Didn't Expect You (Against All Odds #2) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,85
visiting Mom around four. Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll wait for the Spark Notes.”
We each take our turn, go to the next hole, and while Dad takes his sweet time, Ford asks, “When did you talk to Mom?”
“I had my assistant make the appointment,” I explain.
“Nothing says, ‘I missed you, Mom’ better than a call from your assistant,” he mocks me.
“At least, I’m doing something. How about you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t have it in me to see her. She let me go, and I let her go. Now, you are different. You…”
I hold onto feelings more than he does, he doesn’t say. I’m not sure why that is or why I can’t be more like him.
As we go from one hole to another, Ford and I talk to Dad about work first and then Ford looks at me expecting me to start the other conversation.
“Listen, Dad,” I begin. “Ford and I…well, we don’t get along with Ruby and her family.”
“They are my family too,” he corrects me, squatting to fix his golf ball and then looking at the horizon. “The next time we should bring Clyde. He could use his brothers.”
“We’re not brothers,” Ford jumps into the conversation. “He’s your stepson, but we aren’t related.”
“We could be a family,” Dad insists. “You are just not giving them a chance.”
“We’ve tried for years,” I remind him. “How many times have we let Clyde and his wife get away with nonsense?”
“Is this because of what Sheila did?”
“It’s not, but that’s also as bad as what they have done to us for the past twenty years,” I assure him.
“We are family,” he repeats.
“No, they are your family, and we’re done with them,” I say firmly.
“If I ever see Clyde again, I might kill him,” Ford adds.
“It was his wife, not him,” Dad defends that asshole and Ford’s jaw twitches. “So what if she took a little more commission that the contract said?”
“Sheila stole from her client, Dad. Stealing is a crime,” I growl, not adding that this client is Ford’s girlfriend.
Ford taps his temple a couple of times and his face turns red. Okay, so I have to defuse this or he’s going to blow up and instead of never seeing Dad’s family again, we won’t be seeing him.
“Well, then drag her to jail,” my father responds with some fucking logic that I can’t understand.
Ford and I stare at him and I say, “Just like that?”
“As I explained to my wife, who I adore, I can’t be paying for every fucking thing those two break,” he clarifies to us. “She broke the law, and it’s not my damn business.”
“Still, Nate and I are thinking that it’ll be best if we meet with you once every other month. Make it a guy’s weekend,” Ford explains.
“What about Clyde?”
“He’s not your kid, Dad,” I remind him and let out a long breath along with the frustration. “If you want to have a weekend with him, plan it separately.”
When we arrive at the eighteenth hole, he finally understands that from now on it’s just the three of us.
“So, if I invite you to lunch with Ruby today?”
“Persy and Nyx are waiting for us,” I use them as scapegoats.
His eyebrows knit together, and he asks, “And who are they?”
“Our girlfriends,” Ford answers. “Who you’ll meet once we think you are worth the invitation.”
We walk away without another word.
“That last part was harsh,” I mention as we drive back to the house.
“It was honest,” Ford corrects me. “Are you introducing him to Nyx?”
“First, she’s not my girlfriend and will never be.”
“I thought you two—”
“We’re not teenagers. I’m sure we can come up with a better terminology when we agree on having a romantic relationship,” I say, to annoy him.
“Whatever,” he huffs.
When we get home, we find Nyx standing next to a blackboard.
“Are you taking mugshots?” I ask.
She turns around and smiles at me and I swear that face makes my heart rate speed twice as fast.
“Hey, baby,” I greet her.
“My name is Nyx,” she corrects me and points at her abdomen. “This is the baby.”
I stare at what used to be her flat belly and smile.
“There’s a bump,” I announce, marching toward Nyx. “She’s so tiny. The size of a…”
Nyx taps at the board and there it is, the number thirteen. Baby Brassard I’m the size of a peach.
I bend and touch her belly, then kiss it, “Hey, are you peachy? Happy thirteenth week.”