He finally looks up from his book. “I’d buy another house to get away from you, but that would probably draw more attention.”
“Just tell people Mom’s coming.” She’ll want me to demand a paternity test.
Not much point when the only difference between my toddler pictures and Emma’s son’s pictures are that mine were all done professionally and in makeup for auditions.
Also, I’ve seen pictures of Emma’s ex.
That kid isnothis. I have zero reason to doubt her messages that included the linethere’s no one else who could be my baby’s father.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Hayes mutters, more to himself than me, “but have you tried jerking off and taking a nap?”
“Jerking off doesn’t put me to sleep, asshole.”
Yep.
That.
That’s what I say as Begonia walks through the door with Emma on her heels.
“Well. I’ll file that in my mental recycling box,” Begonia says brightly. “Jonas, you have a guest. Hayes, I’m craving fried ice cream and chicken salad. The curry kind like we get in Maine.”
My brother drops his book on the end table and rises with as much dexterity as if he, too, works out seven times a day and didn’t hit that magic forty milestone within the past couple years. “On it, my love. Let’s see what Françoise needs from the store.”
“I’ll introduce you two later,” Begonia says to Emma and Hayes. “Marshmallow, come with me. Ooh, I forgot this room has pocket doors. Aren’t they cute? Emma, if you need anything, we’ll be down the hall.”
She doesn’t wish me good luck, but she flashes me a smile as she pulls the pocket doors closed.
Begonia-expression forgood luck, I believe in you, you’ve got this, and we’re here for you too but won’t say it out loud so your guest doesn’t think I’m picking sides.
I doubt Emma thinks Begonia would take her side.
She’d be wrong.
But I’m now alone with Emma for the first time since we talked in her backyard the other morning.
No clue what I’m supposed to say, so I settle for a small, “Hi,” with what I hope is a friendly smile.
She’s stressed. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t sayhiback.
Just stares at me with wary brown eyes. “What do you want?”
What do you want?
It’s all I’ve had to think about for nearly a week now. Ever since I got her messages and got confirmation that they were true, nothing else has existed.
Just the knowledge that someone who was once the friend I needed had carried and raised our child solo since the last time I saw her, andI haven’t been here.
I hold her gaze steadily. “I would like to be a present father.”
I was an idiot for telling Peyton I wanted kids three years ago.
Idid. Ido.
But I put her in an awful position. Fear of failing professionally was no reason to want to immediately start a family.
Finding out Ihavea family?
Instinct has taken over. I want to be here. I want to be here for my son, and I want to be a supportive co-parent for his mother.
