The Pickup (Imperfect Love 1)

“I don’t know what to say, Liv,” he finally says, using the name I gave him, and I have to force myself not to go back to that night all those months ago. When everything between us clicked. When his kisses alone had the ability to drive me insane.

“You don’t have to say anything, Nick.” This is so freaking awkward. You would never know less than a year ago, the man standing in front of me fucked me just about every way possible and then held me in his arms while we talked for hours.

“I wouldn’t make a good dad.” His lips turndown into a frown, and the sadness in his voice has my heart tightening. My natural instinct is to reach over and comfort him, tell him he can do it, just like I would with one of my art students when I give classes and they feel like they’re failing. When they’re afraid they can’t draw or paint good enough. But I don’t because he’s not a student or a child, and it’s not my job to comfort him. My job is to care for Reed, and if Nick doesn’t want to be his dad, that’s his choice. There’s a reason why adoption is an option. Not everybody is cut out to be a parent.

“Now that paternity has been established, you can have your attorney draw up papers to relinquish your parental rights.” Nick flinches slightly, almost like the words I just said pained him, but I ignore it. “Once you do, have them sent to my attorney. I gave Reed’s and my information to your attorney the other day at the office when I brought Reed in to be swabbed. There’s no reason for you to come back over here ever again.”

“I can give you money…” he begins to say, but I put my hand up to stop him.

“We already had this conversation. I don’t want or need your money. Does it look like I’m living on the streets?” I glance around my home to make my point. We’re standing in a multi-million dollar brownstone for God’s sake, in one of the wealthiest areas in New York. “I can afford my son just fine.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” His jaw clenches. “I just—I’m just trying to do the right thing here.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about doing the right thing. I walked away that morning without telling you anything about me or getting your information. You didn’t have a say in any of this, and I’m not going to force anything on you.”

He sighs in frustration and then says, “If it’s not money you want, then what is it?” He runs his fingers through his already messy hair, messing it up some more. “Damn it, Liv. I don’t know what you want from me.” His eyes are pleading with me to give him the right answer, but I can’t do that because what I want isn’t possible.

What I want to tell him is that I want to give Reed a family. One with a mom and a dad who love him and love each other. I want to be able to tell my son he was conceived out of love and not from a half-drunken one-night stand. I want to beg him to change his mind about wanting his son. But I don’t tell him any of that. Instead, I say, “I don’t want anything from you. Now if there’s nothing else, I’m stinky and sweaty”—I glance down—“and I could really use a shower before Reed wakes up. I think it’s best you go.” I shrug my shoulders in total nonchalance when really I feel the complete opposite. He has me riled up and wanting to punch him while also wanting to crawl into my bed and ugly cry.

“Okay.” He nods slowly, his eyes darting from Reed to me. He turns and walks to the door. He opens it then twists back around like he wants to say something. And a small part of me—the part that stupidly still believes in fairytales—holds on to the hope that maybe he has changed his mind. While another part of me considers, even for a brief moment, blurting out everything I just thought and seeing where the chips fall. But the biggest part of me wants to push him out and lock the door behind him so he can’t hurt me any more than he already has.

Okay…and maybe, just maybe, there’s a small part that wants to pull him back in because holy shit! The man is swoon-worthy…Nope! Not going there…he’s engaged and doesn’t want his kid. He’s off limits!

However, I neither push or pull him anywhere. Instead, I stand frozen in place, waiting to see what he does. His mouth opens and closes like he’s at war with himself, and for a second I think he’s actually going to say something, but he doesn’t. He lifts his hand, and with a sad smile, gives me a small five-finger wave before walking out the door.