Chaos erupts around me, and somewhere, at the edge of my consciousness, I realize I’ve just spilled my beer. That my pants are wet. That my mother and Lucy are frantically patting the table in front of me with napkins in an effort to stop the flood I’ve caused.
I don’t fucking care.
Matt, Noah, and Aidan are all standing up across from me to avoid the spillage. Jack comes running in from the kitchen with a pile of tea towels to help sop up the mess.
I don’t fucking care.
I’m frozen, just staring up into the alarmed eyes of the boy across from me. He backs further away from the table as people continue to scurry around cleaning up my mess.
I just keep looking at those eyes. A grey so pale as to be almost silver.
Like my mother’s eyes.
Likemine.
And then, my mind goes blank.
I’mnotsurehowI got into the kitchen. I assume I walked, but I have no recollection of it. Connor is sitting up now and watches me from his perch by the back door as I pace, his eyes lighting up with hope each time I near the fridge. I might have found it amusing had I not been completely and utterly decimated by this new realization. My thoughts are a chaotic swirling mess, coming at me so fast, I’m overwhelmed with them. With the implications.With the betrayal.
Well, that’s ironic, isn’t it? Turnabout, and all that.
Fuuuck.
Everything I thought—
I feel sick. The meal, the beer, sits heavy in my gut.
I can’t—
My breaths are coming quick and sharp now.
Jesus, I can’t believe what I’m actually thinking. The truth that now lies before me. Or … in the other room.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye on my next shaky pass by the fridge and turn to find Steph standing in the doorway.I freeze, my entire body trembling, as I wait to see what she’ll do. Say. We stare at each other for a long moment. She takes a deep breath, dropping her eyes to the floor.
“Is it true?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
Steph bites her lip and shakes her head, still refusing to look at me.
“Is it true?” I repeat.
“Riley—” she starts, her tone pleading, but I cut her off from whatever crap she’s about to spin.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Steph. Not about this.”
She sucks in a breath at my tone but says nothing.
“Tell me,” I snap, and she jumps, wrapping her arms protectively around her middle. “Is. He. Mine.” I can barely get the words out.
Steph bites her lip again, squeezing her eyes shut and turning away from me, but not before I catch the wetness glistening on her cheeks.
The enormity of the moment washes over me, and I gape at her back—at her shoulders, shaking now with her silent tears.
Her refusal to answer, her unwillingness to meet my eyes, all of it a clear indication that I’m right.
That the boy—Steph’s Matty—is my son.
26
