More Than I Could (56)

She slips out of my grip and nestles against me again.

“Hey,” I say, chuckling. “You’re not leaving me hanging. So what do you feel guilty about?”

“I … Did I just, you know, complicate this?”

“You mean, did we just complicate this?”

She shrugs, her narrow shoulders slipping against the sheets.

“I was an active participant in tonight’s activities,” I say. “Do you think I should feel guilty for something? Because if you do, I don’t.”

She presses a kiss to my side, and it melts my insides.

“How is a woman like you single?” I ask. “It boggles my mind.”

“Gavin asked me that today too.”

“Did he now?”

She laughs. “As I told him, it’s pretty simple.”

“So explain.” Tell me everything you told him and more.

She sits up, and the sheet pools at her waist. The moonlight shines behind her, illuminating her figure with a soft, muted glow. Her heavy breasts hang like teardrops, and the roundness of her stomach is utter perfection.

I rest my hand on her thigh, my fingers dangerously close to her pussy. I press them lightly into her soft flesh and will myself to listen. Ensure she knows I’m interested in more than just her body.

“I think I have a character flaw,” she says pensively. “I intentionally choose men I know aren’t a match—ones I know won’t work out. I think I told you this on the road when I broke down.”

“You did. I still don’t understand why, though.”

She shrugs, staring off into the night.

As I watch her, my thoughts return to the night on the road. “I choose to have relationships that I know won’t work out because it’s my comfort zone—which is odd because there’s nothing comfortable about it.”

Okay … “Do you pick out men who won’t work because you’re not ready to settle down? Or is it something else?”

A vague smile touches her swollen lips. “Maybe both.”

I roll over on my side, propping my head up with my hand. “It’s smart not to settle down until you’re ready because, let me tell you, kids are a pain in the ass.”

She laughs softly.

Though the words are easy to say, the reality isn’t as easy at all. The truth is, it doesn’t matter to me if she wants to settle down or why. Still, her admission feels like I’ve just lost something important, and I can’t shake that.

“I don’t know if it’s that, really.” She slowly faces me again. “I’m not averse to marriage and children in theory. Actually, the idea of creating a family excites me. I just don’t know if I would be good at it.”

I chuckle. “What does that mean?”

She grins shyly. “I don’t know what that means. It means … what it means. How do I know I would be a good wife or mother?”

I stroke her thigh and wonder how on earth she’d second-guess herself on that. She’s a natural—and that doesn’t come easily to everyone. I know.

The moment Mom and I met Kennedy in the cramped offices at CPS, my whole life changed. I went from a proverbial bachelor to a single dad with no idea how to raise a daughter. It took a minute to wrap my head around things.

And Kennedy? She was thrust into a big, loud family with a league of adoring people waiting to dote on her hand and foot. It took a while for her to acclimate, to trust us—especially as she grieved the loss of her mother.

The tears my baby shed. Night after night, sitting in bed and crying for her mom. I didn’t know how to make that better, how to get on her level. How did I sympathize with her when I’ve never lost someone, and I, sadly, didn’t really even know Monica?

But I sat beside her every night and told her it would be okay. Hell, I cried with her sometimes because watching her devastation devastated me. It took some time, but we formed a bond. We figured out our new life together. And little by little, she accepted her new family—except Luke. He was nearly immediate. That should’ve been an onus of what was to come with that kid—always preferring the troublemakers.

Despite Kennedy’s initial reticent and sullen reaction to Megan’s presence, she quickly warmed to her. My daughter has a natural skepticism of new people. I attribute that to how she made her way to me. But Megan’s genuine affection, humor, and equally no-bullshit meter meshed beautifully with my daughter, and they’ve created a special friendship.

I suspect Megan would be an amazing mother.

“It’s scary to consider,” she says.

“It scared the hell out of me. Well, let’s cut the shit and admit that it scares the hell out of me every day. You’ve met my child.”

“Did you want to be a dad?”

I roll on my back and sigh. “No. Kids were the last thing on my to-do list—if they appeared at all. I wasn’t like you. I knew I’d be a shitty dad. I didn’t even like kids.” I turn my face to face her. “I still don’t like kids. Only mine, and I only like her sometimes.”

She smiles like she doesn’t believe me.

“You’re great at it, you know,” she says. “You’re an excellent father.”

“Thanks.” I blow out a breath and stare at the ceiling. “I try, you know. I try hard to do the right thing for Kennedy. Sure, she has my parents and siblings, but I’m her only parent.” And I feel tremendous guilt for that.