Page 61 of His Playground

Pulling my vibrating phone out of my pocket, I see my PI’s name on the screen. “You find her?” I ask, knowing the only task I’ve given him lately was to locate Jazzy’s mother.

“I did,” he says. “You might not like where, though.”

“Where is she?”

“Palm Memorial Park. She was cremated a week ago,” he says. “I’m sending the plot number through.”

“She’s dead?” I attempt to clarify, even though the answer is obvious.

A mixture of relief for myself and sadness for Jazzy runs through me. I’m relieved that I won’t have to worry about the woman coming back and trying to take my daughter from me. But I’m fucking devastated that Jazzy has lost her mother at such a young age.

I did that. I lost both my parents. And it wasn’t fucking great.

“Yeah, sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted to hear.” The voice on the other end of the phone snaps me out of my head.

“Thanks.” I cut the call.

After checking on Jazzy, who seems content playing in her room, I head back to my bedroom and sit on the bed. Trying to figure out how I’m supposed to tell my daughter that her mother is dead. The sound of the bathroom door opening has me lookingup from my hands, and I’m greeted by the sight of Antonia. A white towel wrapped around her body, her dripping-wet hair hanging over her shoulders.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, walking over to where I’m sitting.

“I found Jazzy’s mom,” I tell her.

“That’s good, right? You wanted to find her.”

“She’s dead.” I sigh.

“Oh.” Antonia steps between my spread thighs. Her arms wrap around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” I admit.

“What?”

“If she’s dead, she can’t ever come and try to take her back,” I say. “I know. I’m an asshole for thinking that way.”

“Not an asshole. Just… Um, what are you going to tell Jazzy?” Antonia asks.

“I have to tell her the truth. I should take her to the plot. The body was cremated. But how do I tell my six-year-old daughter her mother really is never coming back?”

“I don’t know.” Antonia holds me tighter. My head rests against her breasts while my hands roam up her legs before reaching under the towel.

“Fuck, I love this ass.” I cup her cheeks and squeeze as my lips press small kisses along the top of her breasts. “And these tits.”

“I’m sure. But now isn’t the time, Carlo.” Antonia steps back. “Where’s Jazzy?”

“In her room.”

“I’m going to get dressed. You want me to go out so you can talk to her alone?” she offers.

“Why the fuck would I want you to do that?” I ask her. “I want you right here, next to me, when I tell her, Antonia. I need you.”

“You don’t need me, Carlo. But if you want, I’ll stay.” She turns and walks into the closet.

“You’re wrong, you know,” I call after her.

“About what?”