Page 53 of Fall Love

“Maybe this is my purpose, Neve. Fatherhood.”

She snorts. I don’t further clarify. I keep my eyes on the road. My hands at ten and two, gripping the steering wheel tighter than I need to.

“You’re really serious?” she asks, reading my body language, or perhaps my thoughts. “You really want this. Her.”

I want momma and baby, but I don’t want to freak Neve out. She’s already struggling with too much at once.

“I really want her,” I state, nodding toward her belly. “Little Wrench.” My lips curl into a soft smile. The nickname is growing on me, but still, I say, “We really need to come up with a better name.”

Neve is quiet for a minute, staring at the road, ignoring my suggestion.

“I live here,” she eventually states. “And you live in New York.”

Yes, but maybe not for much longer. “We’ll work it out.”

“How would that look?” Neve glances down at her belly, her hand running over it in soothing strokes. Her voice is soft, meek. I doubt there is a single thing Neve is afraid of in life, but she sounds a little frightened . . . of me.

“I don’t have any intention of putting up a fight with you, Neve. You’re her mother. I just want an equal part in her life as her father.”

Neve nods but turns her face toward the side window.

This car ride is not going how I planned. I wanted to take Neve somewhere I thought she’d enjoy, not have a serious conversation about parental rights.

“Hey.” I reach over and jostle her forearm. “Trust me. Please.”

She doesn’t look at me but remains focused on the view out the side window. “I think that might be the issue. I do trust you.”

I could argue that I don’t understand how trust can be a bad thing. Instead, I take what she’s offering. She trusts me. She’s afraid of it, but I want to prove there’s nothing to be afraid of.

I slip my hand from her forearm, setting my arm on the armrest attached to the driver’s seat until Neve reaches over for my thigh, settling her hand there.

I glance at her. I glance at her hand. Then I curl my fingers around hers, lift them to my lips, and kiss her inner wrist.

Neve has a number inked on the inside of her wrist.

“What’s significant about 111?” I ask.

Neve shrugs, attempting to pull her hand back, but I hold firm.

“My dad died on the date. When Charma came to his funeral, she told me it was an angel number. Like he might have left this world, but he was still looking over me.”

I stare down at the number and swallow thickly. “Did your dad pass on New Year’s Day?”

Neve just gives me a look.

Fuck.

“So the well . . .” She made a wish at the well on New Year’s Eve.

“I’d been hoping for a miracle. A little luck, I guess. Or some help. I wished for the well to bring me true love, like Charma suggested. I love Rusty’s Wrecks more than anything, and I was hoping to keep the place.”

Christ.

“Neve, I’m so sorry.” For the loss of her dad. For the loss of the garage. For any loss she’s ever had to bear.

I bring her knuckles to my lips and linger there.

You need to tell her whispers through my head like a devil on my shoulder. Not yet, says another voice. Not now. Not after this revelation.