Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
She clears her throat a little. “That about covers it.”
“What for? I mean, what reason did they give?”
“Performance issues, which is bullshit. I hadn’t been there long enough to make a difference either way.”
My heart sinks. Could I be responsible for this after yesterday? The meeting was something I actioned, and Fin said the whole thing went pretty much tits up after . . . yeah, that. After we left.
“But the market is kinda volatile at the moment,” Ryan carries on, unaware of my disquiet. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the market dictates everything in this business. But I don’t know,” she adds, her tone weary. “Maybe I didn’t make a difference fast enough. Maybe my face didn’t fit. Maybe they decided someone’s nephew could do the job.”
“Yeah, that happens.”
“All this to say I really don’t know. Not that it matters. I was within my probation period, so it is what it is.”
“You’re taking this very calmly.”
“I know.” Her mouth tips humorously. “My life is about to implode—might as well push the nuclear button.”
“Is that why—” I halt, not sure I want the answer. Not sure I have a right to the question either.
“Why I’m going ahead with things?”
Things. Pregnancy. Parenthood. Life-altering decisions.
“I’m not judging,” I add quickly. “I just remember your career means a lot to you.”
She pauses before answering. And when she does, it’s without an ounce of hostility. “The short answer is no.” Another pause as I watch thoughts flicker to life on her face before fading away. “I guess I just knew. The minute shock wore off, at least. Maybe it’s my age.” She gives a quick smile, and I bite my tongue to keep from asking. “I’m thirty-five,” she says anyway.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Maybe not verbally. You?” She allows her gaze to flit over me. I like how it feels.
“I’m thirty-eight.”
Her brows lift.
“Good genes,” I say with a grin.
“Do you really come from a big family?” Her question is tentative, like she doesn’t want to give too much away. She remembers what I said.
“Yeah, I do.” My reply is kind of expansive as I lean back against the booth. “I didn’t tell you lies that night. Well, with the exception of . . .”
“What you do for a living,” she whispers.
“My family is huge,” I put in quickly. God knows how this news will go down with them. It’ll give them something to yak about, for sure. Something to worry about. Something to bend my ear over. “I have three sisters and two brothers. All younger than me.”
“That must be nice,” she answers quietly. Softly.
“It’s grand. Sometimes. And other times, not so much.”
“I don’t. Have a family, that is.” Her gaze falls to her cup, and she looks about to pick it up before changing her mind. She pushes it away.
“Should I get you a refill?”
She refuses with a shake of her head. “But thanks.”
“No family at all?” I begin again.
Another headshake.
“There’s just you?”
“Just me left. But there was only ever me and my mom growing up.”
“I can’t imagine that.”
“I wouldn’t bother.” Her chin lifts. In defiance? “It wasn’t the easiest of childhoods, which I know now wasn’t my fault.”
Knows now? Something from the depths of my own upbringing flares to life in my head. Children of God are without blemish. My parents were very unimpressed when, aged eight, I’d plucked this Sunday school learning out of my brain. They also weren’t convinced it was adequate reason for the hole in their new TV. It’s been upcast plenty in family lore, but I didn’t spend my childhood suffering for it.
I don’t know what to say, except to point out the obvious—that I’m sorry, that it’s shit. But she’s rebuffed me already. So I reach out and put my hand over hers.
“I never knew my dad.” Her smile says Fuck your pity. But Jesus—I think I get it. She was leaving because that’s what she knows. And she was leaving first because that’s what she assumed I would do. Like history repeating itself. “I always thought I’d have a family. Before, you know.” Her eyes dart away. She means with him, the bastard who dumped her and turned her life upside down. “And while this feels crazy, it also feels right. It’s not like this”—her words trail off as her hand drops to her stomach—“has willed itself into existence.”
“No, I get that.”
“But you don’t have to worry,” she says, looking up at me. “I take full responsibility. I don’t need you to step up.”
“Fuck that.” My hand tightens on hers, my voice low and vehement. These are my feelings, and they have nothing to do with her childhood, her past. “I want to be part of this. Don’t shut me out.”
“I didn’t—” She swallows thickly. Sets her shoulders. Composes herself. “I just meant I’m not out to trap you. That I get this is my decision.”