I wave them off with a heavy heart before heading inside.
The second I switch off the alarm and close my door, I give in to the grief devouring me from the inside, crumpling to the floor and sobbing as images of my tiny little daughter flash before my eyes, and it’s as if I’m losing her all over again.
***
Pounding on my front door rouses me from sleep, and I lift my head from my pillow, dragging my drunk ass out of bed. The room spins as I stand, and I take a few moments to steady myself before heading to the front door to let Kent in.
I’ve been expecting him.
I swing the door open, stepping aside so he can enter.
He looks like shit. His hair is sticking up everywhere, like he’s been pulling fistfuls of it for hours. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the scent of Mary J clings to his wrinkled clothes. A purplish bruise mars his left cheek, and there’s a small swelling on his right cheekbone.
Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, I realize I’m in no position to judge. I’m still wearing the dress I wore to dinner, and it’s creased to fuck. My hair is wild, my usual smooth waves tangled in knots. Mascara stains have dried on my face, and I’m sporting a classic case of panda eyes.
“You left,” he says, pinning me with a pained gaze.
“I couldn’t stay there.” I walk to the kitchen, groaning when I open the fridge door and the bright light stabs me through the eyes. I extract two waters, handing one to him.
“Were you crying?” he asks, inspecting my face.
I nod.
“Come here.” He opens his arms, walking toward me, and I sink into his embrace. Closing my eyes, I bury my face in his shirt, clutching him for dear life. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That’s not how I wanted today to go.”
I snort because way to state the obvious. He presses kisses into my hair, and I sober up real fast. Looking up at him, I ask, “Is the baby yours?”
A vein pops in his neck, his jaw tightens, and anger blazes in his eyes. “She says it is.”
“But you don’t believe her.”
“I don’t.” Taking my hand, he guides me into the living room. We sit side by side on the couch. He drags a hand through his hair, rubbing at his eyes. “We’ve grown up in the public eye, and one thing Dad drilled into us was there will always be people who try to take advantage of us. Girls who will try to trap us with pregnancy, so we’ve always been careful. Especially me, because I’m usually trashed when I have sex, so I’ve trained myself to always, always, always wear a condom.” He taps the side of his head. “It’s ingrained in me, and I have never, ever, fucked Whitney without one.”
“That doesn’t mean she couldn’t get pregnant. It could have broken—”
“Or she could have tampered with it,” he finishes for me, pointing at the swelling on his right cheekbone. “When I made that suggestion, Adam got another punch in.”
“That man is a delusional jackass, and I can’t believe he hit you again. It’s so wrong.” I’m aggrieved on his behalf.
A smirk ghosts over his mouth. “Don’t worry. Dad lost it, and he punched him. I think his nose might be broken.”
“It would serve him right.” I have zero sympathy—except for Faye. She is trapped in the middle, and it was obvious she was upset earlier.
“Mom made them leave after that, and I don’t think either of them will be welcome in our house again.”
“I wouldn’t want them back in my home.” I wet my dry lips, asking the all-important question. “What are you going to do?” I knot my hands in my lap, wishing I had the half-empty bottle of tequila lying on my bed beside me.
“I want her to do a paternity test. I Googled it, and there are three different tests you can get done while the baby is in the womb. She would only have to wait a few weeks to take one, but she’s refusing, citing risk to the baby.”
“Now she cares about her child,” I mumble, still furious with her drinking at dinner.
“Mom tried to talk her into agreeing to meet with a specialist to run through her options. There is a noninvasive procedure that poses no risk to the baby, but she’s insisting it’s her choice and she doesn’t want to do it.”
“Because she knows it’s not yours?” I peer into his eyes.
He exhales heavily. “Or she wants to make me sweat for another thirty-four weeks. Whitney has a real nasty streak, and this is her way of punishing me for you. I want to believe it’s because the baby isn’t mine, but the honest truth is it could be. She had a report from her doctor and an ultrasound pic, and the time line stacks up.”
Air flees his mouth in shaky spurts, and he hangs his head. Stress seeps from every pore, and I wish I could wipe it all away. The air is heavy with so many unspoken words, and he still doesn’t know of my internal torment.
