Ariel Beckham.
The look in my father’s eyes is a sharp, unforgiving disapproval. Why? Because now, he knows it wasn’t some simple, casual thing between Ramirez and I. We whispered against each other’s ears, shared breaths that felt like promises. He left his seed in me—literally and figuratively—because we both wanted fate to take us where it would. We wanted to see what would happen if we didn’t fight it, if we just let whatever this was, whatever we were, take root.
We dreamt of each other. And now that the dream is real—now that I’m carrying his child, and it’s all crashing down—it’s like we’re further apart than we’ve ever been. So much for destiny, so much for fate. We are broken, split in ways I never thought possible. I never thought it would end like this.
I want to scream, to
