The urge to reach over and take her hand in mine is nearly overwhelming. I fist my hands in my lap instead and wait for Kylie to continue.
"I was scared when I found out – mostly because it was so unexpected. I was just getting my career off the ground, and my relationship with Elan was still pretty new. I never thought I had to worry about being a single mom, though. I wasn't scared to tell Elan. He'd never been anything other than loving and kind toward me." Kylie's tone tightens at the end, like she has something stuck in her throat.
I hate the direction this story is headed and I hate myself even more for asking and making her relive all these bitter memories. I want to kick myself in the balls for my curiosity.
"I called him over to the apartment I lived in at the time, I didn't want to tell him over the phone. He came over, playful and curious about what it was that I wanted to say. But the moment the words, 'I'm pregnant' left my lips, all playfulness evaporated. His entire demeanor changed. The kind side of him disappeared and was replaced with a man who was suddenly all business. He wanted to know when, how and what I planned to do about it. It took me several moments to understand he wasn't using the word we. He was asking about what I planned to do. I was on my own from that point forward, it was just me and the little life growing inside of me. I felt sick and hollow. He had put this baby inside me and now he suddenly wanted nothing to do with us. It was a harrowing feeling."
Kylie's quiet for a moment and there's no way in hell I'm probing any further, but I can tell this story is far from over. And I have a feeling it's going to get even more heart-wrenching before it gets better.
"Elan stopped calling, he stopped responding to my texts and emails. He cut all ties. When I was about six months pregnant, I ran into him at the drug store one night. I had a massive craving for ice cream and ventured out in my maternity pajamas to pick some up. I still cringe thinking about what I must have looked like to him." She shudders and buries her face in her hands.
Picturing her with a firm, round belly, I see nothing she should feel ashamed about. She's a gorgeous woman – and while I'm not typically attracted to pregnant women, Kylie with a baby growing inside of her makes my mouth curl into a dopey grin.
"I saw him and some young blonde piece of arm candy," she continues. "They were buying condoms at the checkout counter. His eyes slid from mine down to my rounded belly and back up again. He made some comment to the sales clerk about using condoms, even when a woman claims to be on birth control. And then he was gone. I hated myself for trusting him with my heart. I hated myself for still missing him. But the most painful thing of all came a few weeks later. His assistant delivered a check for fifty grand and the note inside said that he didn't want to be bothered with making weekly child support payments, and that I should use the money to start a college savings fund. Which, of course, I did – for Max's sake – even though I hated accepting that money from him. I've had no other contact with him," she finishes.
"What about when Max was born?" I can't understand a man who would just walk away from his woman and child – especially this woman. She is so strong and independent and stunningly beautiful.
"Nothing," she says. "When I went into labor, I called a cab, took myself to the hospital and had the baby."
"What about your family?" I ask. Surely she has someone to count on when she needs it.
She shrugs. "My parents divorced when I was little. I don't have much of a relationship with my dad and my mom is … well, she's always been more preoccupied with living her own life than participating in mine."
"What's Elan's last name?" I ask.
"Why?" she looks up to meet my eyes.
"I want to kick his fucking ass, that's why." My chest feels tight and my knuckles are itching to be busted over something – preferably his face.
"It's okay, Pace. I'm over Elan now. Completely. The only thing that still makes my heart hurt is knowing that one day I'll have to answer questions from Max about why his own father wanted nothing to do with him."
"I'm sorry I pried into all of this. I know it's none of my business." I feel like a grade-A asshole.
"It's okay," she says, digging her bare toes into the warm sand, her sandals long ago kicked aside. "It's taught me that I need to be better at picking men. A beautiful man with a smooth tongue who says all the right things doesn't excite me anymore."
She's letting me inside, and I appreciate the glimpse at her inner thoughts. Turning to face her, I ask, "What does excite you?"
"A man who is kind to my child."
Her answer is so poised, so simple; I can tell she means it entirely.
I wonder if that's how she views me. I hope so. I genuinely enjoyed playing with Max today and I hope she doesn't think I did it just to try and get into her panties. Which is what she probably expects, based on the stories she's heard from Colt. That shithead. My resolve to kick his ass is back again, full force.
"At the point I'm at, actions speak louder than words," she says. "I should probably go, I've said too much, I'm sure."
"Don't go. Not yet." I'm laying myself bare, so much more so than I ever do. My game is completely fucking shot, and I don't care.
"This isn't what my life is like, Pace. It's not all backyard barbecues where there are lots of helping hands, or fancy galas downtown."
"I get that, Kylie. You have responsibilities. I see that."
"It's hard work, Pace, and it's a twenty-four seven job. No sick days. No time off. And I know you'll say it doesn't matter – but it does. You're a Drake. I've seen the lives you guys lead. It's champagne and caviar and designer everything."
She has no way of knowing, but I'm not really like my brothers in that regard. I live in a simple two-bedroom condo, not a mansion on the beach like Colton and Collins each do. "A man gets tired of champagne and caviar after a while," I say, trying to make light of her jab.
"So you want to slum it for a while?"
"You are not slumming it. Max is not slumming it."
Her eyes flash on mine and I can tell that my words have touched something inside of her. "No, but we're not what you're used to."
"Maybe I'm tired of the same old – same old." I look her straight in the eyes as I say this, letting my meaning sink in.
She matches my serious gaze with one of her own. "And what about when you get tired of us? I can't have my son getting attached, only to have you disappear one day when you decide you're done playing house."
Damn. She's better at this verbal sparring than me, and I fucking hate it.
"I still want to take you to dinner," I say.
"I appreciate it, but I'm just not ready for anything like that." Kylie rises to her feet, and heads for the house. "Goodnight Pace."
Fuck.
We'd had a great night and just when we'd finally started to make some progress, she completely shot me down. I was tired of being told that I wasn't mature enough to handle the responsibility of dating a woman with a child. I wanted a fair chance. But as I watched her walk away, the defeated set to her shoulders, I realized she didn't want to be right about me. She just expected me to let her down.
"Kylie, wait up," I call, hopping to my feet and sprinting after her. I catch her on the patio where she's stuffing their things into a bag. Stray toys, a sippy cup and a baggie of cereal are all scattered at her feet. She lifts her chin and her eyes find mine. Confusion washes over her features. "Let me help you get Max to the car," I explain.
She doesn't respond. She just gazes up at me. But since she didn't refuse, I reach down and take the bag from her, adding the stray items and zipping it up. "I got this."
She watches me with mild curiosity, her pretty green eyes wide, like she's taking it all in, trying to dissect what I'm doing when she just shot me down a mere thirty seconds ago. Hell, I don't even know. I'm just following my instincts. I'm not trying to impress her or play some game, and it's incredibly refreshing.
Kylie's quiet as we head into the house. I'm not sure where Max is sleeping, but she leads me into the den. It's dark and silent, except for the little breathy sounds coming from the sleeping infant. He's on the floor on some type of sleeping mat. We stand over him for just a second, watching him. His mouth lifts in his sleep, and I suddenly find myself wondering what he could be dreaming about. Probably his pretty momma. A thought that warms me.