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“I don’t expect you to. I had to keep my distance. Kostya would keep you close so he could brag about you to everyone, but Asya and I knew he suspected.”
Excuses. That’s all this is: a load of fucking excuses to placate me into accepting him as my new father figure and probably a new member of the family. Makari and Sofiya already have bets placed on how long his proposal to Mama will be.
Fuck!
Mak. Sofi.
I don’t know what to tell them.
I don’t know if I can tell them.
“So… what do you want?” I, personally, want to get out of this overheated box and far the fuck away from the emotions strangling my throat. “Why… why now?”
Arlo shoves his hands back into his pockets and toes the old carpet. “I can’t change the past, Pasha. No matter how much I wish I could. But I want a future with your mother, my Asya. I want to spend the rest of my life living it with her like we always dreamed of doing. And… I don’t know. Maybe someday, get to know you better. As my son.” He clears his throat again and drags his eyes up to mine. They’re swimming with tears, I notice with shock. The tough old bastard is on the verge of letting them loose. “I had to wait, of course. Until my wife died, until Kostya died. From that point, it’s just been a matter of setting everything into place so I could be here and not have to worry.”
I hate that it makes sense. I hate that everything he’s said makes sense.
I hate all of this.
It’s late when I finally stumble back home, reeking of booze and mumbling incoherent shit about fathers and sons and duty. I only realize just how drunk I really am when I try to fit the key into the door lock and miss half a dozen times before it finally goes.
I collapse into bed half-clothed, still mumbling. It’s like hearing someone else’s voice come out of my mouth. I’m not sure where I stop and the rest of the world begins. All the lines are blurred.
Something nonsensical rises out of the chaos in my head.
I want another baby.
“Did you hear me?” I mumble into the back of Daphne’s neck as I slide into bed beside her. God, she’s so warm. And soft. I wrap her up in my arms and bury my face in her hair. “I want another baby.”
She hums in her half-asleep way and pats my hand. “Let’s get this one out of diapers, first.”
“I want so many babies. And unlike some people, I’m not gonna just… just… pump and dump.”
I feel her go still. “You talked with Arlo?”
“Fuck Arlo.”
Daphne rolls over to look at me. Her nose wrinkles. “Gah! Pasha! What, did you drink the whole bar?”
“I tried to.”
“I can tell.” She pulls me close and guides my head to her chest. “Come here. Talk to me.”
I don’t want to talk. I want to fuck. I want to bury myself in her and forget all about everything.
Unfortunately, I may have downed one too many shots of Frangelico and top shelf vodka and bourbon and… and…
Fuck, I can’t even remember. Whatever I could reach. Whatever went down the fastest.
“I hate fathers.” I hear the mumble roll from my mouth before I register actually saying it. “I had a father. He was terrible. Now, I have a new father… or is he old? Shit, I don’t know.”
“Arlo isn’t Kostya, though.”
“I know.”
“In many—well, actually, from what I hear, every way, Arlo is better. Which means you’re better. You don’t have to be afraid of being like Kostya anymore.”
“I know.”
