The Trap (Prequel)

by Beverley Kendall

  I’m over him now though. The real love of my life is chubby, has more gum than teeth, and stands a little over two feet tall. She may not have been planned but I’ve never regretted having her. She’s the center of my world. A world that’s turned upside when Mitch returns ready to earn the love and trust of the child he'd abandoned before birth.

  Letting him into my daughter’s life is one thing but letting him back into mine isn't going to happen. Ever.

  Now if only I can get my heart to heed the lessons of the past.

  Chapter One

  Mitch

  Who the hell is knocking on my door?

  I angle my head to check the time on the cable box. It’s 10:50 p.m, too late for visitors and too early for Steve to be back from his date with April.

  Shannon doesn’t stop kissing me so I can only assume that either she didn’t hear the knock or is ignoring the interruption and wants me to do the same.

  I try to get back into the kiss but give up when whoever’s on the other side of the door refuses to go away, the knocks sharper, harder, more impatient sounding.

  Fuck.

  I gently push Shannon away and off my lap. “I got to get that,” I mumble, two beers away from being officially drunk, a condition I’m probably a little too familiar with for my own good. I’m a responsible drunk though. I never drink and drive.

  “Who is it?” she asks, her blue eyes dulled by her own alcohol consumption.

  “I don’t know,” I grunt and push to my feet.

  I leave her on the couch pouting. This is the second time we’ve hung out. No sex yet. Thought I’d seal the deal tonight.

  Another knock has me impatiently yanking open the door.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake!

  I catch a glimpse of my sister just before she shoves past me and into the apartment.

  And here I’d half convinced myself that Steve must have lost his keys.

  “Diane, what the hell?” I absently push the door shut before turning to face her. But she’s still on the move, marching purposefully toward the living room.

  What is she doing here?

  Did something happen to Paige or the baby?

  No, Diane’s too pissed for that, I quickly conclude, my momentary panic subsiding.

  She screeches to a halt when she sees Shannon and takes in the state of her undress. I thank God we’d just started fooling around and that my date’s still in her bra and jeans.

  Whipping around, Diane glares at me. “Is she the reason you’re not coming home this time?” she demands, gesturing toward Shannon.

  Slow to react, Shannon frantically begins to button her blouse. “Mitch, who is she?”

  “I am his sister,” Diane replies tersely, turning her glare back on Shannon.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask pointedly.

  Diane’s head jerks in my direction, her gaze narrowing until her eyes are slitted.

  “You haven’t been home in over a year and you’re asking me what I’m doing here?” She pauses and does that thing with her hands—palms down, fingers splayed at her sides—when she’s trying to control her emotions. After exhaling a deep breath, she says calmly, “Look, you may want to ask your date to leave because I’m pretty sure you’re not going to want her to hear what I have to say.”

  My sister should know better than to throw out a challenge like that, especially when I’ve been drinking. “No, say whatever you have to say so I can get on with my date.”

  Diane’s expression darkens ominously. “Fine,” she snaps. “Grow up, Mitch and come home. I don’t care how you feel about Paige anymore, but you have a daughter who needs her father.”

  Shannon lets out a gasp. “You have a kid?” she squeaks.

  Bowing my head, I close my eyes and squeeze the bridge of my nose between my fingers.

  Hell, what did I expect? The date is officially over. It’s time to call it a night.

  It doesn’t take me long to see Shannon home. Her building is within walking distance of mine. Of course she presses me about my kid. My answer is short and doesn’t encourage further conversation. Yeah, I have a baby, a daughter.

  The truth is, I don’t know much more than that. I figured the less I know, the easier it would be to deal with everything. Guess what? Not by a long shot. Not even alcohol can make me forget.

  By the time I get back to my apartment, my sister seems to have lost some of her anger. I wish she hadn’t. It’s easier to hold on to mine when I’m faced with hers.

  “Sit,” she orders when I walk into the living room. I hate that she looks sad, that she looks like she’s been crying. Or maybe she’s just tired.

  Without arguing, I take a seat a couple of feet from her on the couch. She immediately angles her body toward me.

  For several long beats, she simply stares at me, her expression pained. Right now sobriety is a ruthless monster I don’t want to face but I don’t have a choice anymore. My buzz is long gone and the life I’ve tried to ignore the past year, descends down on me like a sledgehammer.

  “Mitch, I love you.”

  Fuck fuck fuck. I swallow hard. This is the last thing I want to hear. I don’t want her to be kind. I don’t want her to love me. Not when most days I can barely stand being in my own skin.

  “Diane, don’t,” I say in a voice that’s not my own.

  She scoots closer to me, grabbing my hand in hers. “No listen to me. I love you too much to watch you self-destruct. Right now you’re throwing your life away with both hands and I can’t stand by and watch you do that.” Reaching out with her free hand, she brushes my hair from my forehead like she used to do when I was a kid. “Please come home—at least for the summer. I know you don’t want to admit it but you need your family and we need you. Brianna needs you.”

  There’s no way to describe how I feel at that moment. It’s not a hurt. It’s not an ache. It cuts deeper than that. And buried beneath all of it is a longing I’ve refused to acknowledge for over a year. For the past seven months.

  I have a daughter. A daughter I’ve never seen, never touched and never held. When the reality of that sinks in, it hits and it hits hard.

  I clear my throat. “Di—”

  “Don’t give me an answer now. Just think about it. Plus,” she coaxes lightly after a pause, “the kids miss their uncle Mitch.”

