Her lower lip wobbles. “Beck,” she whispers.
“So many decisions were made without me. Now that I know I’m her father, I should at least have a say in where she lives. Who she lives with. Don’t you think?”
“You’re right. And I know we need to have this conversation. We need to have a lot of conversations before I head back to Seattle. But I don’t think tonight is the right time. It’s been a long day. My body hurts. And we’ve been drinking.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But I almost push it. I almost choose now to argue my case on my rights as Charlie’s father. That I want her here, in Golden Harbor. That I want Rosie here too.
But she leans back on her hands, and it causes her chest to thrust forward like it’s on display. Damn she’s tempting. Sitting there like a delicious meal waiting to be devoured on top of that pool table. A guttural groan slides up my throat as I try to ease my erection. I’m like a teenager because it distracts me from my anger and frustration. She’s always had this effect on me.
“Truce?” I find myself questioning.
A small smile slips onto her lips, and she dips her chin. “Truce.”
I return the smile in agreement and sling back what’s left in my glass. The once sweet and burning liquid is watered down from the melted ice.
The sound of Rosie humming the song that’s reverberating through the speakers whirs in my chest. Two shots of whiskey aren’t much but it’s enough to cause a buzz in my head. I refuse to believe it’s from the seductive woman across from me.
“Besides just looking like you, she’s a lot like you,” Rosie says softly, and I train my eyes on her, trying to listen and not look at her tits. “She’s cautious like you. Doesn’t warm up to just anyone. So if it feels like it’s taking her a while, be patient with her. She’ll come around.”
I nod along with her while she continues talking but I don’t speak.
“She loves art. Which you’ve already noticed. Guess she gets that from you too. She’s been drawing and coloring since before she even knew how to write her name.” She lets out a little laugh. “Once Charlie colored on some of Weston’s papers for work. He wasn’t very happy, but after that he came home with an easel and large white sheets of paper.”
My chest rises and falls rapidly. It’s like learning about someone you hardly know but somehow you have this connection to.
“She can’t hardly go anywhere slow. You’ve seen her. She skips everywhere. Oh, and she loves candy but hates chocolate.”
“You’re kidding? Are you sure she’syourkid?” I deflect and chuckle. My heartbeat quickens and I try to inhale a measured breath through my nose.
“She can be anxious too. No panic attacks yet, luckily.”
My gut twists at learning this. She’s only six and already she’s showing signs of anxiety. It kills me that I would pass that on toher. “Why…why are you telling me this? Now, I mean. I’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”
Her eyes go wide and guilt flashes across her expression. “I just thought you might want to know more about your daughter.”
“Well, it sucks.”
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”
“I mean that it sucks that she got that from me.”
“Oh…I know, right? Who doesn’t like chocolate?” She smiles.
But I don’t find any of this amusing. I shove splayed fingers through my hair, pushing it back. “Not that,” I bite out.
“You mean anxiety? We don’t know if that’s hereditary or not.”
My limbs tingle and heat rises in my core, spreading down my arms and into my face. My heart rate accelerates and the beats punch against my chest.
“Hey? Are you okay?” Rosie’s voice is soft and muffled, almost like she’s under water.
“I’m…f-fine,” I stutter, the simplest words being forced out.
I tell myself to stop focusing on what is happening with my body and instead, make myself breathe. Just like Dr. Sam taught me. But when the panic hits me this hard, my body and my mind betray me. That’s the thing about anxiety: you don’t have any control over it. It controls you.
“Beck, look at me.” Rosie speaks louder, attempting to break me free from this before I spiral.
“Jus-s-t…keep talking to me. You know, like you used to?” I whisper.
