There’s a stretch of stillness, the water settling around us, and then Story is spinning to face me, features hard and sure. “Bullshit.”
I shield my nuts, yelping, “Careful!” but she steamrolls over me.
“First of all, there’s a difference between being a good provider and being a good father.” She tucks her knees up, but I pry them apart, threading her feet around my hips. “Second of all, Killian and Tristian don’t shoulder our financial burdens because you wouldn’t be able to. They do it so you won’t have to. So you can chase your dream and do something you love.” There’s an unbearable sadness in her eyes when she looks at me, cupping her hands around my elbows. “I don’t believe for a minute you couldn’t provide for us if you absolutely had to. What was it you told me?” Her lips quirk up into a shadowed grin. “People like us find a way, because there’s no other option.”
Those are nice words, but they don’t really cut to the center of this roiling doubt in my chest. It’s been a long time since I could look into this girl’s eyes and make her cower away, and it doesn’t work now. Instead, it just pulls the words out of me like a decaying tooth. “Baby, I don’t know what my place is here.” I soften it by touching her belly again, fanning my fingers out as if I could hold the future inside.
“You still don’t get it,” she says, head tilted as she regards me. “That is your place, Dimitri. Killian and Tristian… they’re practical men. And that’s useful and good, and it suits them. But you,” she holds my hands to her belly, giving me a wistful smile, “you’re going to be the dad that teaches her to follow her heart. You’re going to show her music, and who knows—dance, art, whatever makes her heart sing. You’re going to teach her that it’s worth something, and she’s going to be such a happier person for it, because I don’t care what you say. You could earn money hand over fist by making commercial music.”
My head snaps back in outrage. “Commercial music? I’d rather be poor.”
“Exactly,” she says, laughing. When it dies down, she gives me this long look—soft and assured. “You’re going to be a fantastic dad. You’ll see.”
Still, I frown, eyes falling to her stomach. “And what am I going to tell her the first time she comes home crying because some jackass at school was a dick to her?” Quieter, I wonder, “What am I going to tell her when she asks why boys are so mean?”
“You tell her the truth,” she says, reaching out to cup my cheek. “That you’re all sentient manifestations of Satan’s ballsack.”
I swat her wrist away, glaring halfheartedly. “You’ve been spending too much time with Ms. Crane.” When she’s done laughing, I add, “I’m serious. Being a girl must be shit. All the guys want to fuck you, hurt you, or some combination of both, and the girls all want to compete with you for the privilege. One day, she’s going to ask us how we met. What the fuck am I supposed to say?”
She lifts a shoulder, all casual. “We’ll tell her we met through Killian.”
Blandly, I correct, “We’ll lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” she argues, scooting closer. “It’s just a little stripped down.”
I pitch forward, my forehead landing on her shoulder, and it feels like the flutter of her fingers in my damp hair is the only thing anchoring me down. “Can I tell you a secret?” I whisper, eyes falling closed. At her hum, I confess, “I’ve been looking into this music academy nearby…”
She pauses. “You want to go back to school?”
I roll my forehead against her shoulder. “Not for me. For her.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
When her fingers resume their soft massage against my scalp, I explain, “I could teach her piano. Or guitar. Drums. Violin. Anything that calls to her.” I rub my thumb against her belly, imagining it. “We could play music together.”
There’s a smile in her voice when she says, “You could.”
Nodding, I conclude, “So I don’t want you to think I’m not in this. The problem is that I might be into it too much. Sometimes I think of some little fuckface doing to her what we did to you, and it makes me fucking crazy. Because I know what I’d do.” I glide my hand up her ribs, watching as it cups her breast. “I’d fucking murder him.”
“Mmm.” She arches her back, pressing her tits into my palms. “So would I.”