by Nikki Ash
Straightening my shoulders, I click on the contact and bring up a new message.
Me: Travis?
Almost immediately a response comes through.
Travis: Who is this?
Me: Do you frequently write your number on your coffee and then steal the other person’s coffee?
We’re only three texts into this conversation and I’m already starting to sweat. Bending over I take off my socks and ball them up, tossing them into my bedroom.
Travis: I didn’t think you’d use my number.
Me: I didn’t plan on it.
Exhaling a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
What the hell are you doing Alba?
What has to be done.
Travis: Why are you using it then?
Me: Because I have to.
Travis: That’s not cryptic at all.
Me: There’s something I have to tell you in person. Can you come over tonight?
I send him my address, my eyes widening in panic with realization.
Me: This is NOT a booty call. I repeat, this is not a booty call. Do not get your hopes up. Your dick is going nowhere near my vagina.
Travis: You sure? This sounds like a booty call.
Me: I hate you. Can you come over or not? This is important.
Travis: Yeah, give me a few.
My anxiety mounts with the realization that this moment is finally here in front of me, unavoidable. Going forward Travis will know about Dahlia and he’ll be a permanent fixture in my life—her life.
My palms dampen with perspiration. I wipe them on my sweatpants, giving myself a mental pep talk.
I shoot texts to my mom and Astrid, letting them know I’m telling him. They both respond with finally. Well, Astrid’s says fucking finally.
Tiptoeing downstairs I light a candle, filling the home with the scent of freshly baked cookies. Hopefully he doesn’t think I’ve actually baked cookies. God knows I burn everything I attempt to make.
I sit down on the couch, but my butt has barely touched the cushions before I’m up and moving again because oh my God I have to tell Travis he’s a father.
Not only do I feel nervous, but I’m ashamed. Astrid was right, I should’ve told him as soon as I realized he’d come back to town for good. I think my anger overshadowed rationality, because I had to go through my entire pregnancy, delivery, and now the first few months of her life without him. Sure, we weren’t a couple, but he should’ve been there at least for her sake.
And, well, if I tell him and he decides to bounce again I know I can be all my daughter will ever need. I’ll make sure of it.
Just then a fussy cry rings out from the upstairs nursery. Pinching my eyes shut I curse my luck. Of course she’d wake up now for a bottle when she’s not due for another hour. I was hoping to be able to tell Travis first, not just shove a baby in his face, but I guess the fates have decided for me.
Climbing the stairs, I push open the door to the nursery. It’s painted a calming green and then I painstakingly painted a mural over top of frolicking forest animals and trees. The white noise machine in the corner irritates my ears, but it helps Dahlia sleep more soundly, so I tolerate the thing. Stars twinkle on the ceilings from the nightlight my stubborn baby girl won’t go to sleep without.
My bare feet sink into the large fluffy gray rug I put down on the floor to help hide the old, stained carpet beneath. One day I’ll be able to afford a beautiful home for her, but for now this does the job.
Leaning over the crib I find Dahlia squealing, her tiny arms and legs kicking violently, her small face contorted with rage and blooming a bright red.
“Come here, little one.” I scoop her into my arms, and she quiets somewhat. A horrible smell hits my nose and I gag. “Oh, Dahlia you smell nasty.”
Placing her on the changing table I wrangle her small squirming form out of her sleeper and get to work cleaning her up, all the while choking on the smell that has somehow turned into a bitter taste on my tongue. No one warned me that infants have poops so bad that you not only smell them, but you can taste them too. It’s a circle of hell I never thought I would visit.
Once she’s clean, I cradle her in my arms and carry her downstairs, warming a bottle. I’ve barely pressed the nipple to her mouth when there’s a knock on the door.
The heavy weight on my chest only grows harder to bear. “That’ll be your daddy.”
One foot.
Another.
I take each step until I stand in front of the door. My eyes take in the peeling paint, the crack at the bottom, stalling for more time. He knocks again.
Hand on the door.
Turn the knob.
Swing it open.
Blue-gray eyes wait for me. He starts to smile but then he sees the baby in my arms. His lips turn into a surprised O, shock bleeding into his eyes.
I utter one word, it’s all I’m capable of and pathetically inadequate.
“Hi.”
Chapter Seven
Travis
“Hi.”
My eyes flicker from Alba to the baby in her arms and back again.
“You’re holding a baby.”
She sighs, holding the door open wider so I can step through. “That’s typically what one does when they’ve had a baby and said baby is hungry.”
I step through the threshold and she shuts and locks the door behind me, good thinking since the neighborhood looks sketchy as hell.
“Y-You have a baby,” I stutter, feeling awkward and completely out of place. I slide my hands into the pockets of my sweats, rocking back on my heels. When Alba asked me to come over this was the last thing I was expecting. Even though she said it wasn’t a booty call I stupidly thought she was lying.
Now her behavior since I returned is starting to make sense. I guess she couldn’t find a way to tell me she’d had a baby. At least according to Astrid there’s no guy in the picture, but Alba … she’s a mom now and that makes things different. With a kid to take care of she doesn’t have time for my juvenile bullshit.
