Reckless Kisses

by Addison Moore

“I’m not trying to.” His eyes glisten with tears, and his cheek twitches as if he were struggling not to break down right here in the bar, not that it would be a stretch since we’re pretty much causing a scene. He glances down before coming up for a lungful of air. “I’m sorry, Sunday. I let you believe something that wasn’t true. It just never felt like the right time to tell you.”

  It sinks in hard and fast, like only the truth can. All thoughts of Seth faking this moment to be some kind of a hero are off the table. That look on his face, that tone in his voice can’t be faked. I know Seth enough to realize when he’s telling the truth, or at least I think I do. One thing is obvious. I don’t really know Seth Baker at all.

  “Five months?” I take another step back and land against Rush. “You lied to me for five months? You never wanted to tell me, did you? You were happy letting me think it was Eli’s baby while you played the part of some hero. You let me apologize to you over and over again for being with me while I was pregnant with someone else’s child, and you never said a word!” My father and brothers share a quiet groan. “Oh my God.” I laugh like a loon. “You said you loved me. Was that a lie, too? Because I’m really starting to think so.”

  “No, I swear it. That was God’s honest truth.” He tries to take a step toward me, but I push into my brother before turning to Rush.

  “Get me out of here. I can’t take another second of it.” I make a mad dash for the exit, and Rush is right there with me, protecting me, loving me like only a true brother can.

  I feel like such a fool.

  Hell, I am one.

  Seth

  Serena, Trixie, and Lex take off after Sunday, and just as I’m about to join them, Rush comes bounding back in, a look of rage and delirium in his eyes, and as much as I want to duck, I stand a little taller, ready to take it on the chin.

  Rush blindsides me with a sucker punch to the gut before going for the upper cut and landing it smack in my eye.

  “Shit,” I bark as I stagger back. I’m pretty sure he just put my eye out. There’s no coming back from a blow that powerful.

  Rush slams me against the wall. “That’s right, you little shit.” He decks me again, and both Marlin and Nolan try their best to pluck him off. “You fucked my sister? It’s unreal! You don’t have a brain, because if you did, you’d realize what a stupid mistake that was. You’re going to pay for this, Baker. I never thought I’d say these words to you, but you are dead to me.” He takes off once again, and I find myself staring in the face of Sunday’s father, Chuck. His eyes are filled with venom, his face red as if he’s ready to blow.

  “Do you love my daughter?” His voice rattles the window behind him he shouts it so loud.

  “Yes.” I look to Nolan a moment. “I do.”

  He grunts as if it was the wrong answer. “Then why did you let her think you weren’t the father? What kind of coward move was that?”

  Dad steps over. “Who are you calling a coward? My son just declared his love for your daughter—who, by the way, couldn’t even identify the father of her child. I think that says a lot right here.”

  “A lot,” Mom chimes.

  Sunday’s father throws a punch and lands Dad flying backward, knocking both of my parents down like bowling pins. Nolan and Misty do their best to help them to their feet as the chaos notches up again.

  “Enough of this,” Nolan barks. “This night wasn’t supposed to go this way.” He glares at me. He looks to my sister, and she gives a tired nod. “The reason we brought everyone out tonight is because we have news to share. Come next Christmas, we’ll be having an addition to the family—one of our own.”

  “Misty!” Mom raises her hands in the air with jubilation. “Is this true?”

  Misty nods while taking a moment to glare at me. “A little cousin for Seth’s child to play with.” She comes over and wraps her arms around me. “Congratulations, little brother. I’m sorry things are a mess right now. I just know that in a year when we’re both bouncing babies on our knees, none of this will matter. I’m sure you and Sunday will have everything ironed out. It’s going to be okay.” I look past her as Chuck and my parents apprehensively hug it out, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of hope, but as soon as it peeks its weary head over the horizon, it dies back down. I’ve hurt Sunday, disappointed just about everyone I know. I don’t think it’ll ever be okay.

