Page 27 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

Eighteen Years Ago...

“One more, daddy?”

“Alright, Max, one more book.”

I grab his favorite— the one with the big blue dog on the cover— from beside his bed and settle in.

Max’s large, brown eyes, sleepy but still twinkling with endless toddler energy, gaze up at me.

It’s been a tough almost-two years since becoming a father, and I’ve got a mountain of law school assignments waiting for me as soon as I sneak out of his room, but these moments.

.. they mean everything to me, and my studies can always wait.

Especially since his mother barely spends any time with him at all.

I start reading softly, my voice lowering as I watch his eyes flutter closed and his tiny fists uncurling as he drifts off.

His dark lashes brush his cheeks, and within minutes, he’s snoring peacefully.

I close the book, chuckling softly and taking a few minutes to appreciate how adorable he looks when he isn’t being a little toddler terror.

“I love you, Max,” I whisper, pressing a careful kiss to his forehead. Then, like every parent who can’t afford to wake their sleeping child, I attempt the ninja-like escape.

I ease off the bed, using some awkward, stealthy combination of a tuck and roll to make sure I don’t wake him up. I even army-crawl out of his room before finally standing by the doorway, watching him sleep. Peaceful. Perfect and all mine.

It might not have been what I’d have planned for my life at twenty-two old, working through a law degree while raising a two-year-old with a woman I’m not in love with, but I can learn to love her.

And in a way, I suppose I already do. I love her because she’s Max’s mother and gave me the greatest gift I never knew I needed, him.

I close the door quietly and turn—only to find his mother standing behind me tapping her foot impatiently as if bedtime took too long.

“We need to talk.”

I rub my temples, already feeling the weight of the conversation that I know is coming. She’s unhappy and I’ve been trying everything I can to change that, but nothing seems to be working.

“Can it wait until after I finish my paper? It’s due at midnight.

” Another ethics in law assignment I can’t afford to fail, or I’ll have to retake it.

Between this degree, working on the egg farmstead to keep things afloat for my dad while he raises my teenage siblings alone, and raising Max, I’m barely keeping my head above water.

“No.” Her voice is sharp, her lips pressed into a thin line.

I sigh. “Fine.”

I follow her into the kitchen of the home that I built last year, each step heavier than the last. I love our home.

When I first worked with my brother Colt to draft the plans, I’d hoped it would be a home for any future kids we had, too, which is why I made sure to build extra bedrooms. But lately, it’s felt more like a prison than the safe sanctuary I’d wanted it to be.

And I know what’s coming after this conversation.

I can tell already; this won’t be her home for much longer.

We sit, and as she speaks, numbness begins to settle in.

She tells me how she never wanted to be a mother. That she hates the pressure. That she can’t stay in Whitewood Creek anymore and plans on moving further south.

I’m not surprised. Not one bit. At least we never got married.

I pull out my checkbook, scrawling out a number that makes me want to throw up—fifty thousand dollars—money I don’t even have yet.

I make her promise not to cash it for three more years, just enough time for me to finish law school, get my career settled at the law firm where I’m interning, and figure out the rest of my life.

She doesn’t care about the money.

She barely looks at the check before practically skipping out the door.

She says she’ll send me the signed paperwork to grant me full custody within the week.

And that’s the last night Max or I ever see his mother again.