Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Challenging . . .
The word alone makes me smile, thinking about Pris. That girl. She’s going to do me in body and soul if I’m not careful.
Fuck.
That is, if her brother doesn’t kill me first.
CHAPTER 16
Tagger
Beckett has been fussing with his tie since we left the apartment and most of the drive to Anna’s building. He insisted he wear it because she likes it. I’m just wondering if he’s allowed to be a kid when he’s with her.
But I’ve learned that I can’t control what happens at her house as long as it’s legal, safe, and he’s taken care of. Still sucks that me being a dad to my own kid ends at her doormat.
The doorman opens the door for us, but Anna is already walking out. She hits me with a glare. “You’re late.”
“I’m actually not late.” Checking my watch, I add, “We’re ten minutes early.”
I spy the restrained grin on the doorman’s face before he pretends he’s not eavesdropping.
“We’re late, then,” she snaps, then bends down and straightens Beckett’s tie before she gives him a quick hug and air kiss. She hates messing up her makeup. “Hi, honey. Did you have a good time with your father?”
“It was the best. We rode horses . . .”
She holds his hand and stands to face me as if her son wasn’t just telling her about the past week of his life. “He has freckles,” she whispers. “Did you use sunscreen?”
Be civil, my attorney always reminds me.
I kneel and wipe a smudge off his face. “I had a great time, buddy.”
“Me, too, Daddy.” I hate the sadness in his tone. These goodbyes are the worst. I want him to be strong, but I don’t want him to hide his emotions from me. It’s a tricky balance that I’m still learning.
I bring him to me and give him a solid hug. “Call me anytime, okay?”
His head nods against my shoulder. I ruffle his hair and then stand again. Anna’s right in there fixing every hair that’s out of place. “We’re late,” she says again. Looking down at Beckett, she smiles. “Want to go to a birthday party?”
His spirits are instantly brightened. I’m glad he’ll have some fun to take his mind off the sadness of my departure. “Yes!”
“Bye, Beck. Love you.”
“Love you, Daddy.”
I slip into the back of the car, but before the door closes, I hear her say, “This is going to be so much fun. It’s a work colleague of mine. His party is being hosted at the Waldorf.”
“Will there be balloons?” he asks.
I shut the door and take a deep breath. She’s a good mother to him. She just values different things, which is her right. Being a Manhattan socialite in her teens and twenties set her up for a life different from mine. Not bad. Just not the same.
The car pulls away from the curb, but I look out the back window to see them getting into a cab. His hair is back in place, the tie straight, and the joy I saw in his eyes in Texas has disappeared.
I release a deep sigh, trying to figure out how soon I can get us both back to The Pass. Because if I’m honest, I feel the same.
Twenty blocks south, I’m dropped off in front of the bar. I walk into the sounds of a rousing crowd, TVs line the walls with every game in season being played, and a familiar face. I weave through the tables and duck so I don’t block a Nuggets game that appears to have some viewers on edge.
Baylor stands out in a crowd. He’s a big dude. Hair darker than his sister’s. Eye-level to me but they grow’em bigger in Texas. He slaps his hand against mine and then pulls me into to bump shoulders like we always do. “Welcome back, fucker,” he says with the signature smile of his that gets him laid on the regular.
We’ve known each other our entire lives and played on the same sports teams from Little League through football in college. Thick and thin, we’ve been through the good and bad and back again. We moved away to college together, both majored in finance, and afterward, we got jobs in the city. And somehow, I’m able to look him in the eyes like I didn’t make his sister come on my hand last night.
Fuuuck.
“Tagger Grange is back in the house.” He sits back down, oblivious to my deception. If I have my way, it will stay like that. “I got a pitcher just before you arrived.”
“I can use a beer. This pitcher will do.” I chuckle, but the humor isn’t there.
“Anna?”
I scrub my hand over my forehead. “That and I’m tired from traveling.”
He pours the beer, apparently not willing to sacrifice the pitcher to me, and asks, “Drop-off didn’t go well?”