“Coparent?” he laughed. “You sleep in the backyard like a dog, Jas. You have no set visitation or custody schedule. You’ve never even taken the kid to the farm.”
“Because all the baby stuff is at her house, and she’s nursing.”
“Dude.” He huffed. “I love you. We’re family. And I’m impressed with how much you’ve grown these last few months. Your love for this child; we all see it and we all respect it. You’re becoming more and more like your dad every day.”
I let out the air I was holding in my lungs. Because damn, that was not what I was expecting.
“But,” he hedged, “you can’t just close your eyes and ignore the hard stuff. The complications. The challenges. This…” Lips pressed together, he exhaled. “This situation. Is not in your favor. Have your siblings even met the baby?”
No. Because I’d kept my distance. I’d been respectful, letting Evie make all the decisions. I’d put myself in a position to support her. It felt like the right decision.
My entire being deflated. “So what do you propose I do?”
“Get a paternity test. Then we kindly and civilly negotiate a custody agreement and parenting plan.” He straightened a little, the professional in him returning. “Child support, collegeplanning. All the things Vincent needs to thrive. Brian has everything ready to go.”
I bobbed my head, trying to reconcile all of this. The thought of bringing in lawyers and paperwork made me feel sick. Evie and I got along, we had fun. I loved being close by. She didn’t treat me like a dog; she was navigating a tough situation the best she could. Just like I was.
We’d been caught by surprise, and we’d done our best.
“Please just let us draw up papers. A petition, the basics. You have rights. You have assets. I love you, and I just want to protect you and Vincent.”
Hands on my hips, I dipped my chin. Maybe he was right. Gabe and Brian were a hell of a lot smarter than I was, and I trusted them. At some point, Evie and I would have to make choices.
The door to the taproom opened, and Nate stepped in. “The IPA’s already kicked. I blame the mafia ladies. They’re thirsty tonight.” Without slowing, he skirted around us and got to work changing the keg. “Gabe, you should get out there. Nolan just walked in.”
Back out in the bar, we found Nolan standing under the twinkle lights, his uniform crisp and his eyes rimmed with fatigue. If Gabe looked tired, Nolan looked as if rest had filed a restraining order against him.
As he walked through the tasting room toward us, the cheers and the clinking of glassware quieted, folks pivoting and whispering at his presence.
Gabe held out a hand. “Evening, Nolan.”
Nate appeared a moment later with a glass of water with a lemon slice, Nolan’s usual order when on duty.
With a nod, Nolan took the water and scanned the room. He only stopped when he landed on the members of the MapleStreet Mafia, who were drinking and carousing without a care in the world.
Sally thrust her hand into the air, causing her drink to slosh over the tasting glass. “This one tastes like a lemon got into a fistfight with a pine cone.”
“I enjoy the aftertaste of regret,” Marigold added. “Reminds me of my first husband.”
Nolan headed their way, but not without encountering several people peppering him with questions.
“Is it true about the kayakers?”
“I heard it’s a government conspiracy.”
Donny Sullivan, unsurprisingly inebriated, stumbled up to the chief. “Any news, or are you just here to chauffer the bingo bus?” he slurred.
When Nolan’s jaw ticked in response, I stepped in, putting my body between them. “Let’s get you a water, Don.” With a hand on his shoulder, I guided him back. Then, using my calm firefighter voice, I said, “He’s working, you’re drinking. Give the man some space.”
Don scoffed. “Who asked you, Maplewood hero?”
The urge to throw him over the bar hit me hard, but that would solve nothing, and this town had enough problems already. “No one asked me,” I said, keeping my tone even. “I’m volunteering. Now sit down, drink a glass of water, and call for a ride home.” I steered him toward the bar, where Nate gave me a nod of gratitude.
“Evening ladies,” Nolan said to the table of chattering senior citizens. “Nana.” He eyed the stack of small glasses in front of Olive. “How many flights did you order?”
“A girl’s gotta stay hydrated, sweetie.”
“That’s IPA, not Fiji Water, Nana.”
