“Her boyfriend,” Arlo retorts, squeezing me tighter.
Hearing those words on his lips feels so good, and I want to kiss him senseless over it, but first, we have to get rid of Christian.
“Boyfriend?” Christian’s laugh turns unhinged. “What, you going to play step-daddy to my kid?”
“Hey.” Autumn taps him on the chest with her bat. “Watch yourself.”
I hear Christian exhale, and I know more Southern charm is going to slip past his vile lips. “Wren, use common sense here. Lark is my daughter. You took her out of state. Tell me why I shouldn’t call the police right now?”
These are my worst fears come to life. Christian and I never had the best relationship when we were teens, and if I’m beinghonest, we only experimented that one night, and look what happened. Then four weeks later, he noped out of my life.
There are many reasons why he might be here right now, and not a single one of them is comforting or encouraging. He can drive up in that fancy sports car of his and wear an expensive suit, but it’s all an act.
I exhale slowly, centering my nerves and struggling to get my pounding heart under control. I slide my hand into Arlo’s and squeeze once before I walk over to his little car, and like the hot mess I am, I open the back door and watch as a sliver of what appears to be everything he owns tumbles out.
Grunting, I move to the driver’s door and open that as well.
“Wren, what do you think you are doing?” I don’t miss the waver in Christian’s voice.
“Building a theory,” I reply while, in the back of my mind, I remind myself that he refused to sign that birth certificate. Legally, he has no say in what Lark or I do—unless he applied for a parental responsibility order, but Christian was never that smart, and I’m convinced he didn’t even know that was a thing.
What worries me, though, is that he had my number and somehow knew how to track me.
I can make up any excuse in the world, but right now, a twitch of his lips or his eyes accompanies everything he says. He isn’t speaking the truth, and there’s something more going on. He may have wanted nothing to do with Lark, but he was never a terrible person…or so I hoped he wasn’t.
“That isn’t your car, Wren. Get out,” Christian demands.
Ignoring him, I pop the trunk and look at Autumn. “Do you know how to see if there is a tracker on my phone?”
Her features darken, and her lip curls up in a sneer. “It isn’t your phone I’m worried about.” She looks at Arlo. “Check her car.”
Arlo looks like he’s about to go find an axe in the woodshed, but violence isn’t the way to solve this. Logic is.
“Autumn,” I call, ignoring the way Christian sputters. “Call Kenzie.”
Her eyes light up with excitement, and she literally tosses the bat at my feet. I’m not crazy like she is, but I want Christian to have it even less, so I pick up the bat, surprised by the weight of it.
Proving my theory correct, I find Christian’s trunk packed to the brim with everything he owns.
“Why are you here, Christian?” I cross my arms.
I can see his face a little clearer now, my adrenaline not only giving me false bravado, but the sense that I’m not concussed. Flipping my sunglasses up onto my head, I look at him. I mean, I really look at him.
His short, cropped hair looks a few weeks past a much needed haircut, with his dark brown strands flipped up in places. Dark circles rim his eyes, and his complexion looks almost sallow. The boy I once knew is nothing but a memory underneath all the layers of this man. His anger turns palpable, and I’m not buying that he showed up here because of us for one minute.
“I told you, baby.” He reaches for me, but Arlo holds him back, his body tense and vibrating with fury. “I want to mend things between us.”
“Your daddy cut you off.” I point at him, then to the car, and back at him. “I am even willing to wager that you have little gas in this car anymore, do you?”
“Wren, don’t talk about things you don’t understand.” He doesn’t let up, instead choosing to deflect and belittle me.
I grew up in the same town, with the plantations not far away. One in which his family lived for generations. Christian comes from old money. He’s lived his entire life on the blood andsweat from his grandfather and so on and so forth. It was one reason he didn’t support me when that line turned pink.
Him being here today, wanting something to do with Lark, with a packed car and seeking to mend our relationship that took place over thirteen years ago is no coincidence.
“The way I see it, you are here because of your parents.” A cool breeze ruffles my curls, dusting them across my face.
“Wren, can we talk about this elsewhere?” Christian cajoles, his voice smooth like honey, though his eyes dart toward the others.
