The Trap (Prequel)

by Beverley Kendall

  “You owe me.”

  At Josh’s voice, I lift my head from my beer and watch him drop into the chair across from me. He’s wearing a pair of chinos and a button-down shirt, which is dressed up for him. I called him a half hour ago, about an hour after I left Paige’s, and asked him to meet me at a hole-in-the-wall dive bar on the other side of town near the community college. They serve college students no questions asked, so no fake ID required. And boy did I ever need a drink.

  “She must not have been that important if you dropped her to meet me here,” I say.

  Josh grins, shrugging nonchalantly. “I had to promise to take a rain check. I told her I had to go bail my friend out of jail.”

  “You’re fucked.”

  “No, I was getting ready to get fucked and your call interrupted that,” Josh replies, laughing. When I don’t return his smile, his expression sobers and it’s then he appears to remember why he’s here in the first place.

  “So what’s up? Something happen with your baby mama?”

  I glower at him. “Fuck you.” I detest that term.

  Josh barks a laugh. “Alright, I’ll shut it if you tell me why you dragged me away from Tiffany.”

  If I don’t tell someone, I’ll go crazy but I don’t respond right away. Then I just spit it out. “She stopped taking the Pill and didn’t tell me.”

  Josh makes a choking sound in his throat. He shakes his head, his expression disbelieving. “Are you shitting me?”

  You see, he may have asked about Paige getting knocked up on purpose, but deep down, he didn’t really believe she’d do something this low.

  I give him the do I look like I’m fuckin’ joking look before taking a long swallow of my beer.

  When he realizes I’m not, he gives a low whistle under his breath. “Holy shit. Man, that’s pure evil.”

  Placing the bottle down in front of me, I prop my elbows on the table and rub my palms over my face.

  “What are you going to do?” Josh asks, quickly transitioning into full-concerned-friend mode.

  “I don’t have a fuckin’ clue,” I mutter. I’m too overwhelmed by everything to be able to think clearly.

  “Are you one hundred percent sure the kid is yours?”

  My gaze snaps to Josh’s and I can tell he’s not trying to yank my chain.

  “Shit man, she goes off the Pill without telling you. You don’t know what else she might not be telling you.”

  Yesterday when he’d asked the same thing, I’d been ready to beat the crap out of him. In light of everything, today I really have to consider it. Because today I can’t say I know my girlfriend well enough to say she wouldn’t get knocked up on purpose, so I sure as hell can’t say I know her well enough to know whether she’d ever cheat on me. What if she had been cheating on me? It’s not as if she’d tell me. She’d keep me in the dark the same way she’d have kept me in the dark about going off birth control.

  “Fuck, I don’t know. She says it’s mine but what the hell do I know.” What I do know is that Paige is more than capable of lying about some pretty big-ass things.

  “Well before you do anything, I’d get a paternity test. You sure as hell don’t want to drop out of Warwick for a kid that’s not yours. And with a kid, you’re going to be on the hook for child support until the kid’s at least eighteen.”

  As pissed as I am right now, I can’t bring myself to believe that Paige cheated on me. I’ve seen her around what’s his face and I never saw anything there. If he’s hung up on her, he’s done a pretty good job of hiding it and if she has a thing for him, well she sure as hell fooled me.

  No, I don’t believe it. But it won’t hurt to have a paternity test just in case I’m wrong. And it’s obvious I’ve been wrong before when it comes to her. Wrong on a scale that will cost me for the rest of my life.

  “Don’t be a chump. Get a paternity test,” Josh reiterates in a hard voice as if he takes my silence for me wavering.

  “Right, I gotcha. I’ll ask for a paternity test,” I say tersely.

  “Don’t ask for one, you moron, demand one.”

  I scowl at him. “You know what I mean.”

  He meets my glare head-on, his own expression grim. “No I don’t. Your girlfriend has you wrapped around her finger. Which is exactly how you found yourself in this situation in the first place.”

  “Right, like I need this shit from you now,” I say, pushing the chair back and standing. I’m outta here.

