Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires, 3)

I skip my usual morning tinto and have a double shot of espresso, hoping a good hit of caffeine will save me from the utter exhaustion I wake up with. After spending the entire night tossing and turning from Cal’s surprise midnight appearance, I’m tempted to crawl back into bed and sleep for the rest of my Saturday. I totally would if I wasn’t expected to be in full mom mode all day.

Cami loves constant attention and affection, and I’m happy to spoil her with it. After growing up with a father who abandoned me and a sister who doesn’t give a crap about me, there is nothing I want more than for Cami to always feel loved.

Usually, I can whip up arepas con queso from scratch with no problem, but today, my feet drag as I head on over to the pantry. It’s days like today that make me wish I bought sugary colorful cereal from the grocery store like most families and called it a meal.

I’m just barely able to make it through preparing breakfast. By the time I’m done cutting up some fruit and serving Cami a small cup of juice, I’m nearly ready to topple over.

“Are you feeling okay, Mommy?”

“Just tired.” I lean against the counter.

Her forehead creases. “Do you still want to watch the game?”

I gesture to our matching yellow soccer jerseys. “Of course. Your grandma would expect nothing less.” My mom’s love for our national team never faded even after we moved to America from Barranquilla when I was seven. Cami and I honor her memory by continuing the tradition of watching the games together while eating one of her favorites, pandebonos.

“Yay!” Cami’s bright grin with her missing front tooth warms my heart.

“It’s settled then. Now eat while I fix your hair.” Braiding Cami’s hair is a soothing task to keep my mind occupied. Throughout the day, I probably fix her hair at least three different times. No matter what kind of hairstyles I try or what products I use, it only takes an hour for her hair to turn into a mess of knots and flyaways.

She stuffs pieces of food into her mouth as I brush her hair. In the middle of me finishing her french braid, my stomach growls, so I reach over to steal a piece of her fruit.

She slaps my hand away. “Hey! Get your own.”

I tickle her until she gives up on hoarding her strawberries. Her sassy little sigh makes me smile as she stabs a piece of a cut-up strawberry and offers her fork to me. I’m about to take a bite, but the doorbell chimes, interrupting me.

“I got it!” Cami hops off her stool.

“Not so fast there.” I snag her before she runs out of the kitchen and place her back on the seat. “What did I say about answering the door?”

“Don’t open the door to strangers.” Her legs swing back and forth underneath her, still too short to reach the floor.

I tap her nose. “Exactly. Why don’t you finish up while I go see who is there?” I point at her plate before exiting the kitchen.

On my way to the front door, I check the doorbell app on my phone. Cal paces the front porch. He switches from stuffing his hands into his front pockets to running them through his messy hair to assessing the wood planks on the porch—all in a single minute. I’m not sure whether his ADHD or anxiety is to blame for all the sudden movements, but damn, he can’t stand still to save his life.

As much as I resent the idea of speaking to Cal after yesterday, I have to give him credit for showing up this morning bright and early, seeking answers. He gains an ounce of respect from me.

Maybe he cares after all.

I’m quick to shove the thought out of my mind. Him showing up today has nothing to do with me and everything to do with finding out who Cami’s father is. He probably wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t left things the way I did last night. Since I chose to avoid dealing with Cal and the emotions he stirred up, this is my consequence. It wasn’t my most mature moment, but I had no idea how to handle him thinking I would have sex with someone so soon after we broke up.

I know we only dated for a few months, but they meant everything to me. And for a time, I thought he felt the same way.

Should have known better.

Although I’m tempted to leave him out there for a few more minutes so he can stew in his thoughts, I might as well put us both out of our misery.

His lips moving soundlessly catches my attention, and I raise the volume on the app loud enough that I can hear him.

“What if I suck at being a parent?” he asks himself.

“Well, it’s not like you can be any worse than your father,” he replies to himself.

“He’s a narcissistic psychopath. The bar wasn’t set very high to begin with.”

I don’t want to find him endearing—not even in the slightest—yet I find my lips curving upward at the sight of him having a full-blown conversation with himself.

Why are you smiling at him of all people?

The thought is sobering, and I lock my phone to avoid stealing another glance at him.

I roll my shoulders back before opening the door. Cal looks up at the sound of the creaking hinges, revealing his red-rimmed eyes and haggard appearance. I’d put money on the fact that he is most likely hungover rather than sleep-deprived like me. It’s obvious in the way he winces at the bright light hanging above me, illuminating the entryway.

My nails bite into my palms at the evidence of his addiction.

Not your problem.

Then why does the piercing pain in my chest intensify at the thought of him continuing to suffer through his life?

“We need to talk,” he blurts out.