  Nothing like a whole lotta guilt and a bit of emotional blackmail to make me feel like shit. Not that I don’t deserve it.

  “I miss them too.” No lie. As much as they can sometimes drive me crazy, I never knew until this past year how empty my life would feel without them.

  Shit, I miss all of them, even my brother-in-law Dan.

  Just don’t ask me about Paige. I don’t want to think about her. She’s the reason for all this…crap. The reason for the train wreck that is my life.

  During the silence that falls, Diane puts her arms around me and pulls me close. After a moment’s hesitation, I return her embrace. Any anger I felt toward her is long gone. She’s the one constant in my life. The one person I can always count on.

  Before releasing me, she gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You need a shave,” she says, affectionately running her hand over my bristled jaw.

  “Yes, Mom,” I reply, all mock solemnity.

  “Think about what I said,” she instructs softly.

  All I can do is nod.

  She smiles. “Good.”

  I follow her when she rises to her feet.

  “Let me get out of your hair. I’ve got to catch an early flight home tomorrow.”

  “Where are you staying?” I’d offer to sleep on the couch and have her take my room but my sister would never accept. It has something to do with sleeping in an apartment inhabited by college guys.

  “I booked a room for the night at a hotel near the airport.”

  As I thought. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl. You, on the other hand, look like you could use some shuteye.
”

  “In other words, I look like crap.”

  Diane laughs. “You could never look like crap. I was actually thinking it looks like you’ve put on a bit more muscle.” Reaching out, she squeezes my biceps. “Been working out?”

  Embarrassed, I shrug off her hand. I’m sure as hell not going to tell her it’s usually how I pass the time I should be in class. The same classes I’m mostly failing.

  “I’m walking you to your car.” I say it in a way she knows it’s useless to argue with me.

  Resigned, she sighs and retrieves her leather purse from the couch. The thing is white like her jeans and sandals, and big enough to be considered luggage.

  By the time we get to the gray Mazda she rented, conversation has grounded to a halt. I keep expecting her to tell me about my daughter—Brianna—but beyond some oblique references to me being needed, she doesn’t say anything about her. And I’m too much a chickenshit to ask. I want to know and I don’t. Guess which one wins out?

  At the driver-side door, she reaches up and presses another kiss on my cheek. “I’ll call when I get home,” she whispers. “And here—” she reaches into her purse and pulls out a manila envelope “—this is for you. There’s also something in there from Paige.”

  After shoving the envelope into my hand, she quickly gets into the car. I then watch in dazed silence as she reverses, beeps the horn, gives me a short wave, and exits the parking lot.

  I study the envelope the entire trek back up to my apartment. The thing weighs almost nothing so it’s got to be some kind of letter or document.

  A letter from Paige? I start sweating just thinking about what she’d have to say and how it would make me feel. I open the damn thing the second I’m inside my apartment.

  The first thing I see is one of those glossy photos that are almost the same size as the envelope itself. I know who’s in the picture before I actually take it out.

  When I look at the face staring back at me, I literally feel as if my breath has been knocked out of me. A linebacker hit that caught me blind.

  Dark-brown hair, two front teeth in an otherwise gummy smile, and eyes so green, they look like colored contacts. She has my eyes but the rest of her is all Paige.

  My daughter. So damn beautiful it hurts.

  I don’t remember heading to the kitchen but that’s where I find myself a minute or so later. Clutching the photo between my fingers, I place the envelope on the table and lower myself onto the closest chair. There’s a heaviness in my chest that makes it hard to breathe.

  I’m not sure how long I sit there staring at her, memorizing every inch of her beautiful little face. But it must have been long enough.

  “Earth to Kingston.”

  My roommate’s voice finally penetrates, bringing me out of my stupor. My head snaps up to see him standing at the opening of the kitchen. If he’d been a murderer, I’d be a dead man. I hadn’t even heard him come in.

  “You deaf? I called you a couple times.” His date must have gone well because he’s wearing one of those shit-eating grins. “What’re you looking at?” he asks, as he approaches.

  My gaze goes back to my daughter. When I don’t immediately respond, he rounds the table until he’s peering at the picture over my shoulder.

  “Cute kid. Whose is she, your sister’s?”

  I shoot a glance back at him before replying, “No, she’s mine.”

  Steve makes this strangled sound in his throat, his expression going from shocked to disbelieving. Then he emits a serrated laugh. “Yeah right. Shit, you almost had me. Quit fucking with me.”

  It’s quiet for a couple beats.

  “Holy shit. You’ve got a kid?”

  What he really means is, You’ve got a kid and didn’t tell me?

  “I can’t fucking believe it.”

  It’s late, I’m emotionally drained and I’m not in the mood for an interrogation. I grab the manila envelope from off the table and come to my feet. I’m surprised when a regular-sized, white envelope falls out of it and onto the floor. It’s only then I remember what Diane said. There’s also something in there from Paige.

  The photo is obviously from my sister so this letter must be from Paige. I scoop it off the floor, place the picture of Brianna down, and remove two sheets of paper from the envelope.

  Once I unfold them, I realize it’s not a letter. It’s a document. I have to read the heading at the top of the form three times before I can make sense of what it says. What it means. And that’s when everything inside me goes numb.

  “Holy shit,” Steve, who’s hovering behind me, exclaims softly, obviously reading it over my shoulder. “Is that from your ex?”

  I don’t answer. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.

  But apparently it’s not, because he goes on to ask, “Is that a form to give up your parental rights?”

  Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.

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