  Axel and Shep come over and nod to me as they take off. Great. I’m sure I can kiss any fat donation Collins and Associates was about to gift us goodbye. I’d give anything if I could go back and tell Sunday right from the beginning. But that’s a superhero move, and God knows they don’t issue cowards like me a cape or the ability to time travel. I’ve screwed everything up, and now I have to live with it.

  Sunday isn’t too interested in hearing anything I might have to say. Trixie let me know in no uncertain terms that I’m not to contact Sunday. She is strictly off-limits. Rush will chop off my dick if I even try—Trixie’s cryptic words, not mine.

  I spend the weekend in bed just staring at the ceiling, sleep evading me as I hope to God Sunday will call, but she doesn’t. Monday after my first final, which I’m sure I tanked, I head over to the Mustang Dome. The only thing I want to do is sink a few hoops, do something right for a change, and maybe clear my head.

  No sooner do I step in than I find someone’s already beaten me to it.

  “Eli,” I say a little too loud as if coming out of a trance. “Hey.” I nod as I make my way over. I have no clue if Sunday filled him in on the truth, but if not, I’ll gladly put the poor guy out of his misery.

  “What’s up?” He sounds dejected as he shoots for the hoop and makes it in with a rim shot. He chases after the ball and passes it to me.

  “Did you talk to Sunday?” I pull my backpack off and drop it to the floor before heading toward the hoop myself. “About the baby?”

  “Yup.” He scratches at the back of his neck as he glances to the exit. “I guess the word is out, huh? Wish I knew earlier, but what can you do? I don’t blame her.” He takes off for the benches, and I follow him. “I tried to contact her over the weekend, but she’s not responding. I went over there this morning, and her roommate said for me to come back.” He takes a seat and drops his head between his knees like he might be sick. “Dude, I don’t know what the hell to do. I was going to head to grad school, but I think I’ll pull out.” He comes up with a dull laugh roaring from him. “Wish I pulled out four long months ago.”

  “Five, but don’t worry about it, man.” I shoot the ball across the room as I take a seat next to him. “It’s not your kid.”

  “What?” He looks my way, the thick look of worry still rife on his face. “Sunday says it’s mine. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mess with me. And I was with someone that night. But it’s all a blur. She was right. I was pretty toasted.”

  “You weren’t with her. I was.”

  Eli ticks his head a notch, and I can’t tell if it’s fury or confusion taking over, probably both. “What are you talking about, man? I’m the dad. She told me herself.”

  “You’re not anybody’s dad.” I grind my fist in my good eye. “Sunday was wrong. We ended up in your room, so she assumed you were the father. She started off stalking you that night, but ended up playing beer pong with me.”

  He leans back, his head pointed to the ceiling a moment. “You’re the idiot I told off that next morning?”

  “Yes, you told me to get the hell out of your room or you’d kick my ass. That was me.”

  Eli bounces to his feet as if he were about to offer me a complete set of black eyes courtesy of that anvil at the end of his arm.

  I rise to my feet, readying for the beating. I’ve already taken one. What’s another?

  “So, you’re the dad?” He turns his head as if he wasn’t completely prepared for yet another plot twist.

  “Yes, I’m the dad. I’m also the asshole who let her believe you were the dad for five months too long. I’ve known about t
he baby from the beginning. I have no clue what made me wait so long to man-up. It just never felt like the right time. I thought I’d take her to the lookout or something memorable. It’s stupid, I know.”

  “No, it’s not stupid.” A dull laugh pumps out of him, and the relief oozing off him is downright palpable. “Dude, you’re about to be a father. It’s only natural you’re terrified. I was. I was freaking out—out of my mind with worry about the future, the baby, Sunday. First and foremost, I wanted to be the best dad for my kid, and I know that you feel the same way.” He slings his arm around my shoulder. “You and Sunday are crazy about each other.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Everyone knows that. You’re together. I’ve known it for a while. Sunday beams when she’s around you. Around me all she wants to do is eat nachos.”

  We share a quick laugh, and I take a step back. “So tell me right now if you’re pissed at me. I want to make things right with you.”