  “Jesus, Mitch, calm down. Sit your ass down. I’m on your side or are you forgetting that?” Josh grabs my arm, his hold on it strong.

  “It sure as hell doesn’t sound that way.” I jerk my arm free but I make no attempt to leave.

  “Is this how you’re going to act when you don’t like what you hear? You know what I’m saying is the truth,” he reasons, not sounding so much the know-it-all asshole anymore.

  I drop back down onto the chair and he relaxes back into his, but his expression is uncommonly stern and rigid. “Face it man, she wanted to tie you down. Females only go off their birth control for one reason and that’s to get pregnant. She set out to trap you. Classic female trying to hold on to a guy. But for God’s sake, think really hard about what you’re going to do, even if the kid is yours. Don’t let this chick ruin your fuckin’ life.”

  I shake my head, weary and defeated. “Yeah, well, it’s too late for that.”

  Chapter Six

  Paige

  It’s been two days since the big blow up with Mitch. He hasn’t called or stopped by. I’ve called him twice and both times it went directly into voicemail. And honestly that’s something I didn’t expect. Even when we’ve fought in the past, he’s never turned off his phone or ignored my calls.

  But this is no regular fight I had to remind myself. Forgetting to tell him that I’d gone off the Pill turned out to be life-changing.

  This whole thing is new territory for me so I didn’t feel comfortable leaving a voicemail. I mean what would I say? Do you still hate me?

  Should I apologize again and continue to plead my case?

  All those options didn’t sound right unless I was doing it face-to-face. But it’s obvious he’s not ready to listen to anything I have to say.

  In the meantime, I’ve basically stayed holed up in the house biding my time and waiting for him to calm down. Erin came by yesterday and patted my back while I blubbered all over her. I told her what happened and she never once said I told you so. Even if she thought it, I’m happy she didn’t say it.

  She likes Mitch despite—as she says—his unfortunate taste in best friends, whom she claims to hate with a fire of a thousand suns. There’s no doubt in her mind that Mitch will come around. She once admitted that she was envious of our relationship, the way he treats me. I remember feeling so puffed up at the compliment.

  I’m standing in front of the refrigerator, the cold air scarcely registering on my bare legs and arms, contemplating what I’m going to have for lunch when the doorbell rings.

  “I’ll get it,” my mom shouts from the front hall. My mom is a real estate agent, so she pretty much gets to set her own schedule. I think she’s been purposely sticking close to home to keep an eye on me. I can tell she’s worried about what’s going on with me—the pregnancy—and what’s going on with me and Mitch.

  My heart feels as if it’s pounding five hundred beats a minute when I hear a muffled male voice. I immediately glance at my cell phone, which I’m holding tight in my hand. I haven’t let the damn thing out of my sight, jerking every time it buzzes or rings from an incoming message or phone call. I just know Mitch is going to call.

  “Paige honey, look who dropped by.”

  That’s when I know it’s Mitch. My mom’s voice is a mixture of relief and happiness.

  Closing the refrigerator door, I hastily run my fingers through my hair and try to look composed as I exit the kitchen, making sure to temper my pace so it doesn’t appear as if I’ve been lounging around the house
waiting for him to drop by.

  The second I spot our visitor towering over my mom’s petite form, everything inside me deflates.

  My expression must have given me away so I try to infuse some enthusiasm into my voice. “Trent. Hi.” I can tell by the looks on both their faces that I failed by a good mile.

  “Maybe I should go out and come back in again?” He glances down at my mom and winks. “You think she was hoping I was someone else?”

  “I’m sorry, Trent. I am happy to see you,” I insist, pushing aside the acute disappointment sitting heavy on my chest. I walk toward him, straight into his open arms.

  I adore Trent. Maybe if I hadn’t known him since I was six, I would have fallen hard for him the second I started liking boys that way. Short, dark-hair, light-brown eyes, dimples, and a killer smile, he’s a fatal attraction waiting to happen. Fortunately for both of us—and our mothers—he’s the older brother I never had.

