Page 99 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
“Buona notte, Mamma.” I wave back.
It’s close to eight o’clock by the time we get back to his house. We decide to do more writing, me on my book, him on his song.
I change into leggings and my sweatshirt then grab my laptop and go back out to the living room, sitting in the corner of the sectional I sat in last night. He comes over with his notepad, pen, and guitar.
As I type, he strums and jots things down on his notepad. Watching him create gives me inspiration.
He catches my gaze on him.
“I’m sorry, does my music interfere with your writing?”
“No. Not at all. I like it. It’s pretty, whatever you’re writing.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re really good with kids. I enjoyed watching you with Franco tonight.”
He jolts back, his eyes fly open, and his jaw lowers. Then his eyes move rapidly from left to right. Given his reaction and the expression on his face, I fear I’ve said something either alarming or upsetting, but I can’t imagine what.
He leans his guitar against the sofa and stands up, pacing and rubbing his neck.
What the heck did I say?
“You — you think I’m good with kids?”
“Yes, youaregood with kids.”
He paces a little more, rubbing his hand across his forehead.
“Excuse me,” he says then grabs his pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and walks out to the patio.
Have I somehow insulted him? What’s going on?
I grab a bottle of water from the kitchen then tuck back into my spot, legs under me, and continue writing.
When he comes back in, he still looks flustered. I set my laptop aside and stand up, approaching him.
“Nicco, I’m sorry for whatever I said —”
“No. No.” He cuts me off, shaking his head and waving his hand. “Please, don’t apologize. I, um…” He pauses, rubbing his finger across his mustache. “Please, sit.” He goes to the sofa and sits, folding his knee up onto the cushion. I follow him, mimicking his body position so we’re facing each other.
“Tonight you asked who Ana is, and I said she’s no one.” He pauses. “That’s not true.” He looks down to his clasped hands, rubbing his thumbnail with his other thumb. Looking back up at me, he continues. “Ana and I were together, for a while. And, we…didn’t end on good terms.” His Adam’s apple moves up and down. Watching him struggle twists my heart.
Standing up, he walks over to a tall, dark walnut bookshelf and opens a wooden box. He takes out a piece of paper and returns to the sofa. “One day, out of nowhere, she left. No goodbye, no explanation, nothing. This letter was in my mailbox.”
Slowly, he reaches out his hand with the letter in it and gives it to me. The tattered paper looks like it’s been crumpled and uncrumpled dozens of times. Gently, I unfold it and read.
Nicco,
I’m pregnant with your child. I don’t want anything from you. Your work and income are unsteady and your dream of becoming a big star is a fantasy that will never happen. Your life is going nowhere. You aren’t capable of being a good father or a good husband. I release you from any responsibility. Don’t try to find me, you won’t be able to.
~Ana
Despair and heartache shatter me. When I look up at him, the pain in his eyes steals the breath from lungs.
“I tried to find her. For a year, I tried to find her. But I couldn’t.” As he inhales deeply, his shoulders rise. His exhale is controlled, like he’s trying not to burst. “Somewhere, I have a child. A child I don’t know, I can’t hold or kiss or play with. And it fucking kills me.” He swallows, looking down into his hands, rubbing his palm with his opposite thumb.
I reach out, placing my hand on top of his, and lean toward him. “Nicco. I’m so sorry.” I squeeze. “I’m sorry this happened to you.” I pause. “As the child’s father, you have rights. And this letter?” I hold it up. “She’s wrong.” I shake my head. “She’s so wrong.” I lean in farther, locking my gaze on his eyes. “You’re going to be wonderful dad someday. And the woman who captures your heart? She’s going to be so lucky you found her.”
