by M. E. Carter
I swore I would never date a single mom for this reason. Just because she’s an aunt doesn’t make her any less of a single mom.
Would it be so bad if we kept dating? Would Chance eventually understand?
What if we broke up? How could I break his heart like my dad broke mine? And would it break my heart to lose him, too, if I spent that long helping raise him?
Quincy makes quick work of getting Chance in his car seat. She hands him a blue squishy book, and he squeals in delight, immediately putting it in his mouth. She shuts the door and turns to face me, leaning against the car.
“Um, so I guess I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yeah,” I say and kiss her quickly. “I’ll call you.”
She nods sadly and walks around the car to the driver’s side. Before getting in, she gazes at me over the hood. It looks like she’s about to say something but doesn’t. She shakes her head and climbs in, closing the door and cranking the engine.
I look through the passenger window at the baby, and he smiles when he catches my eye. I smile back, but it feels fake. I keep my eyes on him until Quincy backs up out of the parking space, and I can’t see him anymore.
What do I do now? Do I keep hanging out with the woman who has become one of my best friends? Or do I call it quits?
I honestly don’t know the answers to my questions, but I know something that will get my mind off this cluster fuck. I pull out my phone and send a text to Christian.
Where you guys at? I’m in.
I stare at the TV, Jamie Fraser’s naked butt strolling by. That alone should hold my attention, but I can’t concentrate on the most recent episode of Outlander.
All I can think about is how it’s been more than a week since I’ve heard from Daniel and how it’s pissing me off. I texted him once. He never texted me back. I’m not surprised. I knew this was coming as soon as Chance called him dada. It was written all over his face. It scared the shit out of him and threw him right back into that default mode Blanca talked about. He’d tried to cover it well, but the fear was so obvious.
The next morning, I saw his picture online. He and his teammates were coming out of some strip club at four in the morning. There’s no way to convince me they went to Purple Palace to have a team meeting. So not only did he get freaked out, he lied to me, and immediately ran to the safety of other women. Distant women. Women whose names he will never know, and he doesn’t have to worry about getting close to.
Pissed off doesn’t even begin to cover the amount of anger I feel.
I try to concentrate on Outlander while Chance naps, jumping every time my phone alerts me of a text because I keep hoping it’s him, which is ridiculous considering how angry I am. These back-and-forth emotions are draining.
Even as I have the thought, the alert dings, and right on cue, I jump, hating myself for my reaction. But it’s not him.
Geni: What are you doing?
Me: Trying to watch Outlander. What are you doing?
Geni: Laundry. Want some company?
Me: I know what you’re trying to do. I’m fine.
Geni: You’re not fine. You’ve been moping around all week. He’s an asshole. You need some fun.
Me: Yes he’s an asshole. But fun on my day off means Jamie Fraser in a kilt.
Geni: Really. Which episode are you on?
When I don’t answer her fast enough, because I don’t honestly know, she texts again.
Geni: That’s what I thought. Now what kind of ice cream do you want?
Me: Mint Chocolate Chip. Breyer’s.
Geni: K. Give me about an hour to finish up and get there.
I toss my phone on the couch and listen for any sign that Chance is waking up before unpausing my show. Claire and Jamie are going at it, high-budget porn style again, but I still can’t concentrate.
I want so bad to text Daniel and find out where his head is at. I want to reassure him that Chance is a baby. He’s trying to figure out language and how sounds make words. I read all about it in my baby book. But I won’t be that girl. I won’t be the girl who chases him.
I’m not glamorous. I’ve got more responsibility than most women my age. I come with baggage. But I also know I’m worth it. I’m okay with not defining a relationship for the sake of having a label, but I’m not okay with being treated like shit, by anyone, for any reason.
The doorbell rings as the episode ends.
Good thing Geni’s here, because I’m going to need to re-watch that episode.
I pad to the door, pulling my hair down from its messy bun and redoing it. I pull the door open without bothering to look through the peephole.
