This is an ah-ha moment I’m experiencing, and it’s happening in slow motion. I don’t even have to ask how old he is. I bet if I did the math, he would be right around a year and a half. And when my gaze searches the boy’s features, I see myself in them.
Again,what the fuck?
WRENLY
I can see everything falling into place as Eli starts to figure out what is happening. I think hearing Ryan’s middle name sealed the deal in his brain. His friend, Daniel, stands in front of me, his scrutinizing gaze sharp. He’s looking out for Eli, which is good.
I’m glad that people care about him. I won’t even be offended if he questions everything about this situation, either.
It’s why I’m here in person, to field and answer those questions—however and from whomever they come—because there are going to be a lot of uncomfortable questions. I have already gone through all the scenarios, from nasty name-calling to questioning my character and a million other things.
I’m under no illusion that Ryan’s paternal DNA will be taken at face value. I am also willing and ready to submit samples for a test to prove that Eli is his father. I know it could only be him, but he literally doesn’t know me, so I won’t be offended if he asks.
“He has my middle name,” Eli murmurs.
“I looked it up one night when I couldn’t sleep,” I confess. “Ryan is my father’s name. That’s who we live with, in Texas.”
Daniel lets out a whistle, but I ignore him, mainly because I don’t know him and don’t care about his reaction right now. The only person I’m focused on is Eli. We watch one another for a long moment in silence.
“Fuck,” Eli hisses.
He doesn’t say the word in anger, or at least I don’t feel like that’s how he meant it. Daniel whistles again. My eyes slide to him for a moment, but I watch as he backs away, his brows lifted to his hairline. It would be funny if this were a funny moment. The weight of the seriousness sits heavy on my shoulders.
The ramifications of my secret are something that I have to face, and this is the moment of truth. I have no idea how Eli is going to react, not truly, not once everything sinks in, mainly because I don’t know him.
“We need to talk,” Eli announces.
Ryan chooses that moment to start blowing raspberries, something he does when he’s about to pass out. Turning to him, I dip my chin in a single nod and give him a smile as I pat his back and gently guide his head to my shoulder.
Shifting my attention back to Eli, I keep my smile plastered on my lips before I speak. “I’m staying across the street at the hotel. I’d like to put him in bed. He’s not used to being up this late, but yes, we need to talk. I would like that.”
Eli’s brows snap together, and he looks at Ryan again before he turns his head and looks over his shoulder at the hotel in the distance. When he brings his attention back, his eyes connect to my own.
“You walked here alone?”
“It was daylight. We had tickets to the game and watched it.”
Eli’s brows snap together. “You watched the game?” he asks.
“Playoffs,” I say. “This is really exciting. I don’t know a lot about hockey, but I know enough to realize that this is a big deal.”
“It is,” he confirms. “We’re one step closer.”
My lips curve up into a smile. I’m trying hard to keep this light and airy, but I want to cry, apologize, and beg for forgiveness.
“You’re going to get it.”
He shakes his head, then lifts his arm to slide his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends before he clears his throat. “I’m going to give you a ride to the hotel.”
“Then we can talk,” I whisper.
He hums but doesn’t say anything. I decide to climb into the back seat of his pickup because I don’t have a car seat for Ryan. I know it’s unsafe, but we aren’t going on any main roads. The hotel is literally in the same parking lot as the convention center arena, which is why my dad booked it for me.
Eli doesn’t say anything as he pulls into the guest parking spot next to the main door of the hotel. He shifts the pickup truck intoParkbefore telling me tosit tight.I try to hide my smile, but I’m not sure I succeed.
This feels very much like a date and less like I’m telling this man about his secret baby. I should not be this giddy over him. I try to tell myself that it’s just because I’ve lived that night with him a million times in my head, and I loved every second of it so much that I’ve built it up to this fantasy.
But then I remember how I felt when I woke up the next morning, and he was gone. He didn’t even tell me that he was leaving—no note, no text, nothing. I mean, a few days later, he tried to contact me, but I was already lost inside of my own head by that point.