  “Nope, I’m not pissed.” His affect grows serious as if it were true as God.

  “But I am,” a voice calls out from behind.

  We turn to find Rush headed this way, that I’m going to kill you look still very much firmly in place. Fuck. Just great.

  Eli gives me a pat on my back. “And that would be my cue. I’ll see you girls later.” He takes off for the locker room, and it’s just Rush and me, and not a witness to testify about my death. How very fortunate for him.

  Rush steps in close and folds those tree trunk-like arms over his chest. “You know I want to mop the floor with you.”

  “I might let you. Might not.” I still can’t see straight out of my left eye, no thanks to him, but I’m not complaining.

  He reaches over and gives my shoulder a hard shove. “But I’m not going to do it.” He glowers at me, and I can see traces of Sunday in there glaring right along with him.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Twenty weeks, gained fifteen pounds, hasn’t slept in months, still pukes at the sight of chicken or cardboard boxes—but you know that, don’t you?”

  “I guess I do.” I swallow hard. I’d give anything to be there with her right now, wherever she is. I know she’ll be knocking out her finals this week. I won’t dare show up until they’re through. I don’t want to mess with her head any more than I already have.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Rush runs after a ball and comes back dribbling.

  “I’m going to talk to Sunday.”

  “Good.” He takes a moment to glare at me again. “Because I know she wants that, too.” His expression softens. “Give her until Wednesday—her last final in lit.”

  “You think she’ll forgive me?”

  “I don’t know, man. But according to Trix, she’s crazy about you. Why the hell didn’t you tell me you and Sunday were a thing?” His tone is aggressive, and judging by the way his fingers press white as he strangles the shit out of that ball, I’m guessing I made the right move.

  “Because I knew you couldn’t take it. She’s your sister, I get it.” I steal the ball out of his hands. “I don’t know. I guess I thought it would all somehow magically work out in the end. But time kept slipping, and before I knew it, months had passed.”

  He smacks the ball right out of my arms. “Months aren’t allowed to pass this time, Baker. You’re going to talk to my sister in two days, and I don’t want to see her upset anymore.” He starts to walk away and shoots the ball my way like a missile. I catch it before it takes out a lung. “I don’t want to see you upset either.”

  He takes off, and it’s just me standing there, alone. Rush doesn’t want to see either Sunday or me upset. I guess that’s progress. Now, if only I can iron things out with Sunday. Something tells me I’m going to need a miracle or two, or ten, or twelve to get her to forgive me. I’d wait a hundred years if I had to. I just need for her to smile my way one more time.

  I love Sunday Knight and that sweet little fish swimming around in her belly. I’d do anything for the two of them—even if it means holding my breath for the next two days.

  The Parent Hood

  Sunday

  Get crap done…

  Vlog. Apologize to the peeps for being such a fucking liar.

  Head to Hallowed Grounds for an extra-large vanilla bean cookie crumble frap and keep an eye on that shady barista who always gyps you of your rightful crumbles. Finals are done. Crumbles are definitely in order.

  Wash hair. Maybe.

  Order an extra-large family portion of linguine with arrabbiata sauce from Dante’s Italian Kitchen. Eat your feelings. The heartburn it induces will be an improvement compared to the hell you’re in.

  I have never been so miserable. Sure, my boobs have swollen to the size of watermelons, my ankles are threatening to go on strike if I gain another pound, my face looks as if it has a serious case of road rash, there’s more hair on my shower wall than there is on my head, my butt hurts, I can’t sleep, I still throw up for the hell of it, I’m pretty sure I hate just about everybody, I want to run wild through a sushi restaurant and shove pounds and pounds of raw fish into my face, I do consume frightening amounts of chocolate, and I can’t hide my blooming belly anymore, but all of that pales in comparison to how much I miss Seth. And regardless of how achingly I want to be near him, I’m terrified my fingers will find their way around his neck, and I’ll end up on death row because I can’t fight off the urge to slaughter him. I’m pretty sure no judge will uphold an argument that starts with but I had a craving for murder! Nope, that won’t fly. Damn hormones.

