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Her mouth popped open in surprise.
Yes, I knew about her scholarship. It was the main reason I gave her the second chance I did. If she failed my class, she would likely lose it, and that would probably be the end of her college career.
“Right, ok, I will,” she said, hightailing it right out of the classroom.
Snatching up my briefcase, I made my way back to my office, feeling anxiety building in my chest with each minute that Mia didn’t answer me back.
Funny, as a parent, I was used to imagining the worst that can happen in any situation. When one of my boys would jump mid-swing, I’d have a tiny, stuttering heart attack at all the images of the hundred ways they can die or fall on their face in the wood chips.
Maybe it was fatherhood, or maybe it was just the fact that I knew I was dating someone out of my league in many ways, and that scared the ever living hell out of me. All it would take was a single day when a lightbulb moment sparked and she ask herself what the fuck she’s doing with an old bastard like me. And that quick, she’d be gone.
Shit…I wasn’t going to get any work done when I was a mess like this.
My phone started ringing and I fumbled it out of my pocket, whispering an incoherent prayer that it was Mia.
Speaking of fatherhood.
“Yeah, Paula?” I asked, dropping my ass into my seat behind my desk.
“Hey Owen. I know it’s last minute, but a friend of mine just informed me that she’s getting married next week. It’s total insanity! Anyway, It’s a destination wedding in Vegas and I can’t take the boys. Will you watch them for a Thursday and Friday next weekend, then your regular Saturday and Sunday?”
Four days with my kids? Uh, yes please.
“Of course. Next Thursday? Not this Thursday?”
“Right. Although it seems kind of dumb to go through all this effort to go to a wedding that’ll probably end in less than a year.”
“At least you get a vacation,” I put in, though I didn’t really care one way or the other.
“Yeah, and Jamie is excited about it. We just have to make sure we’re home in time for his next game.”
“You’re going to Vegas with your boy toy?” I asked her, lifting a brow in disbelief.
Then again, who the hell was I to talk? My girlfriend was just as fucking young as her boyfriend was.
“Oh, not this again,” she said.
I could practically feel her rolling her eyes through the phone.
“I don’t care,” I said finally, knowing I had no space anywhere to judge her.
“Good. Now, I’ll drop the boys off first thing Thursday morning before I head to the airport. You can get them to school?”
“Mhmm,” I hummed, my attention elsewhere.
“Good,” she said again. “Thanks, Owen.”
“Yep. Have fun,” I grunt out, then hung up and checked to see if I had any missed text messages.
Surprisingly, I did.
Mia Miller: Sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m not going to be able to come to work today.
My eyebrows drew together again at the words on my screen.
Nothing about the several other texts I’d sent. No, just some vague ‘not feeling well.’
She was pulling away.
