The question hits me like a rock truck loaded to the brim.
All the air seems to leave my body at once without me even releasing a breath.
In five months’ time, I was going to be a dad.
Now I’m not.
Just like that.
My baby’s gone.
A dream met with a sudden death.
The bubble bursts all over again, and I rub at my chest trying to ease an ache that’s too deep to soothe. I ground my feet and find a place to look that feels safe and solid before the shift inside me can throw me too far off balance.
“I don’t have any children,” I choke out. I want to clear my throat, but the huge knot lodged in there won’t budge, forcing me to talk around it while I try to act like I’m okay with that statement. “I like them, and I almost thought I was getting onefor a second there, but… no. No kids. I had a kid brother once. And a few imposters after him that could be cute sometimes.”
I hang my head and groan. “I shouldn’t have called them imposters. It slipped out, and I regret it. I should have said I had an awesome dad who taught me everything I would know about how to be one — two awesome dads, in a way. And a couple of not so awesome ones who showed me hownotto parent a child, so I’ve probably had more education on the subject than most, but I’m not one. A parent, that is. I’m rambling. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting your question, and it kind of threw me. I need to regroup. Excuse me.”
“Bates.”
I shake my head and make for the exit as Hawk’s arriving.
“Hey, Kel.” He’s chipper as fuck until he realizes I’m heading straight for the door he’s blocking, then he steps to the side in a hurry. “Aw, hell. What’s going on? Lana, what did you do?”
I stall in my tracks, spin on my heel, and roar at him.
“She hasn’t done a fucking thing. Get her a coffee and put some fucking milk in it.”
For a moment, Hawk stares at me, stunned. “But?—”
I leave and shut the door behind me, but he pulls it back open and follows me out.
“Kelly, wait. What’s this all about? I want to help you.”
“You can’t. I’m not a father, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
18
LANA
Dad sets a cup of black coffee in front of me and sits with his own, which has milk.
“Dad?”
“Mm?” He’s still looking at the door Bates pushed through a while ago.
“Thanks for the coffee, but I take milk.”
When his eyes meet mine, the greenish tint in his hazel gaze seems more prominent. “What’s that?”
“I take milk. In my coffee.”
“Oh.” He stares at the darkness in my cup for a moment and then nods. “Sorry, Goose. Force of habit. Martha takes hers black. I wasn’t thinking.” His gaze slides toward the door again.
“Youwerethinking, just not about me. It’s okay.” I give him a forgiving smile. “I’m worried about him, too. I just wanted to remind you that I take milk. Like you. We like our coffee the same way. It might be the only thing we have in common besides our current urge to go after Bates and check on him, but he deserves a minute to himself to recover while we decide who’ll go and sit with him.”
“It’ll be me,” Dad says, eyeing me strangely — but at least looking at me now. “Kelly’s my friend. It’s me who’s going after him.”
