thought occurred to him. What if she didn’t think herself responsible enough to handle a kid? What if she didn’t want... Luciano shook his head. He wouldn’t even cross that mental bridge right now. He’d never thought of himself as a father figure—always concluded that by the time he was ready to settle down, really settle down, he’d be too old to try and play Daddy to anyone. The only reason he hadn’t jumped at the chance to adopt Marco was because he knew he didn’t have the necessary stability right now in his lifestyle that would provide what the already jaded little fighter needed. At the moment he had five matches on the table, only one of them catching his interest, but it would mean picking up and going to Brazil on short notice.
Luciano wasn’t willing to drag a kid all over creation for his career, and he wasn’t exactly ready to give up his career completely, so what did this mean?
Simple, dickhead. You have to make a choice. He did. He had to make a choice. That choice was to be a father, to be something he never had at a young age—to be there, period. They would take this one step at a time; they’d figure things out. Every minute that ticked by just put him on edge. What the fuck washe going to say? Should he tell her he obsessed over her? That he got up at the ass-crack of dawn every day just to hear her voice? That it had hurt like a motherfucker when he rolled over after their night together to find her gone? That he questioned if he was good enough for her?
Would he tell her he was willing to marry her at the drop of a hat if it meant his kid could have his last name and he’d have them both to wake up to every morning? Would he tell her he couldn’t have picked a better person to accidentally knock up? Or would he tell her he was fucking terrified he’d fail? That he’d let her and their future son or daughter down by not being everything they needed? What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to do this?
How was he supposed to keep from questioning if this was the best or worst thing to ever happen to him? In the six years he’d known Samara, he couldn’t pinpoint all the small things, like her favorite color or food, but he knew her. He knew when she was thinking too hard or if she was frustrated. He knew when her lips twisted she was trying to keep herself from telling someone to fuck off. He knew that when she smiled at him, all those dark little places he still had within him brightened up in a way that was inexplicable. He knew he wanted to know more. That he wanted to truly grasp how she ticked.
But what if she didn’t want that? What if his staying away, his not calling or sending flowers or some other romantic gesture took him out of the race? What if she hadn’t answered him because she didn’t want him to know? What if their having a child together turned into a business arrangement?
The sound of laughter and small but quick footsteps caught his attention. As he raised his head he caught sight of a lone man chasing his toddler through the swarms of people heading for their terminals. Luciano’s head cocked as the dude’s diaper bag slid from one shoulder, tripping him up as it came down on one side.
The man’s foot somehow caught the carpet and then he was going down. No one stopped; no one even spared him a glance. Well, except for one person. The little girl skidded to a halt, her small legs wiggling as she came to a stop, her body still learning how to slow down and speed up. She turned back and waddled towards her father as fast as she could, and when she reached him, she simply plopped down next to him as he sat up, holding her arms out until he got himself together enough to wrap his arms around her much smaller body and pull her into his lap.
Luciano smirked as he suddenly saw himself and his child in their places; felt a jolt in his chest that left him breathless.
Luciano wasn’t willing to drag a kid all over creation for his career, and he wasn’t exactly ready to give up his career completely, so what did this mean?
Simple, dickhead. You have to make a choice. He did. He had to make a choice. That choice was to be a father, to be something he never had at a young age—to be there, period. They would take this one step at a time; they’d figure things out. Every minute that ticked by just put him on edge. What the fuck washe going to say? Should he tell her he obsessed over her? That he got up at the ass-crack of dawn every day just to hear her voice? That it had hurt like a motherfucker when he rolled over after their night together to find her gone? That he questioned if he was good enough for her?
Would he tell her he was willing to marry her at the drop of a hat if it meant his kid could have his last name and he’d have them both to wake up to every morning? Would he tell her he couldn’t have picked a better person to accidentally knock up? Or would he tell her he was fucking terrified he’d fail? That he’d let her and their future son or daughter down by not being everything they needed? What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to do this?
How was he supposed to keep from questioning if this was the best or worst thing to ever happen to him? In the six years he’d known Samara, he couldn’t pinpoint all the small things, like her favorite color or food, but he knew her. He knew when she was thinking too hard or if she was frustrated. He knew when her lips twisted she was trying to keep herself from telling someone to fuck off. He knew that when she smiled at him, all those dark little places he still had within him brightened up in a way that was inexplicable. He knew he wanted to know more. That he wanted to truly grasp how she ticked.
But what if she didn’t want that? What if his staying away, his not calling or sending flowers or some other romantic gesture took him out of the race? What if she hadn’t answered him because she didn’t want him to know? What if their having a child together turned into a business arrangement?
The sound of laughter and small but quick footsteps caught his attention. As he raised his head he caught sight of a lone man chasing his toddler through the swarms of people heading for their terminals. Luciano’s head cocked as the dude’s diaper bag slid from one shoulder, tripping him up as it came down on one side.
The man’s foot somehow caught the carpet and then he was going down. No one stopped; no one even spared him a glance. Well, except for one person. The little girl skidded to a halt, her small legs wiggling as she came to a stop, her body still learning how to slow down and speed up. She turned back and waddled towards her father as fast as she could, and when she reached him, she simply plopped down next to him as he sat up, holding her arms out until he got himself together enough to wrap his arms around her much smaller body and pull her into his lap.
Luciano smirked as he suddenly saw himself and his child in their places; felt a jolt in his chest that left him breathless.
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