  After Seth made his malevolent point clear last Saturday night, Trixie and Serena took me back to my dorm. I pretty much cried myself to sleep and then repeated the effort the next day. Monday, I botched my history final. Tuesday, I might have done a little better. And today, Wednesday, the entire event was sort of an out-of-body experience. The odds I passed any of my classes this semester will be nothing short of a miracle.

  “All right, girl.” I position my phone on the nightstand and make sure it catches both Izzy and me in the frame. “You ready to do this?”

  “Are you kidding?” Izzy scoots back on the bed until her bulbous belly sits between her legs. “Get some mascara on me before I end up accidentally having the baby and frightening the daylights out of it. No one should see me without a protective layer of foundation. It’s criminal you made me waddle all the way here without it. I don’t think I’ve had a face this naked since I was thirteen. Let’s do it!”

  “You do realize we’re live, right?”

  Her mouth rounds out into a perfect O as she looks to the camera.

  “Hey, guys!” I wave to my phone. “It’s Sunday Knight, and I’ve got a special guest with me today, one that I’ve been promising for a very long time.” I bite down on my lip and shoot a quick look to Izzy. She nods for me to continue with a marked determination. Izzy has been one of my biggest supporters from the get-go. I take a deep breath and look back to the camera. “But first, I need to make a confession. I haven’t exactly been honest with you guys, and I feel pretty terrible about it. You see, all those months ago when you saw that tiny box behind me and you blew up my feed with accusations that I was pregnant?” I wince. Here it is—my do or die moment. “You were right. I totally was—still am.” I scoot back just enough to expose my own burgeoning tummy. “This right here is Little Fish. He or she has been with me since December. I hope you won’t think I’m a fraud, or that I purposefully meant to deceive you—even though in a way I totally did—but here’s the deal. I just wasn’t ready to face it myself. So, if you accept my apology, and I sincerely hope you do, I’d like to get on with today’s show and make this soon-to-be mama sitting next to me smile.”

  I get right to brandishing today’s hottest, most lust-worthy ointments and powders, and soon enough Izzy looks as if she should be painting the town with her man, not sitting in some dorm with a knocked-up teenager—I’ll be twenty in three weeks.

  “Wel
l, guys?” I pull back, exposing Izzy to the camera. “What do you think?”

  Izzy presses her lips together and moans, “Don’t I get to have an opinion? Give me a mirror stat. I’m dying to see the transformation.”

  “You bet.” I hold up a handheld mirror, and she brings it in close.

  “Oh my God!” she shouts so loud you’d think I performed a head transplant.

  “What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy? Are you allergic to red lipstick or something?”

  “Oh no!” She grips her belly as she looks to me in horror. “My water just broke!”

  “Shit!” I scream as the two of us take off in a panic, running in a dizzying circle, and once I spot the water stain on the bed I gag a little. “We need to get you out of here!”

  “We need to call Holt!”

  “Great idea! Where’s your phone?”

  “I don’t know!” she wails. “Wait—we don’t need it. He’s watching us live from the Black Bear.” She gets in close to the camera—a totally unflattering angle, but I don’t dare go there. “Honey? Can you hear me? I need a ride to the hospital. And we might want to swing by the house and grab my bag. Oh, and tell Laney and Baya! They made me swear I’d tell them. And call Gemma! Get Misty, too. Oh my God, call my mother! She’ll kill me if I forget about her. And if you think of anyone else who needs to know, call them, too!”

  It takes less than five minutes for Holt to race over. Serena jumps out of his car and we help buckle Izzy up, and they take off in a cloud of smoke and dust.

  “Well”—Serena scoffs—“that was your most dramatic makeover ever.” She threads her arm through mine and pulls me in. “Now that you have a minute, would you mind if we have a proper sit-down?”

  “Only if it happens at Hallowed Grounds and involves an extra-large vanilla bean cookie crumble.”

  Serena bubbles with a laugh. “Make it two and you got a deal.”