“Fuck you!” he snarled. “What the fuck, man? She’s my girl too!”
“Is she?” I challenged. “You’re still in the mob life, Cole.”
“You know I love her. Don’t fucking do this shit to me. She belongs to me too. We’re having a baby?—”
I laughed. “I’m having a baby with her. Not you.”
“Fuck you, Ass Hat. We both know she’s carrying my kid. Give me her fucking address.”
There was shuffling and a female voice in the background.
“Hold on,” Cole muttered into the phone. “Hey, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m Enzo’s assistant,” the female called out. “I’m here to assist.”
“I told your ass to get fucking lost. Wasn’t the broken arm enough? Need me to break the other fucking one?”
“Cole. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I have shit to do. We’ll talk later.” I pulled the phone away from my ear to hang up.
“Wait, dick! Hey!” Cole shouted. “Please. Give me the address.”
“How badly do you want it?” I asked.
“What the fuck do you mean? You know how much I want it.”
“Tell me,” I said. “Beg me, Scott.”
He sighed. “Fuck, I hate you. Can you give me Rosalie’s address?”
“Use your manners,” I said.
“Give me my girl’s address, and I won’t break my foot off in your ass,” he snapped.
I chuckled. “You’re awful. Try harder. Please goes a long way.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Anson, please give me Rosalie’s address. I want to take…ourgirl breakfast.Please.”
“What are you taking her?” I asked.
“Fuck, man. Come on!”
“Ah, ah, ah,” I tsked at him. “Be nice. We really need to work on your manners.”
“I’m taking her something I made,” he mumbled.
That intrigued me. I didn’t know he cooked.
“What is it?”
“It’s just standard stuff. I made her heart-shaped pancakes with blueberries since they’re her favorite,” he said, his voice soft. “I made these scrambled eggs she likes. At least she used to. And toast with her favorite grape jam. I even squeezed fucking oranges for an hour to make her a glass of juice.” He went quiet for a moment. “So can I please have her address? I want the baby to eat. I want her to eat. Please, Anson.”
“I’ll text it to you,” I said, all teasing gone. “She’ll like her breakfast. Thank you for doing it for her.”
“I love her,” he replied. “You know I do. I’m trying, man. I am. I have a lot of wrongs to fix. You don’t have any idea how hard it was for me to give her up all those years ago. I didn’t want to. I just… I’m not good at apologies. I buy her pretty things to say I’m sorry because I’m not a fucking poet with words. I do things for her to make her smile. And I fuck. It’s all I’m good at. So fucking let me use what god gave me. I’m not working with much here, Ass Hat.”
“You’re working with more than you give yourself credit for,” I said, putting him on speakerphone. I sent him the text of her address. “I sent the address.”
“Thank you,” he said, relief flooding his voice.
