Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
I shake my head, eyes burning. “That you wouldn’t want her. That you’d forget again. That it would hurt worse the second time.”
Silence.
Then he speaks, low and dark.
“I can’t believe you're the girl that I wrote letters to for all those years. There was something about you that was so familiar–so easy–and now I know why. I’ve been lied to before, Holly. But this—this cuts deeper than anything.”
My breath hitches. “Don’t say that.”
“You had my daughter, and you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know how!”
He backs up, dragging a hand through his hair. Pacing now. Angry. Caged.
“How old is she?”
“Five.”
He lets out a breath like it physically punches him. "Five years, and I never got to hold her. Never got to see her take her first steps. Say her first word. Five years and I was a stranger."
"I was nineteen. You were drunk. It was one night—"
"One night that changed everything. And you let me walk away–go back to the desert like nothing happened. Just tell me why. Because I look at you and I see a woman trying like hell not to fall back into something she already fell for once."
I exhale shakily. "It was one night."
His brow lifts. "A hell of a night."
"You didn’t even remember me."
"That’s not true. I remembered the way you tasted–and to be honest–you are using a different name now. You think I could really forget a woman like you?" His eyes flick up and down my form. “Why’d you change your name?”
“I didn’t,” I defend, “Holly is my name. I just hated it for years so I went by my middle name–Katherine–Kat.”
His lips are inches from mine now, his breath warm, his stare all-consuming.
"You disappeared, Holly. And now you’re back, with a kid who looks like me and eyes that say you’re still mine."
My chest tightens. Everything I’ve been holding back—every fear, every truth—rises up, clogging my throat. Jack doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just blinks slowly, pain radiating through his irises.
"How long were you gonna keep that from me?"
Tears sting my eyes. "I didn’t know how to tell you."
His voice is softer now, but still firm. "You tell me by telling me. I don’t need perfection, Holly. I need truth."
My lip trembles. "I was scared. You didn’t remember. You were drunk, and I thought—I thought maybe it didn’t matter to you."
"It matters," he growls, dragging his hand through his hair. "It matters so damn much I can barely breathe when I look at her."
I cross my arms, hugging myself tight. "You don’t understand–I didn’t have a choice–my parents–"
He turns on me, eyes blazing, cutting me off mid-sentence. "Everyone has a choice. You just didn’t pick me."
Tears spill, hot and fast.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I thought I was doing what was best.”
His voice breaks. “You were wrong.”
And with that, he walks out the door.
Leaving me behind.
Again.
Chapter Ten
Jack
I don’t run from things.
I never have.
Not from a fight, not from a storm, and damn sure not from a woman.
But this—finding out I’ve got a daughter I never knew about—this knocked the breath out of me like a steel-toed boot to the ribs. I needed space before I said something I couldn’t take back. So I did the only thing I knew how to do when the world tilted under my feet:
I drove.
The stretch of road between Devil’s Peak and Copper Mountain cuts through fir trees and frozen ridges, the Phantom River running alongside it like it’s racing me. I grip the wheel tighter with every mile, the scent of pine and snow curling into the cab of the truck, but my head’s not here.
It’s back in that cabin.
Back with her.
With my daughter.
King’s place sits just off the main drag in Copper Mountain, tucked behind his workshop where he carves custom rifle stocks and drinks bourbon straight from the bottle. I pull in, kill the engine, and don’t even have time to slam the door before he’s standing on the porch, arms crossed, knowing look on his face.
"Well, shit," he says. "You look like you’ve been sucker-punched."
"Not punched." I drag a hand through my hair. "Just wrecked."
He nods. "Come on. Indie just made chili. You’ll feel like less of an emotional porcupine once your stomach’s full."
Two bowls, a beer, and a ten-minute explanation later, King leans back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"Let me get this straight. She had your kid, never told you, showed back up with the little tyke at your house, and you didn’t drop to one knee the second you found out?"
I glare at him. "You’re not helping."
"I’m not trying to. I’m trying to fix your dumbass."
I drag a hand down my face.
"You love her?"
I don’t even hesitate. "Yeah."
"You love the kid?"
My chest tightens. "She’s mine. That’s all I need to know."
King nods like he’s been waiting for me to say that. "Then get your ass to the jewelry store and put a damn ring on it."