a fridge and a stove lined up against the wall, in front of which I’ve placed a sofa and a table. But this is home for me and Sylvester, and Barrett and Chris can deal.
After all, I’m not going to be cowed by the two alpha males. I don’t care that they’re CEO’s with buckets of money, as well as power and influence. I’m a mama bear and I’m going to do everything to protect my baby, even from his own fathers.