Waiting For Forever (Beautiful Surrender, Part Four) by Ava Claire Page B
Authors: Ava Claire
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ready
to step up to the plate.
My calls are ended if I don't agree
to meet her somewhere public, because I know what she's really asking is if some
photographer can snap our pictures together. Maybe a couple with me
looking contrite, tail between my legs." The frustration and anger
about how Delilah was playing the media, playing me, stormed to the
surface. "This isn't a game for me. I want what's best for the kid.
I won't play into her hand and have one more terrible thing for my
kid to see or read about their father one day."
Melissa leaned forward slightly, eyes tracing every
line of my face in silent awe. "You really mean it, don't you? You
want what's best for your child?"
"Of course I mean it," I said indignantly, then
relaxed when I remembered we hadn't been together for weeks. The
last time she saw me, I'd sucker punched a mirror. Not exactly Dad
of the Year behavior.
She wasn't there when I tossed and turned, dreaming
about my little one. A boy with my eyes. A girl with Delilah's
fiery red hair. She didn't know that I woke up in a cold sweat,
filled with shame that for one second, I’d wished that I never met
Delilah. That I wished my child away.
That night, I'd pulled myself from my bed and looked
into the fragmented mirror. I stared at the man that looked back at
me. A man whose life was driven by desire--my desire to succeed
professionally at any cost. To never feel the emptiness of going
without again. A man who regulated his personal life, building
barbed wire around his heart to keep anyone from getting too
close.
The spark of life in Delilah changed all that. It
wasn't just about me anymore.
I had called Amanda at 3am, giving her the most
important job of her career--finding out who made the best crib,
car seat, hell, the best pacifier, and purchase it all. I opened a
trust and arranged to fill it with more money than my child could
spend in a lifetime. And then I tried to call Delilah and realized
that she was already using our child as a bargaining chip, and she
had no intention of letting me in until I publicly flagellated
myself.
My sin? Not loving her.
Love was something I was incapable of giving Delilah,
but our child? I was already head over heels.
I gathered my thoughts, trying to figure out a way to
explain it to Melissa. Make her understand. "It probably seems like
I've done a complete 180-"
"I get it." She gripped my hand, her
eyes swimming with tears as she squeezed tight. "Maybe it's because
I've been looking for signs of it from my dad as far back as I can
remember and have always come up disappointed. I can see it in you,
Logan. I can see how much you love your baby, and it's
beautiful."
All the emotion that had been building in me from the
moment I realized I was going to be a father rocked my entire
being. I hadn't cried since I was a child, and the man in me fought
tooth and nail to keep the tears at bay.
"Everything okay over here?" Our server had
impeccable timing, standing beside our table with our drinks and an
empty smile.
I pulled my hand away, giving her a curt nod. She
brandished Melissa's latte, then my bottle of Perrier.
"May I?" she said, gesturing for permission to pour
it for me. I nodded a second time, giving her a tight smile. The
sound of the water filling the glass dominated the silence, the
awkwardness from the interrupted moment writhing like the bubbles
that danced in the glass.
"I’m sorry," the server said smoothly, the
high-pitched youth all but disappearing, "But you're Logan Mason,
right? The billionaire dating Delilah James?"
" Dated ," Melissa corrected brusquely.
She blushed when the server arched her eyebrows with interest.
"Sorry."
The woman pointed at the two of us. "So you two are
together now?"
I eyed her warily. "I'm not sure how any of that is
your business."
"My apologies, Mr. Mason," she said sweetly. "Why
don't I give you two another minute to decide what you’d like to
drink?"
Before I could remind her that she
had just delivered
to step up to the plate.
My calls are ended if I don't agree
to meet her somewhere public, because I know what she's really asking is if some
photographer can snap our pictures together. Maybe a couple with me
looking contrite, tail between my legs." The frustration and anger
about how Delilah was playing the media, playing me, stormed to the
surface. "This isn't a game for me. I want what's best for the kid.
I won't play into her hand and have one more terrible thing for my
kid to see or read about their father one day."
Melissa leaned forward slightly, eyes tracing every
line of my face in silent awe. "You really mean it, don't you? You
want what's best for your child?"
"Of course I mean it," I said indignantly, then
relaxed when I remembered we hadn't been together for weeks. The
last time she saw me, I'd sucker punched a mirror. Not exactly Dad
of the Year behavior.
She wasn't there when I tossed and turned, dreaming
about my little one. A boy with my eyes. A girl with Delilah's
fiery red hair. She didn't know that I woke up in a cold sweat,
filled with shame that for one second, I’d wished that I never met
Delilah. That I wished my child away.
That night, I'd pulled myself from my bed and looked
into the fragmented mirror. I stared at the man that looked back at
me. A man whose life was driven by desire--my desire to succeed
professionally at any cost. To never feel the emptiness of going
without again. A man who regulated his personal life, building
barbed wire around his heart to keep anyone from getting too
close.
The spark of life in Delilah changed all that. It
wasn't just about me anymore.
I had called Amanda at 3am, giving her the most
important job of her career--finding out who made the best crib,
car seat, hell, the best pacifier, and purchase it all. I opened a
trust and arranged to fill it with more money than my child could
spend in a lifetime. And then I tried to call Delilah and realized
that she was already using our child as a bargaining chip, and she
had no intention of letting me in until I publicly flagellated
myself.
My sin? Not loving her.
Love was something I was incapable of giving Delilah,
but our child? I was already head over heels.
I gathered my thoughts, trying to figure out a way to
explain it to Melissa. Make her understand. "It probably seems like
I've done a complete 180-"
"I get it." She gripped my hand, her
eyes swimming with tears as she squeezed tight. "Maybe it's because
I've been looking for signs of it from my dad as far back as I can
remember and have always come up disappointed. I can see it in you,
Logan. I can see how much you love your baby, and it's
beautiful."
All the emotion that had been building in me from the
moment I realized I was going to be a father rocked my entire
being. I hadn't cried since I was a child, and the man in me fought
tooth and nail to keep the tears at bay.
"Everything okay over here?" Our server had
impeccable timing, standing beside our table with our drinks and an
empty smile.
I pulled my hand away, giving her a curt nod. She
brandished Melissa's latte, then my bottle of Perrier.
"May I?" she said, gesturing for permission to pour
it for me. I nodded a second time, giving her a tight smile. The
sound of the water filling the glass dominated the silence, the
awkwardness from the interrupted moment writhing like the bubbles
that danced in the glass.
"I’m sorry," the server said smoothly, the
high-pitched youth all but disappearing, "But you're Logan Mason,
right? The billionaire dating Delilah James?"
" Dated ," Melissa corrected brusquely.
She blushed when the server arched her eyebrows with interest.
"Sorry."
The woman pointed at the two of us. "So you two are
together now?"
I eyed her warily. "I'm not sure how any of that is
your business."
"My apologies, Mr. Mason," she said sweetly. "Why
don't I give you two another minute to decide what you’d like to
drink?"
Before I could remind her that she
had just delivered
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