“You’re taking this surprisingly well.” She lets out a breath of relief. “I thought you were going to be mad I didn’t tell you.”
I raise a brow. “Why would I be mad about that? I mean, you don’t owe me an explanation on having a child. That’s your business and you have the right to share it with who you want.”
She pales and if I’m not mistaken, she looks a little sick. “No, you’re not getting it.” She shakes her head rapidly, tearing her eyes from me to gaze at the little baby girl in her arms. Well, I’m assuming it’s a girl since she’s in hot pink pajamas with clouds on them. She nibbles on her bottom lip, her eyes darting around the room and not landing on one single thing.
“What am I not getting?” I prompt, cocking my head to the side, pure confusion etched into the lines of my face.
Her face squishes, her eyes flooded with tears. She almost looks like she’s in pain.
“Are you okay?” I ask, touching her elbow. My eyes briefly dart to the child in her arms, half-afraid she might drop the infant in her current state. “Are you dizzy? Light-headed? Should you sit down? You don’t look so good.”
She exhales a mighty breath and blurts, “You’re the dad.”
I touch the back of my hand to her forehead. “I think you have a fever. I’m not the dad. I’m the man.”
“Stop.” She pushes my hand off her. “Listen to me,” she pleads brokenly, nearly bowing in half. “You’re the dad,” she repeats, slower this time. When I still give her a blank look she huffs out an irritated breath. Looking down at the baby in her arms she smiles at the infant and looks back at me, waiting for me to connect the dots.
Connect.
The.
Dots.
“Holy fucking shit.” I slap my hand over my mouth, appalled I just used such bad language in front of a baby.
Not just a baby … my …
“My baby?”
She nods, her lower lip trembling either with po
tential tears or nerves. My eyes drop to the little one cradled in her arms. The baby’s eyes are at half-mast and she’s curled around Alba, clearly feeling safe and protected in her mother’s arms. Dark hair covers her tiny head and her cheeks are plump and rosy. Her tiny pink mouth moves like she’s sucking a binky even though she’s not. Her lashes are long and curled against her cheeks. Tiny chubby hands lay over her chest.
An ache I’ve never felt before, a desire I never once had to be a parent, settles inside me as I can’t take my eyes off the infant—my daughter.
My heart picks up speed with a combination of nerves, excitement, fear, and even anger.
“My daughter?” I know it’s a variation of the same question I asked before, but I can’t stop the words from blurting out.
“Your daughter,” she confirms. She gives a tiny shrug. “It certainly took me by surprise, but I can’t imagine how you feel.”
My eyes move to Alba from the baby. “You didn’t tell me,” I accuse, my tone hurt and harsh. She nods her head towards the couch for us to sit. “I don’t want to fucking sit right now, Alba.”
She winces at my tone. “Okay,” her voice is soft, hesitant like she’s handling a bomb about to go off at any moment. “I did try to tell you. Repeatedly. I texted you. Begged you to call me. I felt more and more pathetic with each attempt so finally I just … stopped.” She gives a tiny shrug and turns away from me, placing the baby in a rocker.
The little one gives a tiny cry but quiets when the bouncer or whatever it is starts moving.
“I broke my phone and ended up switching carriers so my number changed.”
She nods, blowing out a breath. “I figured it was something like that. I wasn’t going to continue to hunt you down. It wasn’t worth it. I already figured I’d be going this alone.” She wraps her arms around her frame, her eyes straying to the baby.
My brows furrow and I shake my head. “Go it alone? You didn’t think I’d want to be involved?” There’s an incredulous note to my voice, because sure, I’ve never been the settling down type but I’m not a complete prick. Does she really think so little of me that I’d just walk away from my child if I’d known about her?
She gives another shrug. It seems to be just about the only thing she’s capable of at the moment. “I wasn’t going to pressure you to be a present parent, Travis. It’s not like either of us expected me to get pregnant.”
The organ trapped behind my rib cage pounds relentlessly like it’s looking for any weak points it might escape through.
Swallowing past the lump lodged in my throat, I nearly whisper to her, “I’m sorry.” Clearing my throat and gaining more of a voice I repeat, “I’m sorry.” I tug on the ends of my hair, my eyes going back and forth between Alba and the baby. “I would’ve been there for you. For all of it.”
She gives a weak smile. “Sure.”
Sure. Sure. I’ve never hated a word more. The doubt behind it aggravates me.
My hands shake at my sides from nerves and the unexpectedness of all of this. “What’s her name?” I realize how dumb I’ve been to not even ask what my daughter’s name is.
“Dahlia,” she replies, absentmindedly rubbing her fingers against the same flower tattooed on her arm. I know that tattoo was there before so it must have some significance to her. Before I can say anything though, she quickly adds, “It was my grandmother’s name and I loved her a lot. It felt fitting to name Dahlia after her.” Her voice holds a tone that’s almost begging me to argue or tell her the name’s a horrible choice.
“It’s a beautiful name and I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to her when she gets older to know you named her after someone who meant so much to you.”