  “Good, I’ll let you two catch up. I have a house to show up near Mill’s Creek.” My mom fishes into her purse and pulls out her keys. “Trent honey, make sure she eats something and don’t let her mope around the house.”

  We wait until my mom leaves before Trent shepherds me into the living room, his hand casually around my shoulder.

  “So, you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  I glance up at him and I know he knows. He didn’t just show up here by chance, he’s here on a mission. We sit on the couch beside each other.

  “Who told you?” I ask. “Your mom or mine?”

  He sighs, giving me a tight smile. “Mine.”

  I nod.

  “What’s going on with you and Mitch?”

  I answer with a humorless laugh. “I don’t even know. I haven’t heard or seen him in—”

  The chime of the doorbell cuts me off and my heart takes off at a gallop. This time I know it’s him.

  Trent is a vague afterthought as I spring to my feet and hurry off to answer the door. When I wrench it open, Mitch is standing on the other side. He’s dressed in faded blue jeans and a light-gray tee. He looks tanned and beautiful, a sight for my sorely deprived eyes. I drink him in first before my gaze settles on the grimness of his features.

  “We need to talk,” he says.

  No hello, no greeting, just that. My heart sinks as I step back to let him in.

  I don’t realize until Mitch directs his attention behind me that Trent followed me out into the hall. Upon seeing him, Mitch goes still. His gaze darts between us as Trent comes to a halt at my side.

  Mitch’s expression darkens and something cold and hard enters his eyes.

  I have nothing to be guilty about but that doesn’t stop my face from going up in flames. “Trent just stopped by to say hi.” I couldn’t have sounded guiltier had I been caught frantically pulling on my clothes.

  Who am I fooling? I know the real reason for my guilt. And it has nothing at all to do with Trent.

  “Kingsley,” Trent says, acknowledging Mitch with a tip of his chin.

  It’s not as if Mitch and Trent have ever been the best of friends but they’ve always been cordial. However, the vibes coming off my boyfriend right now cast them more as bitter enemies. Rivals.

  Mitch completely ignores Trent and repeats, “We need to talk. Maybe your boyfriend can come back when I’m gone,” he says, sarcasm coating every word.

  My jaw goes slack.

  No. He. Did. Not.

  A ghost of a smile lifts the corner of Trent’s mouth but his eyes are narrowed and ice cold.

  “It’s going to be like that is it? Well, you can believe whatever makes you happy.” Turning his attention to me, Trent asks, “You want me to stick around?”

  I shake my head vigorously. “No, you go. I’ll be fine.”

  Mitch’s jaw twitches and I can practically hear his teeth grinding. “It’s fine with me if we discuss this in front of him. I’m guessing he’s already heard the good news.”

  I can see where this could go and I’m not having it. “Thanks for stopping by, Trent.” I don’t say I’ll catch up with him later for fear that will be the beginning of World War III.

  Trent holds Mitch’s stare as the air pulses with explosive tension. “You do anything to hurt her and I’ll—”

  “Fuck you!” Mitch growls, taking a marked stepped toward Trent. Suddenly I’m standing between them, my hands on my boyfriend’s hard chest.

  “Trent, just go,” I say in an urgent, panicked voice. Trent is four years older than Mitch and an inch taller. Between the two, I don’t know who would win in a fight and I don’t want to.

  “I’m going. Call if you need me.”

  Mitch angles his head over his shoulder as he narrowly tracks Trent’s exit.

  When the door clicks closed, his attention shifts back to me, his gaze dropping to my hand that is still resting lightly on his chest. He steps back as though he can’t bear to have me touch him and pins me under his glacial stare.

  “Is the baby even mine?”

  I gasp, the verbal blow causing a physical pain in my chest. I become lightheaded and for a second I think I’m going to throw up or pass out.

  “How can you even ask me that?” I choke out when I’ve partially recovered from the shock of it. The insult of it.

