“What’s that?”
“Be a damn good father.”
“I don’t know how to be a father,” I choke. “And the man who was supposed to teach me just flipped the script.”
A small smile ticks the corner of his mouth as he places a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m no role model, Black. I made a lot of mistakes with my kids. I could tell you all the things not to do, but we don’t got that kind of time. Besides, I don’t think anyone can be taught how to be a father and for what it’s worth, I think you’ll do just fine on your own as long as you keep your head straight and your nose clean.”
Swallowing, I jerk my chin.
“Yeah, well, for what it's worth, I think you did a pretty damn good job,” I say hoarsely.
He doesn’t reply. Dropping his hand from my shoulder, he stares at me for a beat before turning abruptly. As I watch him walk out the door, I realize he just taught me the cardinal rule of being a father is to be selfless.
A hard feat for a self-centered prick.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lacey
Sitting on the sofa, I glance across the room at Nico. Straddling a chair, wearing a leather vest that labels him a prospect, he plays with his phone. Whether he’s texting or playing a game, I have no idea, but the thing hasn’t left his hand since he showed up with Anthony. I’m surprised it didn’t die—or explode.
“If memory serves me correctly, you told Mrs. Hansen on career day you wanted to be a chemist,” I remind him, shoving a handful of raisins into my mouth.
Lifting his eyes from the screen, he looks at me perplexed. Nico and I are only a year apart and in elementary school he actually skipped a grade, putting us both in Mrs. Hansen’s third-grade class. Labeling us friends would be a stretch. Through the years we rarely saw much of each other except for clubhouse functions and those were very seldom. Still, I remember Nico as a bright kid with an aspiring future. I guess I’m just wondering what changed and why he’s suddenly has the devil on his back.
“I also wanted to go to adopt one of those Sally Struthers kids when I was seven, what’s your point?”
“Well, being a prospect is a far cry from a chemist.”
“Says who? One might consider Pipe a chemist,” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I mean, if we’re keeping childhood dreams alive, I’m sure I can convince the old man to teach me how to craft a pipe bomb.”
Rolling my eyes, I grab another handful of raisins.
“Yeah, he’s a real scholar that one,” I retort. “Forget I said anything, go back to whatever it was you were doing.”
It’s not like I’m really interested in Nico’s life choices. I only sparked the conversation out of boredom—well, that, and I’m desperate to keep my mind otherwise occupied. It’s too easy to sit here and worry why Blackie’s not back yet and the longer he’s gone, the greater chance my maker has at corrupting my thoughts.
“You wanted to be an actress,” he says, taking me by surprise. “Even came to school dressed as Audrey Hepburn that day.”
I stop chewing and peer at him. I watch as he shoves his phone inside his kutte and crosses his arms over the top of the chair.
“Breakfast at Tiffany’s was my favorite movie back then,” I say, feeling a bit nostalgic. A faint smile works my lips as I shake the memory from my head. I stare at Nico thoughtfully, taking in his rugged appearance. “I guess we both took a different path.”
His gaze swings around the room before landing back on me and nodding.
“Judging by the lack of Golden Globes floating around this joint, I’d have to agree,” he quips. Silence stretches between us and his eyes wander to the bowl of raisins sitting on my lap. “So, word on the street is that you’re pregnant.”
“Word on the street?” I volley, raising an eyebrow at his choice of words. Clearly, someone has a lot to learn because my pregnancy certainly isn’t street news.
“Well, you know around the club.”
“Yeah,” I answer, pushing the bowl aside. Not really in the mood to field questions about my pregnancy, I change the subject. “How does your father feel about you joining the club?”
Nico shrugs his shoulders.
“I think he’d rather I be a chemist, but it’s not really his choice is it? If your old man could’ve picked your husband do you really think he would have chosen Blackie?”
Taking a moment to think about the answer, I cock my head to the side and lay a hand over my stomach. If someone would’ve asked me that question years ago, I’d say no, but now, I think my father knows as much as I do that there is only one man for me. No one in this world can love me like Blackie does. He’s my soulmate. The one person put on this planet just for me.
“I think he would,” I say finally.
“Well, that’s something,” he acknowledges. “Honestly? I’m still kinda shocked you married him.”
“Why is that?”
“Let me rephrase, I’m shocked Uncle Jack let you marry him. When we were in high school, I was sure he was going to get you fitted for a chastity belt. Next thing I know, my pops is telling me you’re shacked up with Blackie and walking down the aisle. Talk about a mindfuck.”
“My father was kind of strict back then.”
“Confession?”
“Sure.”
“I had the biggest fucking crush on you,” he reveals.
Laughing slightly, he bashfully swipes a hand over his face and shakes his head. “Broke my heart when I found out I lost my shot with you to the man who bought me my first six pack.”
My lips curve and my eyes widen at the confession.
“Get out of here,” I scoff.
“Yeah,” he laughs.
“I never knew.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he teases. “You were too busy chasing Blackie.”
“I didn’t chase him,” I argue.
He lets out a full belly laugh and raises an eyebrow, calling bullshit. Gnawing on my lip, I suppress the urge to smile.
I totally chased him.
“Okay, maybe a little,” I admit.
“Hey, it’s all good. You got the guy in the end, right? Nothing like a woman who knows what she wants.”
I don’t know about all that. Sure, I married Blackie but thinking back, I wasn’t really a woman who knew what she wanted. I was more like a crazed teenager determined to have her crush fall in love with her.
“Is that so?”
“Fuck yeah,” he replies. “Women today don’t know what the fuck they want. If you show them too much attention, they think you’re ready to buy a ring. If you don’t, you got a side piece. A guy can’t win.”
That doesn’t sound very promising.
“Have you tried a dating app?” I suggest.
“Whoa, hold the phone, Lace. I’m not saying I’m in the market for an old lady or anything like that. I’m just saying the dating scene is like a fucking cesspool of indecisive women. But to answer your question, I’ve occasionally dabbled with dating apps for a hookup. The problem with those things, is the women who use them filter their photos so much you walk right past them when you meet them, and they think you stood them up.”