Alba gives me a thin-lipped smile. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
“I’ll freak out later.” I give a small laugh, letting her know it’s a joke, but I guess really, it’s not. Right now, I’m still processing the shock of this. Later, I’ll realize how big of a deal this is.
I’m a dad. A father. I’m responsible for the livelihood of another human being. It’s my job to teach her right from wrong, to be there for her through every milestone and heartbreak.
Alba moves to the couch, sitting down, but I can tell she’s far from comfortable. “I just want you to know that I understand this is all very sudden for you and I won’t be mad if you choose to walk away from us—from her,” she corrects. “If you want a paternity test, we can do that too, but I promise, she’s yours. Before that night I hadn’t been with anyone in a long time and not after either.”
“Can you stop fucking saying stuff like that? I’m not walking away, and I believe you, okay? I never said I didn’t.” Even now, gazing at the infant who’s fast asleep I can see tiny pieces of myself in her features. “I’ve never been around babies, so I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here. This is going to be a learning curve.”
“It’s going to be one for me too.” Her eyes meet mine hesitantly. “I have my life, my routine, everything all built around her and now I have to accommodate you.”
I blow out a breath, hands on my hips. As much as I try to maintain eye contact with Alba, I can’t stop looking at the sleeping baby.
Dahlia.
The name is perfect for her. Delicate and strong. Uniquely beautiful.
“I can’t believe she’s mine,” I find myself whispering, not in doubt that she’s my daughter but in wonder.
Looking at her, it’s like something inside of me has shifted already, prepared to be the dad I never thought I wanted to be.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” She stands and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “You can stay for a while if you want. She’ll wake up and you can hold her.”
Panic freezes my blood. Hold her? She expects me to hold something to small and fragile like it’s no big deal?
“I have to get going,” I lie, overcome with fear at actually holding her. “I’ll uh see you tomorrow.” I rub the back of my head awkwardly, already treading slowly backwards toward the door.
Alba narrows her eyes, seeing straight through my bullshit. “Okay.”
She doesn’t argue with me, just sees me to the door.
It closes quietly behind me, the lock clicking into place. I find myself immobile on the tiny front porch, trying to process everything that’s happened since I got here, but my brain can’t seem to handle it. In a haze I walk back to my motorcycle and drive home, the enormity of everything crashing down on me.
My life’s never going to be the same.
Chapter Eight
Travis
“I have a kid.” The four words blurt out of my mouth, the first thing I’ve uttered all day since walking into my shop.
Jessie looks up from the design she’s sketching, arching a brow. “No shit. I’m not surprised considering your dick really gets around.”
I scrub my hands over my unshaven jaw. I was too shaken to bothering shaving it this morning. “I’m being serious.”
She erases a line on the intricate lace rose she’s working on. “So am I.”
“Jessie.” I kick her stool. “Seriously. I need to talk about this.”
She drops her pencil and exhales a heavy breath like it’s killing her to deal with my bullshit. “What do you need to talk about?”
“The fact I have a kid I didn’t know about. I’m a dad.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, you were serious?”
“Yes!” I snap, tugging on the ends of my hair.
“Wow, what are you going to do with a kid? And who’s the lucky lady?”
I don’t answer the first question, because frankly I have no clue. “Alba.”
Jessie rears back, pointing her pencil toward the front windows. “Stick up her ass, thinks you’re scum, Alba? The Alba you constantly fuck with? That Alba?”
I clap my hands together. “Yup.”
“That’s…something.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I don’t exactly like her tone.
She looks at me like I’m crazy for taking offense. “It’s just … you act like a boy on the playground with her—you know taunting her pathetically for attention, and she seems to hate you, so how are you two going to co-parent? Honestly, how did the two of you end up doing the deed at all?”
“Have you never enjoyed a little hate sex?”
That shuts her up, her lips pursed. “Now that you have baby daddy status what exactly does that mean for you?”
My brows furrow. “That I’m a dad.”
She rolls her eyes. “Travis,” she tosses her pencil onto the table, “be serious.”
“I am.”
She blinks at me and slowly shakes her head. I swear she mutters, “Men are idiots,” under her breath. “What I mean is, like are you going to be involved with the kid? What about Alba? Are you two a couple now? Are you just going to pay child support? What’s your game plan?”
“Fuck, Jessie, I only found out last night. You can’t expect a guy to have all the answers that fast.”
“Are you even thinking about answers to those questions? Because seriously, get on it.”
I rub my face with both worry and frustration. “This is a lot.”
“Duh, Dipshit. It’s a baby—a child—that’s a whole life to care for and not fuck up. This is why I’m never having kids.”
“Christian would’ve been a great uncle. He would’ve been so happy,” I choke out around the lump suddenly stuck in my throat at the thought of my brother.
Jessie’s eyes fill with sympathy. “I know—and you’ll be a great dad, don’t overthink it. Just be there.”
I blow out a breath, but it does little to ease the tension in my body.
“Just be there,” I repeat, my eyes drifting to the shop across the street.