24. Derek
The look of shock on Georgia’s face would be comical had I not known the reasoning behind it. I don’t know how or when our positions changed, and she ended up on her back with me straddling her, but here we are.
“So… if you haven’t had sex since Rosemary, does that mean that you’ve been waiting for her?”
The sound of Rosemary’s name on such a melodic tongue makes me cringe, but the thought of me missing her makes me sick.
What Rosemary and I had was a year-long relationship between two kids that got a little too serious before either of us knew what we were getting ourselves into.
I’d never call my daughter a mistake or accident because she isn’t one, but I do wish that we’d both been smarter going into this whole thing.
I want to hate Rosemary for what she did all those years ago, and a part of me hates myself for never tracking her down to get answers on why she left.
We’d been good for crying out loud!
She was eight months pregnant the last time I’d seen her, and the next thing you know, it’s the middle of May, and I’m finding my week-old daughter crying on my mother’s porch.
Sighing, I roll off of Georgia and sit next to her on our bed. She frowns, tucking into herself, pulling her knees to her chest as if to protect herself from whatever I say next.
“I’d never wait for such a heinous person—ever. Nor would I ever put you in that position,” I say, looking her square in the eye as she nods.
Georgia pulls inwards a little more, and I can see her shrinking away from the idea of us in real time.
I can’t let that happen.
Reaching out, I hold one of her hands in my own.
“Derek?” she says quietly, completely unlike her usual loud and outgoing self.
It scares me.
“Mhm?”
“What would you do if you saw her again? I mean, of course, I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but—”
I know that in this moment, if I don’t explain the true gravity of my relationship with my ex, then the connection that Georgia and I are forming will break.
Instead of letting the signal between us go, I grasp it.
“She left my week-old daughter on my mom’s doorstep. It was May eleventh, six days after Delilah was born, according to the birth certificate placed near her head…” I sigh, slouching as I run a hand through my hair.
Georgia’s eyes widen as she sucks in a deep breath. “She left her? Oh my goodness… she left her there on my birthday.”
“Really? Well, she left the both of us. You know, I would’ve given her everything.
I was ready to be a man for her—I was seventeen, Georgia, but I was ready.
I started making cooking videos on social media, and I went to job fairs.
Hell, I transformed my bedroom into a nursery and begged Mamá to let her move in.
Then she fucking left my daughter on a doorstep. ”
Georgia slides in close, her hand wrapping around my shoulder.
I remember it all like it was yesterday. Delilah’s cries, my mother’s prayers. It was all so much. In a span of five minutes, my world changed drastically. I went from creating a two-parent household for my kid two weeks before to being a single dad at seventeen.
I didn’t know the first thing about being a father, let alone having a daughter.
I wanted nothing more than for my daughter to have a mother. Someone to help her grow into womanhood and be the beacon she’s always needed to guide her.
Instead, she was dealt the cards of an immature teenage hockey player from Texas as her only parent.
I can feel Georgia’s rage as she squeezes my shoulder. “You two are better off. No one deserves to be abandoned—”
“But—”
“No one deserves to be abandoned, Derek. I don’t care if you were some immature teenager who got his dick wet for the first time.
You didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve you, and you know what?
I’m happy she’s gone—not happy how she left, but happy she’s gone.
She doesn’t deserve to see the two balls of sunshine that you and Delilah are.
You deserve all of the cupcakes, pasta, and love this world has to offer. Give her ass the scraps.”
Chuckling, I bend to rest my head on her shoulder. “Yeah, well, I hope Delilah will understand when she’s older. I tried, Georgia, I did.”
“I know, honey… You’re a fighter,” she says, placing a light kiss on my temple as I sigh.
Getting up from our circle of sadness on the bed, I pull Georgia up.
“Are you hungry?”
She grins sheepishly. “What gave it away?”
“Maybe you mentioning all of your favorite foods in your speech.”
“Touché.”
We walk hand in hand into the kitchen with Georgia leading the way. She makes it a point to sit on the kitchen island, watching as I get dinner ready with a small smile on her face.
She gives me a small thumbs up, turning to the speaker in the corner of the kitchen before winking at me, jumping off of the island.
Seconds later, “Three Little Birds” plays on the loudspeaker, and the small blonde is dancing arrhythmically toward me.
Holding my laughter back, I allow her to pull me into her dance, twisting my body in the same awkward way as her.
