Page 26 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“ I t made me question my worth. I really thought it was me. That I just wasn’t enough. What if I’m still not enough?” Antonia’s voice travels through the bathroom door. Her words, though? They stab right through my fucking heart.

I did that to her. I made her doubt herself. I don’t know how, but I need to figure out a way to fix it. It was never about her. What I did. I did it to protect her. All I accomplished was hurting both of us in the process.

I can’t go back and change the past, but I can be better now. I can show her that she is enough. That she’s more than enough. She is all I need. The only woman I have ever and will ever love. I just have to prove that to her. Somehow.

Turning away from the door, I leave Antonia to talk to her friend. I don’t know what the fuck I can say to her right now anyway. I can’t find words that seem worthy. And something tells me they wouldn’t help if I could. I need to show her just how fucking important she is to me.

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 looking up 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?”

“About me needing you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone, Antonia.”

“Mhmm,” she mumbles but doesn’t say anything more. I know she doesn’t believe me. That’s okay, because I will find a way to show her I mean it.

I’m sitting across from my daughter, my wife next to me, and the words I need nowhere to be found.

“Jazzy, honey, did you know that your mom was sick?” Antonia asks.

Jazzy looks from Antonia to me and nods her head.

“I… She passed away, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I had someone looking for her, and he found her. She died,” I explain as delicately as I can.

“It’s okay, Daddy. I knew Mama was going to die. That’s why she brought me to you.” Jazzy stands and hugs me. “You don’t need to be sad. She’s in heaven now. Mama says it’s a happy place and that one day I’ll see her there.”

She’s trying to comfort me? I’m the one who’s supposed to comfort her.

“I’m sad that you don’t have her anymore, sweetheart,” I say. “Do you want to visit her at the cemetery?”

“Can we take her flowers?” Jazzy asks.

“We can take her whatever you want,” Antonia replies.

“Okay. She likes daisies.”

“Then we will get her lots of them.” Antonia nods.

“Thanks.” Jazzy runs off, appearing unbothered.

“You think she’s okay?”

“I think she has already had time to process her mother’s death. But I also worry that she doesn’t want you to know she’s sad,” Antonia says. “You should go talk to her. Let her know it’s okay for her to be sad. That it’s okay for her to be scared or angry or whatever she feels.”

“I’m not cut out for this.” My fingers run through my hair. I want to be everything that my daughter needs. Except I can’t be the one thing she lost. I can’t be her mother.

“Carlo, don’t sell yourself short. I wish I had a father half as caring as you are with her,” Antonia says.

Leaning across the sofa, I press my lips to hers. “Thank you.” Then I push to my feet and make my way down the hall.

When I walk into my daughter’s room, I find her sitting on the floor, a pile of dolls in front of her. She’s not playing with them, though. She’s wiping at her face. Tears. Fucking tears.

“Sweetheart?” I scoop her into my arms. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to cry,” she says.

“It’s okay to cry. You cry as much as you want,” I tell her. Even though the mere sight of her tears is ripping me apart on the inside. “It’s okay to be sad.”

“Mama said I should be happy to be with you. And I am. But I miss her.”

“I know. That’s okay too, Jazzy. You don’t have to pretend with me. Whatever you’re feeling, I want you to tell me. I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her.

“Promise?” she asks.

“Promise.”

“Can we go visit her now? I want Mama to meet Antonia. I think she’ll like her. She’s not an evil stepmother at all.” Jazzy peers up at me with watery eyes, and I nod.

“Sure we can.”

After stopping at a florist and buying every daisy they had in stock, we’re now standing in front of a small simple plaque in the middle of the cemetery. I make a mental note to replace it. Penelope should have a nicer memorial.

“Mama, it’s okay. You were right. My daddy is nice, and he’s taking really good care of me.”

Jazzy’s words make me wonder what Wendy actually told our daughter about me. There’s a reason she kept the kid away from me all these years, while the only reason she left her with me was out of pure desperation. She hoped beyond hope that someone would love her daughter as much as she did.

“And Antonia is really nice too. I think we’re going to be okay. And maybe one day I’ll get a little brother or sister.”

I look over to Antonia and take note of her wide-eyed expression. She’s not ready to have kids yet, and I’m not going to rush her. But if she does happen to fall pregnant, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.

“And, Mama, I haven’t had to go back to school,” Jazzy whispers.

I really do need to work on that one. “Actually, Wendy, we’re going to look at a really nice school tomorrow,” I say, in case the woman can hear me wherever she is.

“We are?” Jazzy asks while looking up at me. “And who’s Wendy?”

“Yep.” I nod my head. “That was your mama’s name back when I knew her.”

“Okay. Well, Mama, I hope you’re not hurting anymore and I love you.” Jazzy leans in and kisses the headstone. “A million kisses to the stars and back,” she says.

“I’ll meet you at the car. I want to have some girl talk with Jazzy,” Antonia tells me as she takes my daughter’s hand.

I watch them walk off. I think she knows I need the time alone. It’s scary how deep my wife gets me.

“Wendy—or, ah, Penelope, I guess. Whatever you want me to call you… I really wish you had told me sooner. I could have helped you.” I sigh.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there and that you felt like you had to do it alone.

You did a good job, by the way. Jazzy is a great kid.

” I look around. I feel like an idiot talking to a piece of carved stone, but here I am.

“I’m going to take real good care of her.

You don’t have to worry about that. She’s going to be okay.

I will love her enough for the both of us. ”

Walking back to the car, I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders.

I didn’t realize how much closure I needed for myself.

I really thought I was seeking the woman out for Jazzy.

Sure, I wanted answers, ones I’ll never have now.

But I’m okay with that. I have my daughter.

I have my wife. There isn’t anything else in the world that I need or want.