“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but would you please put that thing away?”
“Hell nah. I’m not putting shit away, because I want ya li’l hot ass to know that I’m not fucking around with you. I’m deadass, Charisma.”
“Ask me the question!” I shout nervously as tears fall from my eyes. My stomach is a tight knot, and I swear that I feel like I’m about to crap on myself.
“Is your kid mine?”
My heart drops because I never wanted to keep the truth from him, but I had no idea where he went all those years ago. It was like he dropped off the face of the earth, and I had no way to contact him, and neither did his mother and sister.
In some ways, I was devastated and broken because I loved that man with my entire being, but in other ways, I was relieved. I had been worried that he wouldn’t be a good influence on my baby, knowing the lifestyle that he led. Besides, toward the end of our relationship, all we did was argue and fight about his involvement with the MC and my expectations of him.
I loved him and knew he would love his kid, but I was uncertain what impact his lifestyle would have on CJ.
“Answer me, damn it!” he barks, reminding me that I’m standing here staring at him as though I’m mute.
I close my eyes and squeeze my hands tight. I send up a simple prayer asking God to spare my life for my baby’s sake. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“What’s his name?”
I lower my gaze and mutter, “CJ.”
“CJ?”
I nod and lift my eyes to his, and I’m surprised to find them sparkling with hope. “Yes. Chrishon Martez Jr. Though he’s not really a junior since you weren’t there to sign the birth certificate. I had to hyphenate his last name because they wouldn’t let it be Donovan without your signature. It’s Donovan-Cofield,” I ramble on needlessly.
“Where is he, Charisma?
“I can only guess that he’s with the babysitter at her house.”
“The fuck you mean you can only guess? What kinda mother don’t know where her kid is?”
“The kind who wakes up in a stranger’s apartment because she’s been drugged and can barely remember her last steps.”
“What’s her number? You wanna call her?”
“I don’t know it by heart. It’s saved in my phone, and since it’s dead, I can’t call her.”
“Lemme see,” he demands, wiggling his fingers.
“My phone?”
“Yeah.”
I hand it to him. “It’s an iPhone.”
He sets it on the counter behind him. “I’ve got an Android, which uses a Type C, so it won’t work.”
“I need to get to him.”
“You know where she lives, right?”
“I-I do.”
“We’re going to get him right now.”
