Panic zaps through me as I’m taken back to that moment. The moment she left me for the first time.
The restaurant is lively. Music plays. Cutlery clinks. People chat and laugh. Alison and I sit across from each other. She’s wearing the necklace I bought her. It’s gorgeous. A reminder that she’s mine. That I won. That I no longer share.
A couple at a nearby table hover over their baby as it cries. Alison winces, her lips pursed as she glares in the direction of the newborn.
"I'm tempted to throw a piece of bread at its whining little head," she mutters under her breath. “This is a five-star restaurant. They shouldn’t even be allowed in here.”
I shoot her a scowl, not entirely surprised by her reaction but still taken aback. "Alison, come on. They’re clearly trying their best.”
“Their best? Sure.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I don't understand why people insist on bringing their noisy, messy offspring to places like this. It completely ruins the atmosphere."
"What do you expect, Alison? It’s a fucking baby. Of course, it’s going to be loud and messy. But it’s a baby. A child.” I glower at her. “I’m sure those people sitting over there find being parents to be quite rewarding.”
Alison's expression hardens, her resolve unwavering. "I don't ever want that kind of reward. You know that. You know that I have goals that I want to achieve, and there’s no room for a baby in those plans."
I scoff. “Yeah? And what goals are those, Alison? Need I remind you where you came from?”
Her jaw drops. “You don’t get to do that, Damon. You don’t get to shove me back into the stripper box whenever it’s convenient for you, okay? I have a brain. You might not give a shit about it, but I have one.”
I cross my arms. “And what do you plan to do with that brain of yours, huh? Go on, tell me. Maybe I’ll finance your great ambitions.”
She clenches her teeth. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
“I’m not the one threatening to throw food at a child.”
“Grow up, Damon.” Alison abruptly stands up, tossing her napkin on the table. She glares at me. “I don’t think this is going to work between us. Clearly we want different things.”
“Sit down, Alison. You’re not going anywhere.”
She curls her fingers on the edge of the table and leans over, her breasts nearly spilling from her dress. “I’m leaving, Damon.” A sly smirk clips her lips as she cocks her head. “Can you guess where I’m going?”
My gaze hardens. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
She smiles at me, devilishly and defiant, and I want nothing more than to teach that mouth a lesson. “You’re not the only man that can fund my ‘ambitions.’” She stands upright and grabs her clutch off the table. “Have a good dinner among your peers.” She glances at the kid. “You’re in good company here.”
“Damon? Hello? Damon!” Quin's voice pulls me out of my reverie. I stand frozen, stunned by the news. Quin puts his hand on my shoulder, his concerned gaze flitting across his face. “Are you okay? Do you need water? I think you should sit down.”
I blink. “She’s pregnant.”
Quin swallows. “I heard.”
Anxiety flutters inside of me. “Who…” The question gets stuck in my throat, unwilling to make its appearance due to a fear of rejection, fear of the wrong answer. “Who’s the father?”
Quin shrugs, not nearly as affected by the news as me. “There’s no way of knowing at the moment.”
I clench my fist. “How did this even happen? She’s on birth control. She’s…”
“The pill is 99 percent effective if used perfectly, which means no missed doses,” Quin explains, his voice clinical. “Most of the time, it’s 93 percent effective. We appear to be in the 7 percent.”
I feel like I’m spiraling, trying to grasp some semblance of control. It’s statistically improbable. This shouldn’t have happened.
“She’s on birth control,” I repeat as if saying it out loud will make it all make sense. But it doesn’t. How did we end up here? How is she in surgery? How is she pregnant? Why is this happening? Is it a blessing? A curse?
Fuck.
Quin sighs. “It’s uncommon but it happens, Damon. It’s no one’s fault.”
I know he’s trying to offer reassurance, but it feels like cold comfort. My mind races through the possibilities and the timelines, trying to piece together the puzzle of paternity. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff not knowing if I’ll fall or fly if I jump down.