  “You’re a liar, Paige. How the hell do I know what else you’re lying to me about? All I know is that he’s here when I’m not, which gives him a helluva running head start. The whole friend-of-the-family thing could be a convenient cover.”

  On the heels of the hurt, anger begins to bubble to the surface of my emotions. “You know damn well nothing is going on between us.”

  “No. No I don’t. I only know what you tell me. And we both know what you’re word is good for these days.”

  I don’t even know what to say. Right now, he’s not someone I can have a calm conversation with. No matter what I say, what I do, he’s going to find a way to turn it on me.

  “Is this what you came here to talk about? A relationship between me and Trent that only exists in your head?” I ask in a too-calm and level voice. I’m shutting down, closing myself off from him. I feel it.

  For some reason, my question seems to piss him off even more. His mouth tightens as he locks his jaw. His nostrils flare as he draws a deep breath. “I want a paternity test.”

  I’m not sure how I remained standing. His demand levels me.

  “Are you serious?” I ask quietly, so much disbelief and grief in my question, I don’t recognize my own voice.

  Some unknown emotion flickers across his face before it’s a cold mask again. No, not as much cold as scathing and contemptuous. “You know, you’re a real piece of work. You purposely get knocked up and turn my life ass-backward, and you’re insulted when I ask you for a paternity test when it looks like you’re screwing the family friend?”

  I’ve never seen Mitch like this. Never. And I never expected to have this kind of wrath directed at me. But I know exactly what he’s doing. What he’s trying to do.

  My spine lengthens as I fold my arms across my chest. “You know this is your baby. You know it.” I’m sick and tired of being his punching bag.

  “I know shit. And it’s obvious I never knew you. Not the real you.” By the tone of his voice, I can clearly hear what he thinks of the “real me”.

  A vital part inside me is slowly dying. “Why don’t you just say it, Mitch, instead of pretending it’s Trent or anything else? You don’t want this baby and now that I’m pregnant, you don’t want me.”

  “Did I ever pretend I wanted to be a father at the age of nineteen? Did you see me jumping for joy when you told me? Let’s stop pretending that for one second, you didn’t know that I wouldn’t be the least happy about this. And while you’re at it, stop pretending that you didn’t plan this down to the last fuckin’ detail. You wanted this. You wanted me tied to you for the rest of my godforsaken life. Well, I hope you’re happy.”

  I digest it. I digest every single word h
e spits at me. When I blink, in the milliseconds before my vision is filled with his face, his expression, the contempt and loathing there is burned onto the back of my lids. I know every time I close my eyes, that’s what I’ll see.

  “Get out,” I say softly, abruptly dropping my hands to my sides and clenching them into tight fists.

  His eyebrows gather over the bridge of his nose and he stares at me as if I’m nuts.

  I say it again. No, I scream it. “Get out!”

  Surprise sets him back for a few seconds and he falls silent.

  “You don’t want this baby, fine. I don’t need you. I’ll manage fine without you. You won’t need a paternity test because I’m not going to ask you for a thing. I don’t want a fuckin’ dime of your money. You don’t want this baby? Good, because I don’t want you.”

  I march past him on wobbly legs—at least that’s how they feel. I whip open the door and turn to face him. I don’t care that tears are streaming down my face or that my throat feels sandpaper-raw. “You don’t want to be a father, well consider this your out. Now get out.”

  I make myself look him in the eye when I speak to him. And in the ensuing silence, I pray he’ll say something—anything that will take back some of the horrible things he said to me.

  But he doesn’t. With no more than a hard stare, he mutters something unintelligible under his breath and stalks past me. When he’s gone, I stand with my back against the door breathing deeply. Soon my breathing is coming in panty little gasps and then hiccups. Slowly, I sink down until my butt hits the floor. By then, I’m sobbing uncontrollably, my heart broken beyond repair.

  Chapter Seven

  I don’t know how I survived the next week. I kept thinking Mitch would call, that he would come by and apologize.

  Instead there was nothing. Not a call or a text. Not a single word.