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If he wanted to spend the next decade living like an antisocial vampire who drinks Bud instead of blood, he had the funds to do it comfortably.
“I love kids. They’re basically magic little balls of optimism that love you unconditionally. I can’t wait for my own.”
Immediately, a moving image came to mind of Georgie at thirteen, waving at him from the bleachers, the light catching her braces, nachos balanced on her lap. All right. Braces and nachos definitely weren’t sexy. But the memory didn’t generate anything but . . . fondness. Comfort. It never occurred to him before now that she’d come to almost every single one of his games. Home and away. His own parents hadn’t even come to the games. Back then, she’d had a commitment to him, but he’d never returned it.
“Why do we tell that woman anything? She’s like a colander and yet we continue to pour in information.”
No, baby girl. I don’t. You have to fight for what you deserve. What you want is no more or less important than what anyone else wants.”
