“Is he healthy?”
Vanessa nods, “He has asthma, and we dealt with a few infections in the early months but yes, he is healthy Kolten. He looks like you.”
“He does? And the birth?”
“Painful,” She laughs, “God it hurt.”
I have so many questions.
“Did you do it alone?”
“You can ask everything later,” She sighs, “I’ll tell you everything, okay?”
I nod mutely. No words come out, physically I feel broken.
She tells me goodbye, and I watch her leave, hair teased by the wind. The mother of my child. The mother of my son.
Ethan Avery-Hale.
I somehow make it back to Torin’s house, walking into a ruckus of boisterous laughter and childish giggles. My brothers are in the living room, their girls at their sides while they play a game and it’s Harper in the center, making odd faces and movements.
“Kolt!” Rett yells, “Charades, and we have no idea what Harper is trying to tell us.”
Numbly I walk to them, standing behind the couch they all sit on while little Harper continues to make faces and shapes.
“Frozen!” Maya yells confidently but Harper shakes her head.
“It’s got something to do with ice.” Arryn adds.
But Harper shakes her head again.
I can’t connect here though, there’s too much going on inside me. So much pain radiating throughout me I have no idea how to handle it. For a man who thought himself emotionally dead, this sure is a lot of feeling.
My heart is skipping beats and my stomach is a knot of nausea.
Silently, I leave the room, heading for the kitchen and the bottle of whiskey Torin keeps in the cupboard.
I stare at it, contemplating the warming numbness that would come with a drink, but I was going to Nessa’s. I was going to meet my son and drinking didn’t seem to be the wisest idea.
I felt disconnected from all of this, from all of them. It doesn’t feel like I’m their brother, their family, I’m more like a stranger imposing on their time.
I don’t belong here.
“You good?” Rett’s voice sounds from behind me.
I turn to find him casually leaning on the frame of the door, a twinkle in his eyes and a grin on his mouth.
“Fine,” I grunt.
“Vanessa, huh?” He laughs, “Never would have guessed it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I grab the bottle.
“No?” He tuts, taking the bottle from me, “So he isn’t your son?”
I spin on him, grabbing the bottle back with a snatch, “You knew!?”
His brow quirks, “Not exactly.”
