Page 70 of The Hard Hitter
Ever since my fight with Zander, I’ve not had a decent night’s sleep. I put my hand on my stomach, and once again, tears well up inside me. I haven’t even told my family about my pregnancy, and I’m not sure what the future holds for us, but I vow to my baby to be the best mother I can be.
Zander is an amazing father, and even though he doesn’t want me, he said he’d fight for his rights. But he doesn’t have to fight. I’m not about to keep his child away from him. I love him, and care for him, and no matter what he might have said to me, I would never strike back and use our child as a pawn.
Slowly, I make my way to the window and pull open the curtains.
I stand there, dumfounded, as huge tractors and other types of construction equipment fill my yard.
Another big bang hits the side of my house, and I nearly jump from my skin. That’s when my sleep-deprived brain jolts awake, and understanding dawns.
There is a construction crew outside—and they’re working on the wrong house!
Panicking, I tug on a pair of yoga pants, grab last night’s T-shirt off the floor, and don’t even bother combing my hair. I need to put a stop to this before they do any more damage and I’m responsible for repairs. Business might be picking up, but I have a long way to go before I can afford renovations to my home. I dress quickly, run to my front door, and swing it open.
“Hey,” I yell, not to anyone in particular, but my voice is swallowed by the noisy equipment. I step outside and, barefoot, I run around to the si
de of the house, where the most noise is coming from. Once there, I find a crew of men cutting into my exterior wall.
I gulp and wave my hands frantically. “Stop, please stop!”
“It’s not safe for you to be out here, especially with no shoes on,” a man says from behind.
My heart jumps into my throat at the sound of Zander’s voice.
I spin around, and when I come face to face with him, my world goes a little fuzzy around the edges.
“What are you doing here?” I rush out. My God, it’s the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning. Why would he be up and at my house so early?
Wait, has something happened?
“Where’s Daisy?” I ask. “Is she okay?”
“Isn’t that just like you.” He waves his hand. “All this going on and your concerns are with Daisy.” He takes a step toward me. “She’s fine. She’s with Quinn.”
“Zander, what’s going on? You need to help me stop these guys. They’re tearing into the wrong house!”
“No, they’re not,” he says.
I shake my head, try to make sense of it all.
Zander puts his arm around my waist, and I let him lead me away. We step into the house, away from all the dangerous equipment and noise, and he closes the door behind us.
“What’s going on?” I ask, planting my hands on my hips. “Why is there a construction crew tearing down my wall?”
“It’s all part of our agreement, and I’m simply holding up my end of the deal.”
“What deal?” I ask, unable to decipher his cryptic words this early in the morning.
“I told you, as long as we were together, I’d do repairs around your house. You wanted an exterior entrance to your office, and I hired the right people to do it. My skill set only goes so far,” he says, his grin so adorable, it takes all my strength not to hurdle myself at him.
But then I remember where we stand.
My heart crashes a little harder in my chest as he hovers in my entranceway, his presence overwhelming me. “But we’re not together,” I remind him, and take a measured step back. Being close to him, feeling his heat, catching whiffs of his scent, it’s all messing with my mind. “You accused me of some pretty horrible things, then walked out, remember?”
His nods, and his nostrils flare as he rakes a shaky hand through his mussed hair. Cripes, he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. At least he’s in clean clothes, unlike me.
“Come with me,” he says, and takes my hand. He leads me to the kitchen, and he reaches for two wine glasses. I blink, unable to figure out what’s going on as he goes to my fridge and fills the crystal stemware with milk. “No alcohol. We have to think of the little one,” he says as he fills the goblets.
I stand there staring at him, waiting for him to make the next move. He hands a glass to me and holds his up in a toast. Our eyes lock, hold, and I almost laugh—hysterically. I’m not worried about having bad sex for the next seven year, because I won’t be having sex at all. How could I ever be with another man after him? He may have hurt me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still love him.