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Children were never part of our plan. Katie was insistent that we would remain as a family of two for eternity.
I questioned it when I felt the longing that a man does to have a child after he meets the woman he’s destined to love.
She’d overheard her mom one too many times complaining about the life that she might have had, the career, and travel dreams that were snuffed out by the positive sign on a pregnancy test.
Katie wanted her career and me. I wanted her. I was willing to sacrifice fatherhood for her until I discovered that I was already a dad to a beautiful little girl.
“Let’s go to my place to talk,” I suggest again because I need to get her out of the rain and I need time to formulate what I’ll say. “We’ll be alone there.”
She nods without a word.
I glance to the side and catch sight of a couple exiting a taxi.
I glide my right hand down Katie’s arm until it catches her wrist. I tug her toward the car. “Get in, Katie.”
She slides onto the torn leather backseat, her gaze trained on the rain out the window.
I sit next to her, tell the driver where to drop us off, and pray that I’ll be able to put the pieces of this beautiful woman’s heart back together again.
Chapter 17
Kate
A daughter.
Never in the days, months or years of the tortured hell I’ve put myself in have I imagined that Gage left me because he had a daughter.
He’s a father.
“Can I make you a cup of coffee or tea?” Gage glances over his shoulder at me as he unlocks the door to his apartment. “Do you still like Earl Grey with steamed milk?”
I only liked it back then because he was intent on me drinking it one chilly Christmas Eve.
His grandmother had lived on the brand of tea that Gage bought when he went to the grocery store to get the fixings for an extravagant holiday dinner for us.
He came back with the tea, a loaf of day-old bread, and a can of chicken noodle soup.
His wallet was on the kitchen counter, so some coins and a few dollar bills in the pocket of his torn jeans were the only currency he had to pay for our festive feast.
It was the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.
“I don’t need anything to drink,” I whisper as I follow him into his home.
His home.
The only home Gage had before we met was a bedroom on the second floor of his parents’ lavish estate in the Hollywood Hills.
“I’ll get you a blanket.” He heads down a hallway. The sweater on his back is yanked over his head just as he disappears into a room.
I glance around, taking in the space that he lives in.
It’s nothing like the apartment we shared in California. This one has an open living room and kitchen with white walls. The floors are a light hardwood with mismatched throw rugs under the sofa and two leather chairs. A rectangular cherry wood coffee table is far enough from the sofa that Gage can rest his feet on it when he’s watching TV, just as he always did back when I’d cuddle up next to him and stare at the screen.
I look to the right where a square dining room table sits near a window that faces the neighboring building.
The long black curtains on the window are pushed to the side, affording me a perfect view of the rain hitting the glass.
I scrub my hand over my forehead. My hair is plastered to my head. My makeup must be a mess on my face, and yet I don’t care.
