Chapter One
On the list of shit I didn’t expect to happen today, this has just taken the number one spot.
From a box on my porch, the bundle, wrapped in so many blankets you can only see its limbs moving, cries and writhes, its wails echoing down the street.
It’s fucking freezing out here. The ground is wet, so why the fuck is there a baby on my damn porch?
I need to pick it up, but there appears to be a misfire in my brain because it can’t send the memo to my limbs to move. Instead, several long seconds pass before I can function again.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself as I lean down and pick the box up with the baby swaddled inside, only just noticing the ripped and damp note attached.
“Hey,” I murmur to the crying child, “Shh.”
Behind me, I hear the group laughing, music playing as they all talk and relax. Stepping back inside, I place the box on the console table and place my hand on the baby’s chest, hoping the small contact will offer some kind of comfort, but what the fuck do I know? Computers, software, and calculations I know, babies not so much.
Ripping the note from the box, I read the messy scrawl.
I can’t do it.
She’s yours.
Give her up or take her; I don’t care.
Don’t contact me.
Seline.
Seline!? Who the fuck is Seline?
I rack my brain, trying to place the name, but I’ve been with many women, most of whom I don’t get their names. I’m in the business of pleasure, not commitment.
I can list the names I have on one hand, and as I go through them, placing each one, Seline’s face floats to the forefront of my mind.
Thirteen months ago. A dark club. She gave me her name, and apparently, she already knew who I was. That wasn’t uncommon, but she also understood it was a one-night thing, no strings attached, no feelings involved.
Fuck.
She got pregnant!?
My eyes lower to the baby, wrapped in a small pink blanket with ducks on it, the edges worn and fraying. She fusses, no longer crying but not content either. This baby is only a few months old, tiny, fragile, and… mine.
No, fuck no.
What am I supposed to do with a baby, damn it!?
I struggle to swallow as I retrieve the infant from the box, the few times I’ve held Hope, my best friend’s daughter, flashing in my memory. Her clothes are damp, and her diaper seems fuller than it should be, but what the hell do I know?
What’s her name? I turn my attention back to the note, but there is no name I can see, nothing on her clothing or the blanket.
The baby whines, the sound soft but miserable.
“Shh,” I whisper gently, attempting a rocking motion I’ve seen Sebastian do with Hope. She’s so fucking cold. What would have happened if I didn’t hear the knock? Didn’t know she was there!? She would have frozen to fucking death!
My blood heats inside my veins, the quiet anger working through me like a snake. My teeth grind together as I reach for one of my coats on the hook and wrap it around her, attempting to warm her, but I know she needs to be changed, probably bathed, and fed.
This must be some kind of mistake. This can’t be my baby. I can’t be a dad. I take precautions; I make sure I wear a condom so this doesn’t happen. I’m not father material, never wanted to be.
Staring down into the little round face with pink cheeks and watery brown eyes, something connects. A magnet finding its other half.