“If this is how you dance, I’m happy we didn’t have a real wedding—we’d go viral for lack of rhythm,” she teases, throwing her head back in laughter as I gape at her.
“I have no rhythm? Darlin’, you were dancing my way like a male bird on the prowl for his lady,” I toss back as she smiles, rolling her eyes at my teasing.
Georgia pulls me into her, grabbing my hands and placing them on her hips as she sways to the low reggae. My hands fall perfectly on her body, settling as if this is where they’ve always belonged as she leans her head into my chest—the food I’d been about to cook be damned.
“My mom knew,” she says softly and cracks my heart open in three words.
“She knew?”
She sighs. “She walked in on them in his office. His mistress was under the desk. That was a few months before I found them.”
Tilting my head up to the sky, I curse as I pull her closer to me. If I can’t protect her, mentally, I damn sure will physically.
“I begged for her to leave, and you know—you know what she said? She told me that when you love someone, you stay and you fight for them. Now, he’s marrying someone five years… older than me.” Her voice cracks, and so does a piece of my heart as my shirt dampens.
“Georgia…”
She shakes her head. “But you know what the kicker is?”
I yearn to be able to take her pain away.
“What was it, darlin’?”
Georgia gulps. “She told me not to be mad at him, like he didn’t ruin our family, like he wasn’t the one who walked out on his marriage. He made me hate myself, Derek. And you know what? I hate myself even more for the fact that I love him. He’s my dad, but he’s a fucking dipshit...”
How can I get her to feel better? I can’t replace how her father made her feel, and I’d never try to discredit her feelings. God, I don’t even know the guy, but I hate that he did this to her.
What would Deli say?
Georgia sniffles into my chest, pulling me a little closer before relaxing under my touch.
“Wanna know something, Blondie?” I ask, looking down at her as Agnes waddles her little tail into the kitchen.
“What?” she questions, peering up at me with watery eyes.
Wiping her eyes with the pad of my thumbs, I cup her face and kiss her forehead.
“Boys are dumb.”
She laughs heartily, throwing her head back. “Don’t I know it.”
We stay like this, the two of us holding one another in the kitchen as another slower reggae song begins to play on the speaker.
It’s just her and me in this moment together.
She doesn’t cry or feel small—I don’t think that Georgia Adams has ever been “small” in her life, but I know that she’s been hurt.
This woman, whom I’ve only ever seen with big dreams and high hopes, has been harboring something traumatic this entire time.
Does anyone else know about her father’s infidelity?
Has she been alone, silently hurting over this while cheering on her friends and their conquests out loud?
Who has Georgia been able to talk to?
She lets out a deep breath and looks up at me, her cheeks still puffy and her eyes a much more vibrant shade of green as she forces a smile to her face.
“I’m sorry—”
I don’t think when I press my lips against hers, or when I lift her onto the kitchen island. My brain completely short-circuits when Georgia’s hands comb their way through thick strands of my hair, tugging lightly.
Her moans echo through the apartment and into my mouth. The sound of her is like a siren's song, luring me into our kiss and drowning me in her.
Pulling her lightly by the nape of her neck, I groan, “Me encantas1.”
Her sighs of pleasure egg me on, sending lust through my bones as I take her mouth and devour it.
She tastes of sweet vanilla and sin—the deadliest combination. I crave more of her when we part, her lips attaching themselves to my neck.
“I…” I sigh when she licks a long strip of skin up toward my ear, biting the sensitive lobe.
“Mhm?” She hums, the vibrations sending a spark to my dick as her hand palms my hardening erection through my sweatpants.
Biting my lip, I look up to the sky and groan. Her lips feel magnetic against me, like this is where they’ve always meant to be. “Can I taste you?”
She pauses, her chest heaving as her eyes search mine, “Only if I can do the same to you.”
Yup.
My brain has definitely short-circuited, and my dick? That motherfucker is harder than Carbon.
“You want… to…?”
She gives me a sheepish smile, running a hand through her hair, “I want to suck your dick while you have your dessert. Are you going to make me wait?”
“No ma-ma’am,” I stutter, watching as she hops down from the kitchen island.
“Good boy.”
I could come in my pants from her words alone.
I stumble behind her, mesmerized as she walks into the bedroom. The sway of her hips, the sight of her bare legs in her frog print pajama shorts—it’s all so tantalizing.
What would happen if I just—
“Lie down,” she directs, pulling me into the room and pushing me down on the bed.