Free Worthy of Love by Carly Phillips Page B

knowing she was relying on herself. Of course she still had to check in with him in the mornings and again after work—but it had been her suggestion, not his. She couldn’t see worrying him to distraction when a quick phone call or text would prevent it.
    Nikki was working without Kevin’s constant presence and she considered it a battle won.
    Even better, her boss had indeed been a prince. He’d spared her cleanup duty without docking her pay. And though Nikki didn’t like taking charity, she was smart enough about her situation to accept the favor.
    She leaned down to stuff her tips inside her boots and without warning, doubled over in pain. Deep breaths didn’t come easily, but she forced air into her lungs, hoping the cramp was one of those growing pains she’d read about and would subside. But growing pains wouldn’t be in the center of her stomach, and this was.
    And, damn, it hurt. Nikki leaned against the wall for support and though she’d never have believed it five minutes ago, she wished Kevin were sitting in the bar, nursing a club soda.
    The smell of cigar smoke wafted in the air, and reached her nose. “Jack?” Only the wall held her upright.
    “You okay? Because I’m no good around sick people. Especially sick, pregnant people.”
    Somehow she managed to laugh. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything except call nine-one-one.
    *     *     *
    The aura of déjà vu wasn’t pleasant. Kevin faced his father’s landlord, the same as he’d done too many times in the past. “I’m sorry about the mess in the hall. This should more than cover cleanup costs.” Kevin peeled off a hundred dollars in cash and handed it to the older man.
    “But not the hassle,” the landlord muttered. Privately, Kevin agreed with him. But there was no way he was paying any more for his father’s drunken tantrum. Highway robbery wasn’t a precedent he intended to set.
    “Max’ll help with the cleanup.” Kevin glanced back toward the hall, wondering how he’d keep that promise. He rubbed his burning eyes. He’d rather be sleeping than taking care of his father’s mess. “I’ll talk to him before I leave. And thanks for calling me,” Kevin said.
    He headed for his father’s apartment at the end of the hall. The closer he got, the more the dank smell of the old, musty building mingled with alcohol. Memories of his childhood assaulted him, none of them pleasant. Without warning, he slammed open the door to the apartment.
    “What the…” His father bolted upright on the old plaid couch. Recognition dawned in Max’s dark eyes, eyes that looked so much like Kevin’s own—except for the added red-rimmed, bloodshot appearance.
    Kevin shook his head, wishing things would change, knowing they never would. If his father hadn’t sobered up when Kevin’s mother had been alive, there wasn’t a shot in hell he’d do it on his own.
    “Hey, Kev. Nice of you to stop by. A week late for the old birthday but what the hell. I can always use an excuse to celebrate.”
    Kevin stepped over a scattered pile of newspapers and an empty bag of chips. “Aren’t you getting too old for this, Max?”
    “Whatever happened to calling me ‘Dad,’ or do you think you’re too old to show some respect?”
    Kevin took in his father’s unbuttoned jeans and stained undershirt. He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t recall a time when memories of Max weren’t marred by alcohol or the older man’s self-pity. He couldn’t remember a time when his love for his parent wasn’t diluted by pain.
    He faced his father once more. “Respect has to be earned,” Kevin said. So did the name Dad, but Kevin wasn’t up to the argument. His old man would never understand that it took more than the planting of the seed to make a man a father.
    Kevin wasn’t sure what to do when it came to raising his own child, but he sure as hell knew what not to do, he thought, glancing at Max.
    “Sit down.” His father patted the seat