To Brooklyn, With Love (Completed) - Finding You Book 2

Brooklyn

People might think I'm crazy, but I really love my job.

I love the Phillies. I love baseball in general. But most of all, I love people watching. Six or seven months of the year, I get to feel a little closer to my childhood. And while I'm here, I'm a lot safer than when I'm not.

I'm not a victim and don't think of myself as one, but there are demons from my past that haunt me, and try as I might, sometimes I just can't get away from them.

I've made decisions in life that have filled temporary holes, like who to love. Who to sleep with.

I haven't seen Nick in two days, since he practically tried to drag me out of the stadium in front of Harrison. If I could go back in time and never get with him, I would. I'd tell my 20-year-old self that he isn't worth it. That he'll take all my money, and then when I finally get enough to break away from him and get my own place, he'd take that, too.

But this time is different. This time I'm earning that money with real work and there's no way in hell he's dragging me back.

I went to the ends of the earth to get away from him, and I've been telling myself for years that it was the only option I had. Not a lot of things pay that much money. And I was healthy. I could carry a child for someone who couldn't. It was a win-win.

Until it wasn't.

"Daddy!" a little voice cries. I raise up on my tiptoes and look over the bar. We're five minutes from first pitch and it's crowded, but between then seas of people trying to get to my bar, I see her.

"Daddy? Where are you?" I think I hear her say. My eyes dart around, looking for a panicked father, but all I see are smiling, laughing people, and I realize this little girl really is lost.

She's tiny. Really tiny. Can't be much older than four, if that. Her hair is dark brown and curly, and her cheeks are red. I flip the lights off on my bar and hang up the closed sign, sending the group in front of me to the next booth down the corridor.

I frown and walk around the bar, crouching down in front of her.

"Are you lost, honey?" I ask. She turns and nods, and as she looks up at me, the air leaves my lungs. I feel woozy, like at any given moment I might pass out.

It can't be.

My eyes lock on the tiny, heart shaped birth mark right beside her left eye. My heart is pounding and I can't stop staring, but she's crying harder and I need to pull myself together.

"You're looking for your Daddy?" I try.

Focus, Brooklyn. Focus.

"I can't talk to strangers," she says quietly, looking at her feet. She's wearing a miniature Phillies jersey and sparkly pink converse, and I can't help but smile for a second at how cute it all is.

"That's good. You shouldn't," I say quickly. "But I work here. My name is Brooklyn. Can you tell me your name?"

"Sophie," she says simply. Her hands are clenched in a little ball, like she's worried that she really shouldn't be talking to me.

"Can you tell me a little about your Daddy?" I ask, hoping she'll give me enough info to help smooth along the process with security.

She nods, never taking her eyes off mine.

"He's wearing a Phillies jersey," she says and I smile. "And jeans. His favorite jeans,"

"What's his name, Sophie?" I try. I haven't been around a ton of kids; I forget it's important to ask for specific details, or I might end up finding out his favorite food before I ever find out his name.