“I wasn’t expecting you for—” I stop mid-sentence. “Oh. I thought you were someone else.”
It’s not Geni standing in front of my door. It’s a guy. He’s a little taller than Daniel, maybe six one, sandy blond hair, decent build.
He smiles. “I stopped by unannounced. Sorry.”
“Can I help you with something?” I ask, discreetly putting my foot behind the bottom of the door in case he tries to force his way in. You can never be too careful.
“I’m Erik,” he says.
I stare at him blankly. I don’t know an Erik.
“Erik Cope,” he says. The name still isn’t ringing any bells. Is Geni trying to set me up? He clears his throat and tries a third time. “I think you have my kid.”
The small smile I had on my face drops, and my knees suddenly feel weak. “What?” I croak.
“You’re Quincy, right?” he asks. “Sarah’s sister?” All I can do is nod. “Then you definitely have my kid.”
I shake my head, trying to get rid of the fog in my brain. I finally pull myself together enough to respond. “You can’t just knock on my door and claim to be my nephew’s dad. He’s almost a year old, for God’s sake.”
“Already?” He has the audacity to look surprised, like he didn’t just turn my world completely upside down when he knocked on the door. “Wow. I didn’t realize it had been that long. That night was kind of a blur.” He takes a step forward. “Can I come in?”
“No.” I force him to step back. “You can’t expect me to let some guy I’ve never met into my home because he claims to be the father of my nephew. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I don’t claim to be him. I am him.” He’s arguing with me, but his demeanor and tone don’t indicate he’s angry. It’s a really strange combination and makes me confused about his intensions. And then it hits me. Fucking Daniel.
I laugh in disbelief. “Let me guess, you read I’m dating Daniel Zavaro, so you decided to come over here, pretend to be the baby’s long-lost father so you can get some free tickets and maybe party with the team, right?” I cross my arms defensively. “That’s not the way it works. There are paternity tests that would have to be done, and lawyers would have to get involved. So you can just be on your way now. I have a half-naked Scottish highlander who needs my attention more than you do.”
“I know a paternity test needs to be done. That’s why my lawyer is already working on the paperwork,” he says, shocking me.
I wasn’t expecting that answer. My arms go limp at my sides. “What?”
He rubs his stick-straight hair. Chance’s hair is stick straight. Everyone in my family has wavy or curly hair. “I wanted to come over before you were surprised with custody paperwork. I thought maybe I could see the kid. Maybe save us all some money with a paternity test if he looks like me or something.”
“He looks like my dad,” I whisper. He’s fighting for custody. Chance has a dad and that dad is fighting for custody of him. I’m going to lose this baby, who I love so dearly—my sister’s child—to this man. My brain is spinning with questions and thoughts. Some rational, some not so rational. Like running away to Canada where this man, this Erik, can never find us. But I know that’s not realistic. Nor is being on the lam a great way to raise a child; likely, I’d end up in prison for kidnapping at some point.
“I guess we’ll have to wait for the test then.”
“Why are you…? I mean… if you knew about him all along, where have you been?” I’m more curious than angry.
“Around.” He doesn’t seem to understand why it’s a big deal. “I heard Sarah was pregnant, and I knew she was trying to find me, but I didn’t wanna be a dad, so I just never made any contact.” I narrow my eyes. He knew the whole time and ignored his responsibilities. He raises his hands defensively. “Hey, it was a one-night stand. She was a nice girl, but I didn’t think either of us wanted to be stuck with each other for the rest of our lives.”
“But there was a baby involved.”
“Like I said, I didn’t want to be a dad.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What changed? Why do you want him now?”
He leans back against the railing and makes himself comfortable, crossing his arms and legs. “My mom.”
“Your mom?”
“We were talking at Sunday brunch the other day, and she mentioned she can’t wait to have grandkids. I realized, well, she does have one and her birthday’s coming up. When I saw the article in the paper and that you had him, it was almost like fate, ya know?”
