Page 30 of Big Rucking Disaster

"But I’ve had students die. A couple in crashes, several overdoses, a couple of suicides…” I took another sip. “More good stories than bad, but that’s been damn hard work on my part. Nicholas never understood that.”

“Silver spoon?”

“Yep. Med school entirely paid for by his family. He graduated debt-free, while I had a pile of loans.”

“Don’t suppose he offered to help you pay those off.”

I snickered. “Uh, no. But I didn’t contribute as much to the house while I worked my ass off to clear my debts. He tried to bring that up in the divorce proceedings—claiming I should only be entitled to one-third of the house since he’d paid more for it.”

“How’d that go over?”

“The mediator gently suggested he take that idea and shove it up his ass. He was on her bad side from day one—and they’re not supposed to have a bad side. My lawyer advised me to keep mymouth shut and let Nicholas sink himself. Which he did. I got half of everything.”

“With which you bought your house.”

“I did.” I grinned. “I actually like it. I wish I had more space when Jamilla comes over, but I’m just grateful she does.”

He cocked his head.

“With the size of her house, it’s entirely conceivable she’d never want to visit my little place. But she finds my placecharming,and one or more of my nephews stays over a couple of times a month. The attic’s configured with beds for all of them. So they’ve got their own space.”

“But you could convert it to bedrooms for your own kids, right?”

My breath caught. My heart stuttered. My chest tightened. “I don’t have kids, Johnnie.”

“Well, no. I get that. But you clearly want them. But Nicholas didn’t, right? Or am I reading between the lines and getting it wrong?”

Shit.“You’re…” I took a deep breath. “Even Jamilla doesn’t know—”

“That you want kids? It seems pretty obvious to me—”

“How badly I wanted them. I was always able to make excuses that, I think, sounded plausible.”

“Or she was oblivious to your pain.”

I didn’t like that he thought Jamilla might not care. Or that she might not know what was in my heart. “I talk a good game, Johnnie. Almost as good as you.”

He tipped his whisky glass at me. “Touché.”

I took another sip of my drink. “Yes, I wanted kids. But I’m too old now—”

He snorted.

I glared.

“Who just told me I wasn’t too old for the national team?”

“Well, you’re thirty-one.”

“And thirty-nine is not too old to be a father. Hell, men in their fifties and sixties father babies. Although admittedly not generally with women that old. Biology’s weird that way.”

I squinted. “That women in their sixties can’t have biological children?”

“That men in their sixties can. There should be a cutoff. I mean, if you’re sixty-five and father a kid, you might not even be around for their graduation. I take issue with that.”

“Uh…okay. That’s fair. But doesn’t the same apply for a thirty-nine-year-old?”

“So you’d be forty when the kid’s born. Fifty-eight when they graduate from high school. Like sixty-something when they finish university. They have kids, and you’re a grandpa before you’re seventy. That’s not so bad.”

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