Gavin raises an eyebrow at me, but I shake my head. I’m tired of this whole situation. This entire trip has been such a letdown. I don’t know what I was thinking would happen, but it wasn’t this.
I get up. “I’m going to take Lincoln back and we’re both going to take a nap. I’m done with this day.”
I go to the bedroom without waiting for an answer. I wasn’t expecting Archer to be happy—not exactly, anyway—when he found out about Lincoln, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to be accused of lying. He has a girlfriend, though, and I’m sure she’s pissed off about this surprise, too. Maybe even more than he is.
Not that it matters. I’m not here to get into a relationship, especially not with the one-night stand I had when I walked out on my wedding. He deserves to know he has a son, that’s all. I did what I came here to do. I found Lincoln’s father and gave him the opportunity to know his son. It’s not my fault if he doesn’t want to, no matter how much that sucks. I lived most of my childhood without a dad, and I survived, but I always sort of wondered what it would have been like if my dad had stuck around.
Then again, if my dad acted anything like Archer, I’m probably better off not having had him there.
Chapter 11
Santa Sees His Baby
Archer
“Itoldyounogood would come from making that phone call yesterday.” Eric’s arm swings out and he smacks me on the back of the head. It hurts like a bitch because of the massive hangover I’m presently dying of, and I flinch away. It’s dawning on me that piling a day of drinking on top of the hangover I already had may not have been the best idea I’ve ever had. “You were way too drunk to be making phone calls, especially not in this delicate of a situation. Jesus, man. I’m your fucking friend. One of these days, you’re going to have to listen to what I say.”
“I listen plenty. Usually it’s the listening to you that gets me into trouble.”
“Well,” he huffs with a laugh. “You’ve gotten yourself into it this time.”
He doesn’t have to tell me that. I know it. I feel it. And this hangover isn’t letting me forget it anytime soon.
This morning when Eric dragged me out of bed and force-fed me coffee, water, and painkillers, I thought I was already experiencing the pinnacle of self-pity. When he showed me the paperwork that came with Phoebe’s letter, I knew I couldn’t have been more wrong. I felt like the world’s biggest asshole because that’s what I was. What I am.
Turns out I should have listened to Eric when he told me to hang up instead of leaving a message, or better yet, when he’d told me not to call at all. The packet of information Phoebe gave me included her letter, a picture, details of Lincoln’s birth, and information about his doctor and general health. But that’s not what made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. The contact information for every lab in the city that conducts paternity testing that she gave me did that. She included everything she could to make this easier for me.
Conspicuously absent? Any sort of request for money.
The whole thing showed me I was a giant fucking asshole, which I think was Eric’s plan. I knew I would need to apologize, but I wasn’t ready to face Phoebe yet when Eric dragged me out under the pretense of going to get food. Needless to say, I was dumbstruck when I saw her at the door, and haven’t been able to do much other than stand around filled with shame ever since.
Eric, however, continues with his plan of forcing her to listen and bangs on the door again. We’ve been out here for almost half an hour and he’s been banging on the door every few minutes, his way of reminding them we’re still here, I suppose. If we’re lucky, they haven’t called the cops on us yet. I can’t imagine what would happen if they came up to find him banging on the door and me sitting on the step, looking sick as a dog.
“Give it a rest,” I tell him. “You saw that monster. He’s not changing his mind. If he opens the door again, I’d get ready to duck.”
He rings the doorbell several times in a row, then bangs on the door in a steady cadence.Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. Over. and. over. and. over.If it’s fucking annoying to me, I can’t imagine anyone inside appreciates it. Especially not with a baby in the house.
Oh fuck.
The baby.
“Shit, dude. Stop. You’re going to wake the ba—”
The door flies open and a small, red-faced woman with short, wild hair stands there glaring up at Eric. “Would you fucking stop that? I’ve already had to triple my cookie recipe because every time you knock, I get distracted and add too much of a different ingredient. You need to leave. Phoebe doesn’t want to talk to you.” She pushes her glasses up her nose with a flour-covered finger, leaving a dusty print on them. Standing there with her fists on her hips, her hair stuck up at odd angles, and looking between us with narrowed eyes, I’m reminded of an angry pixie. Finally, when neither of us says a word, she huffs. “Which one of you is the idiot who left that moronic message?”
I wait for Eric to take over, like he’s been doing since he dragged my ass out of bed this morning, but he’s frozen to the spot, staring at this little woman who is now looking between the two of us expectantly. She taps her foot, the frilly apron she has over her clothes turning her into the perfect picture of a scolding housewife.
“Well? Out with it.”
I duck my head and raise my hand. “Me,” I say with a resigned breath.
“Alright, dickhead. I have some things to say to you starting with, how dare you take advantage of a woman whose wedding had just been called off? Have you no shame? Seeing you now, you’re not completely ugly. I’m sure you don’t need to resort to preying on emotionally vulnerable women to get lucky.” She stares at me, arms crossed, foot still tapping.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I’m not completely ugly? I’d like to think I’m not ugly at all, but that’s not the point. I do not prey on vulnerable women. That night, Phoebe was as drawn to me as I was to her. She ripped my clothes off just as enthusiastically as I ripped off hers.
I stare right back, no answer forthcoming. A minute, maybe two, passes, with neither of us saying a word.
The high-pitched squeal of a smoke detector shatters the strange silence and the woman’s face drops into a shocked grimace.