I check to make sure Cami isn’t sneaking around the corner before shutting the door behind me. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now. I would’ve wanted to have this conversation last night, but someone kicked me out before we had a chance to clear something up.”

A sigh slips out of me before I have a chance to squash it. “All right.” I crack the door open. “Cami! I’m going to grab the mail, so I’ll be back in a few minutes!” My voice echoes off the high ceilings.

She shouts her reply, but it comes out muffled, most likely due to her stuffing her mouth full of pancakes.

“Do I really only get a few minutes for a conversation like this?”

“I can’t leave her alone for long. Last time when I was working outside, she stole my mascara and ended up with an infection after stabbing her eye.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t so much as crack a smile, which is unusual for him.

He’s nervous. Without him having a drink to ease his anxiety, the truth is glaringly obvious as we walk to the mailbox in silence. The mansion looms behind us, casting a massive shadow over the overgrown front lawn, making the estate look even larger than its fourteen-thousand square feet.

Part of me wishes he would take over the conversation and force the answer out of me, but his lips remain tightly pressed together while I grab the mail.

What are you waiting for? Just tell him the truth.

That’s the thing. I’m not sure how to go about doing that without having a breakdown about my sister. No matter how much time has passed, I still can’t speak about Antonella without getting teary-eyed or spitting mad. I hope there is a day when I can think back on our memories and smile.

Except today isn’t that day.

Instead, I’m flooded with a wave of negative emotions. Pain. Worry. Heartache. Each one hits stronger than the last. Usually, I have a good grasp on them, but I’ve always been weak when it comes to my older sister and her challenges.

Struggling with drugs isn’t a challenge, Alana. It’s an addiction.

My hand clutching the mail trembles, making the envelopes shake.

Cal places a hand over mine to halt my task. “Hey.”

I find the idea of staring into his eyes impossible, so I keep my gaze focused on the open mailbox. Any reply gets trapped in my throat.

“Is Camila mine?” The way he asks it—soft and nonjudgmental—nearly breaks me.

I wonder for the smallest second what he would do if she was. Is he the kind of man who would step up and offer to help, or would he walk away like always, proving yet again how much of a disappointment he is?

None of this matters.

I steel my spine and look straight into his eyes. “No. She’s not.”

He releases my hand like his skin might catch on fire if he touches me for a second longer. A dark look passes over his face, completely uncharacteristic. “Who is the guy you slept with?” His question has a sharp edge to it.

I suck in a breath. “Are you seriously accusing me of this again?”

“I know how babies are made, and if I’m not the dad, someone sure has to be. So I’m curious who caught your attention not even a month after I left.”

My mind goes blank as I charge forward and stab him in the middle of his chest with my pointer finger. “You’re right. Someone has to be Cami’s father, although I’m not sure who since my sister was high for most of her pregnancy.” The words come out loud and clear despite the ringing in my ears.

His thinly pressed lips part, and the creases in his forehead soften until they disappear. “I’m sorry, Alana. I was stupid to assume you slept with—”

Whatever look is on my face has him scrambling back a few steps.

“Sorry? You thought I slept with someone right after you left and then had their child?” My voice booms.

He holds up his hands in submission. “If you did, it’s not my place to judge.”

“Do you really think that little of what we had together?” I think taking a thousand needles to the heart would feel less painful than this conversation. I’m careful not to let my emotions show on my face, but inside, I allow myself to feel every single stab of hurt. If I cling to the pain, then I won’t run the risk of falling for his usual bullshit—the kind that makes my heart soft and my knees weak from a single smile.

He takes a step forward. “Fuck no. But you had every right to do whatever you wanted after I left.”

“Which includes hooking up with someone only a month later? Are you serious right now?”

His eyes widen. “I told you to move on.”

“The more you say that, the more I wonder if maybe that’s what you wanted.”

He takes a big step back. “What? No. I mean—” He releases a frustrated exhale. “It wasn’t like that for me.”

“Then what was it like?” My heart pounds against my chest.

His brows scrunch with confusion. “What was what like?”

My voice drops, barely stronger than a whisper. “Moving on from me.” The regret hits me instantly, making me wish I never opened my mouth and asked my question in the first place.

He avoids looking at me as he focuses on something over my shoulder. “I can’t answer that.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “Why not?”

He did move on, right?

Of course he did. He was the one who broke up with you, not the other way around. While you waited around for him to come back, he was hooking up with every person in all of Chicago.

“You know what? Forget I asked.” The thought of him being with someone else makes me sick to my stomach, and I’m suddenly desperate to get away from this conversation. “I’ve been gone for longer than five minutes, so I should head back.”

He grasps on to my elbow while his pained eyes flicker over my face. “You always deserved better than me.”

I rip my arm free of his hold. “No. I deserved better from you.”