I Was Five And He Was Six Novels & Stories

And now the little boy was asking him this simple question. Lucas smiled softly. His eyes became wet. "Yes." Leo's eyes widened. "Really?" Lucas nodded. "Really." "How many?" Lucas swallowed. His voice became soft. "One." Leo smiled. "A boy?" Lucas nodded. "Yes." "How old is he?" Lucas looked at Naomi. Then back at Leo. "He is five." Leo laughed. "Same as me!" Lucas smiled through his tears. "Yes." "Same as you." Leo grinned. "Where is he?"

She wondered why he was like that. Moving forward, she noticed a smaller frame and picked it up, it was younger Tristan and Ivy, they looked around six years old, they each had a huge smile on their faces, showing their missing teeth and they were each holding cotton candies. She felt a small pang of jealousy seeing how happy they were with each other.

They crash into her like a wave. And I stand there watching them—her kids—and suddenly, I can’t move. Once they’re past toddler-hood, all kids look alike to me until they hit around ten years old. But these two, even at six, they… Six. They’re six. Parker and I hooked up seven years ago. All the breath flees my lungs. I look at her. She’s already looking at me. My throat dries up, but I force the words out, “Am I…?”

A memory surfaced unbidden: five years ago, the day Dominic proposed. He had held my hand and said softly, “Stella, you are the smartest, kindest woman I’ve ever met. Will you marry me?” Six months ago, I lost my first child. He sat at my bedside for three days without closing his eyes. He’d said, “Stella, you have to be okay. Even if I never have children, I can’t lose you.” For five years, I had told myself, over and over, that maybe he really was the love destined for me.

BBAP CHAPTER 94 “Mom, what if Papa doesn’t come?” the six-year-old kid looked up to her with a pout on his lips, His thick lashes and pair of pitch-black eyes made him seem like a poor kitten while he bowed his head and hugged his superman toy tightly.

"Can I have cereal?" "Go back inside, baby. I'll be there in a minute." She nods and disappears, leaving the door slightly ajar. Marcus stares at the space where she stood, his face pale. "She's yours." It's not a question. "Yes." "How old is she?" The question I've been dreading. The question that leads to all the other questions. "She's five." Marcus does the math. I can see it happening behind his eyes—the calculation, the realization, the horror.

“Yes. You wanted to hide them by wearing all those big, big clothes, but your neck is visible.” I pointed my spoon at the dark ink creeping up the side of his throat, just above the collar. He shook his head, smiling a real smile this time. “Busted, I guess.” He leaned against the counter, watching me eat. “You talk a lot smarter than your age. How old are you?” “Five,” I said proudly, mouth full. “But I will be six soon.” “How soon?” “Next year.” He laughed. “Ain’t we all turning a new age next year.”

"She was, it doesn't matter how old she was..." "How old, Warren?" I grit out, anger creeping into my voice. His jaw clenches, his teeth grinding so hard I can practically hear his molars scraping against each other. "Six." Six? The word drops like a bomb. He means to tell me a child murdered the Alpha? An Alpha? I curl my fist into a ball, resisting the urge to slam it right through the table.

He gives a tight nod to let her know that he will stay quiet through the story as she wishes. “Anyways, as I was saying... I was five when I first realized that my father hated me and my mother. I was not old enough to know such things by any means, but I was a highly intelligent child. At five, I would observe people in the pack. I saw Carly's dad hug her and kiss her mom. I listened to Lacie brag about the new toy her daddy just bought her. Keelie and Savannah discussed how Brionee's dad redid her room for her.

My stepbrother. He was twenty-five, three years older than me, and he looked even better than the last time I’d seen him six months ago. Tall, tanned from working outdoors, with messy dark hair and that cocky smirk that had always made my thighs clench since our parents got married when I was eighteen. He wore only low-slung board shorts, his sculpted chest and abs on full display, a light sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the golden light.