My jaw drops open. “You want to give your mom the baby you’ve never seen as a birthday present?” I am so pissed, it’s taking everything in me not to punch him in the ’nads right here, right now. The only thing holding me back is the fear that he’d use that against me in the custody battle he says is coming.
“Not a present,” he argues. “That’s ridiculous. More like a birthday surprise.”
“Like ‘Surprise! You already have a grandbaby!’ type thing?” I’m trying to clarify exactly what he means. It’s so unbelievable, I’ve gone from raging mad to perplexed in a matter of seconds.
“Exactly.” He smiles at me like I’m finally catching on and am just going to hand over a ten-month-old. My ten-month-old.
I take a deep breath and put my hands on my hips, ready to try a new tactic. Maybe I can get him to see the error in his thoughts. “Mr. Cope, right?” He nods. “While I appreciate that your mother wants to be a grandma, uprooting a child and handing him over to her is not only a terrible thing to do to the child, it’s not fair to give her a new baby to raise. I’m sure she has a life of her own.”
“I would raise him,” he responds. “She would watch him while I’m in school or at work, or when I go out and stuff.”
“So she’d be your full-time babysitter.”
“Sure. I know she’d love it. She’s raised two boys already and says we were the joy of her life.”
I hang my head, not in defeat necessarily, but in resignation. I’m going to have to go to court with this asshole and fight to keep custody. That’s more money I don’t have to find a decent attorney, and him being the father versus me being the aunt puts me at a terrible disadvantage. It was one of the things Laurie, our caseworker, warned me of when I first got custody, and we were looking for this guy.
“Thank you for giving me a heads up,” I say. “But I’m not going to hand over Sarah’s baby, a baby you had no interest in until now, so you can give him as a gift to someone else. I’ll see you in court.”
I shut the door in his face.
We won our game against Chicago. That’s not even accurate. We slaughtered them. Our team was focused and engaged. We were truly on point. Well, except for me.
I couldn’t keep my head in the game for anything. No one could really tell except me and probably Christian. Maybe my coaches. But other than that, I’m really good at faking it when I’m having an off-game. Everyone else was really on fire, so I didn’t think they noticed anything.
I look around the hotel bar at my teammates and notice how happy they all are. Lots of smiles, lots of booze, lots of Barbie doll women with fake nails and even faker tits. I don’t begrudge them a good time. I just don’t feel it. It all seems… empty.
“Is this seat taken?” One of the Barbies smiles brightly at me. Her long blond, highlighted hair and cherry red lips might have turned me on six months ago, but now it irritates me. I really want to tell her to get lost, but reality is, there isn’t anyone sitting there. Her sitting doesn’t mean I have to talk.
“Nope,” I say making an exaggerated popping sound at the end of the word. I face the back of the bar and sip my whiskey. I don’t even like the stuff, but with the mood I’m in, beer wouldn’t have cut it.
“I’d ask if you come here often, but I already know the answer, and you don’t look like you’re in the mood to play games,” she says, further irritating me. I have to give her credit, though. She didn’t pussyfoot around the conversation. She went for it. Six months ago, I would be halfway to taking her upstairs by now. But that was before I met Quincy and found my very best friend. And before I fell for my very best friend. And before I had to back off so I didn’t screw over my very best friend and her kid.
Fuck, my life is whacked right now.
“I appreciate you being forthcoming, but it’s not gonna happen tonight. You’re wasting your time sitting next to me.”
The bartender approaches, and she says, “Um… rum and Coke, please.” I lift an eyebrow at her. “What? You thought I was gonna go for something suggestive like Sex on the Beach or a Buttery Nipple? I’m not that kind of girl. I’ve been around a long time, but I’m not desperate like a lot of the girls here.”
This intrigues me. She really is the kind of woman I would have bagged six months ago. I wonder if she can help me take my mind off Quincy.
