“Define okay.” I probably shouldn’t be smiling.
I’m not sure what the fuck it says about me that I am, but I am.
Knowing Ashton is pregnant with my baby doesn’t scare me.
Why the fuck would it when I’d already figured out what I wanted before she told me she was pregnant?
She was always going to be the endgame, even if it took us longer to get the damn game started. She’s it. She always has been.
The look he gives me before dumping a few peach puffs in his hand for Kyrie speaks to the level of patience he’s good at.
Patience, however, was never my strong suit.
I’m more an act now, ask questions later man.
“I was hoping to talk to you and Mom.” In typical Dad fashion, he doesn’t disappoint. His bright green eyes rise slowly from Kyrie, nailing me in place with a stare that makes me feel like I’m ten years old again, admitting I stole a comic book from the store on a dare.
“Are you coming to tell me you’re marrying Ashton Carmichael, son?” His words are slow and measured, and he knows they’re wrong.
“Not yet,” I answer carefully. Not that I won’t be coming to tell him that one day. “We’ve got some things to work through before we’re there.”
Like telling her I’m in love with her.
Like getting her to admit she feels something like that for me.
Kyrie slaps Dad’s hands, demanding all his attention, and I hide my laugh. She’s six months old and already knows how to get herself all the attention she wants. We’re going to have our hands full. And damn if that doesn’t make my smile grow wider.
Dad shakes his head and focuses on Kyrie. “Jameson?—”
“She’s pregnant, Dad.” The words hang between us as I lift my coffee and watch him over the top of the mug.
He drops his head and lowers his gaze, disappointment and resolution clear in every tiny movement.
I don’t know how many times Finn and I got the safe-sex lecture. He gave me my first condom in ninth grade. Well, not my first, just the first from him. Mav and I bought a box the summer before that. We wanted to be ready. Not that either of us used them for another year.
Aiden Murphy might love kids, but I’m pretty sure he would have been content with the one he’s holding for a little longer.
“Is it yours or Finn’s?”
“Fuck you,” I growl, seething and straightening, ready to yank Kyrie away from him and get the hell out of his house.
“Sit. Down. Son.”
“I think I’ll stand.” I hold myself back as Mom walks through the door from the garage.
Her cheeks are pink from exertion, and her dark hair is pulled back in a bouncy ponytail. She’s relaxed and happy as she greets Dad and me, not picking up on the stony silence before she beelines for Kyrie.
“Hello, sweet girl. What are you doing here?” She steals her away from Dad, then kisses his cheek and heads for me. Her palm skims my face before she kisses my cheek too. “Hey, baby. What are you doing here so early?”
“Yes, Jameson. Why don’t you tell your mother what you just told me?” The old man might have worded it as a question, but there’s no doubt that it was more demand than option.
“Is everything okay?” Mom asks, looking between us, concerned.
“It will be, Mom,” I reassure her as I stare at my father, fucking furious. “Ashton’s pregnant.”
Mom’s mouth opens and closes once...twicebefore kissing Kyrie’s head, clearly shaken, and looking to Dad. “Okay. And?—”
“Yes,” I groan. “The baby is mine. She and Finn aren’t like that.”
