Chapter 2 #2
Figure things out? The only thing he has to figure out is how much he’s willing to give me to make me go away. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how we’re going to handle raising her.” Tucker crosses both arms over his broad chest. “I’m sure you don’t want to be far from her when it’s my parenting time, so we should figure out a way to move you closer.”
Is he fucking kidding? “Parenting time? Why would you want parenting time?”
“Because she’s my daughter.” He gives me a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with her?”
I don’t know what to do. What to say. I’ve gone over all the possibilities I could think of, trying to prepare what I would say and do once I got here. Not once did I think Tucker Bradshaw would want to be a dad. If I had even an inkling this could be a possibility, I never would have come here.
“Because you don’t want a relationship. You don’t even sleep with the same woman twice. Why in the world would you want to commit to being a parent?” It still sounds right to my ears. My logic is sound.
Tucker tips his head, eyes narrowing. “If you didn’t come here hoping I’d step up and be a father, what did you come here for?”
I’m not answering that.
I’m actually not going to answer anything else. This has already gone way too far, and I don’t see any way to salvage it. I’m going to have to think of something else. Some other way to beef up my bank account and fund our escape.
“I should go.” Spinning away, I practically run to the front door, flinging it open and nearly falling on my face as I race down the steps. By some miracle I manage to stay upright, holding my daughter tight as she squeals with glee over our hasty retreat.
Well, sort of hasty retreat.
Having a toddler means nothing in my life is quick or easy, and as much as I want to just sit her on the back seat until I’m back on the main road, I can’t make myself do it.
So I move as fast as I can, buckling her into her car seat before tumbling behind the wheel.
I start the engine, only looking up as I’m backing down the driveway.
I thought Tucker might chase us, especially after his claimed desire to be an involved father. Instead, he’s propped in the open doorway, looking relaxed and casual as he watches me leave.
I make it onto the gravel and switch into drive, giving him one last look—wishing like hell he could have been the answer to my problems—only to be absolutely freaking befuddled when he gives me a smile and a wave.
Maybe he’s crazy. Unhinged in some weird way no one has really noticed since they’ve only spent one night with him. It’s possible I dodged a bullet.
Unfortunately, I’m still staring down the barrel.
Driving back to the apartment that will only be mine a few more days, I circle the block, making sure no one is lurking outside.
Parked in my assigned space, I take a deep breath before carrying Birdie up to our third floor, one bedroom unit.
It’s the cheapest place I could find around here.
And while it did help me stretch the money I had left after getting fired farther than I believed it would, it still tapped me out.
Add on an unexpected car repair, and I don’t have nearly enough to make the move from here to Ellicott City, Maryland.
And I’m sure as heck not asking my new employer for an advance on my first check. Not when I’m doing everything I can to lay low and let some time pass, hoping they won’t look closer at my more recent job history.
After unlocking my door, I step into the empty space.
I’ve sold everything I can since I can’t afford to move it, and all that’s left is a single television, the queen-size mattress on the floor next to it, and Birdie's toddler bed.
Everything else is packed up in the number of boxes I know will fit in the back of my small SUV.
I’m ready to go, and the clock’s ticking. I’ve got to turn in the keys to this apartment in two weeks and start my new job in three. That means my time to find the money to fund our trip is running out. Quickly.
Setting Birdie down on the floor, I drop her diaper bag onto the counter of the open kitchen, trying to fight the hopelessness clawing closer and closer.
I open the fridge and pull out the container of grapes I’ve cut into quarters, tipping a few into a plastic bowl since I know my daughter is likely ready for a snack. “Birdie? Are you hungry?”
Normally, she comes running at the mention of food, but instead of hearing her little feet racing across the vinyl plank flooring, I hear a weird crinkling of paper.
Oh no. What has she found now? I swear she can get her hands on the most important and/or valuable items in existence in the blink of an eye.
I practically drop the bowl of grapes onto the counter as I rush toward the noise. “Bernadette Grace. You better put down whatever is in your hands right—”
I’ve been through everything in this apartment five times recently, deciding what could go and what had to stay, and I know for a fact nothing looks like the envelope gripped in her tiny little hands.
“Can I have that?” I move toward her slowly. I really don’t feel like chasing her through this place right now, and I know Mr. Lewis downstairs doesn’t want to hear me chasing her either. “Where did you find it?”
At just under a year and a half old, my daughter doesn’t have a good grasp on language yet. But I’m not one for baby talk, so I speak to her like she’s an adult and just don’t expect any response.
Not an understandable one, anyway.
As expected, Birdie's babbling explanation is incoherent at best, but very animated, so I’m going to give her points for that. As she flails around, I manage to pluck away the envelope, flattening it against my stomach before tearing it open.
The name at the top of the letterhead has my stomach dropping to my shoes and bile climbing up my throat. I shake my head in denial, even though it won’t do me any good.
Nothing will.
Because Senator William Sheppard is threatening to take me to court.