“Then why are you here?” I ask.
“Thank you,” she says kindly as the bartender places her drink on top of a napkin in front of her. She sips and licks her top lip. Her lips are plump and pouty. “I come every once in a while to, how do I explain this, um, scope out a potential lover.”
I feel a kick in the front of my pants. I wasn’t expecting her to be so blunt, and it’s kind of a turn-on. She’s right. She doesn’t act like the other girls. “Really?”
“Soccer players are full of drama, so either they need to be reminded of what great lovers they are after a loss or they want someone to reiterate what great gods they are after a win. Either way, I get some good sex. If it’s a visiting team, I never have to see the person again. It works for me.”
“You sound like the female version of me,” I say with a laugh.
“Good to know I’m not the only one out there.”
I tap the lip of my glass with my forefinger, debating. Quincy made me promise to tell her if I ever got laid by someone other than her. That’s her boundary and I respect it. But I also know, if I go for it, my relationship with her is over. She won’t just cut our ties in the bedroom. She’ll cut ties with me completely. Do I want that? No. But we can’t keep doing what we’re doing either.
“You’re Daniel, right?” the woman asks.
“Yeah.”
“Listen, Daniel.” She swivels on the bar stool so she’s facing me. “I can see you’re struggling with whether or not to take me upstairs, so let me put you out of your misery. It’s not a good idea for you tonight.”
I sit back, confused. “How can you tell I’m struggling?”
“It’s written all over your face.” She circles her face with her finger. “I’m the female version of you, remember?”
I turn back to my drink. “You’re right. So why are you sticking around then? I’m sure there are quite a few guys here who wouldn’t mind spending the night with you.”
“Because it turns out the one guy in here I’m attracted to is suffering some very serious heartbreak. Plus, I need another rum and Coke.”
I wave down the bartender, who brings her another drink. Once she gets it and takes a sip, she starts the inquisition. “What’s her name?”
I crunch up my nose. “That obvious it’s over a woman?”
“Oh yeah.”
I sigh. “Her name is Quincy. She is one of my best friends. I haven’t seen her in two weeks.”
&nb
sp; “Why not?” she asks. I don’t get the feeling she’s trying to be nosy. Just friendly. I feel surprisingly comfortable answering her questions.
“She is raising a ten-month-old. That’s a tricky age. I don’t want the kid to get hurt, so I’ve had to back off a bit.”
“I call bullshit.”
I swivel my head to look at her, stunned. “What do you mean, bullshit? That’s exactly what’s happened.”
She shakes her head back and forth with a smirk. “You can’t fool your best bar buddy. You’re using that kid as an excuse.”
We both look behind us as a sudden outburst of hoots and hollers starts up across the room. Apparently one of my dumb-ass teammates suggested a rousing game of naked Twister in his room. I roll my eyes and down the rest of my drink.
“I’m not using the baby as an excuse.”
“Sure you are,” she argues. “You fell in love with your best friend. It scares you shitless. So instead of manning up, you’d rather run away and blame it all on the child. It’s a classic coping mechanism for men who are afraid of commitment.”
I stare at her, slack jawed.
“What?” she says. “We’re the same, remember? That’s what I’d do.”
I suddenly feel a headache coming on, and I’m more than a little relieved I didn’t follow through with my baser instincts earlier.
“Look, I know you don’t want my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.”
“This ought to be good,” I mumble sipping the new drink the bartender just gave me.
“Stop sitting around hotel bars, contemplating picking up women.” She downs the last of her drink and stands. “Figure this shit out first. Taking time to sort things out in your head is easy to forgive, but getting caught up in all that shit”—she waves at my teammates, who are currently arguing over who is going to run to Walmart for a Twister game board—“will ruin it for you no matter what you decide. Take some time and think it through. The groupies will wait, if that’s what you decide you want.” She pats me on the shoulder and leaves me sitting by my lonesome.