Sucking in a deep, cathartic breath, I let my eyes fall closed and savor the moment. Fourteen years that I’ve squandered on shit that brought me nothing but trouble and grief. Just when I’m letting myself feel all kinds of self-pity and shit, a loud, high-pitched scream comes from inside the house. It sounds like a small child. Zander stiffens in my arms and pull away. I let him go and brace myself for it—that moment when my fears become reality.
Amber has kids—as in plural—not just the one we have together. I try like hell, but fail miserably, at keeping my emotions in check. Amber Wallace—my woman, my fucking old lady—slept with Rig. I’ve hated that guy for so damn long that I didn’t realize I could possibly hate him more than I did the night he suggested he’d been fucking my pregnant old lady. But then she laid that bomb on me, like I’m supposed to just flip a goddamn switch and hate her or something.
If it weren’t for Zander coming out when he did, busting my balls for yelling at his mom, I might be halfway there. I could never hit her, but fuck if I didn’t want to hit something and see blood. So many questions swirled in my mind, like wanting to know exactly when it started between them. Wanting to know how and why. It’s the whys that will keep me up at night, I think. After everything Rig did to us back then, why would she let him into her bed? I’m spiraling and I know it, but I don’t have the power to stop myself. Zander pulled me out of it once, but this time, I don’t think even my boy can stop me from completely imploding.
Amber has at least one more kid with someone else. She wanted, more than anything, to make me leave right before Zander came out. Telling me about Rig was only important if . . . I can’t bring myself to say it, but the thoughts are flying through my brain at a mile a minute. Rig fucked my old lady, planted his fucking kid in her belly, and probably played daddy to my son, too. If I weren’t such a pussy, I’d probably take my own piece to my ear and call it a goddamn day. I did this. I let this happen. I let that fucker into her life and then left her with him. I left my boy to deal with him, and it’s my fault that when Rig’s back was against the wall, he took my boy. I made that choice when I chose all that bullshit over my woman. I made her a killer, and that, above everything else, is what I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for.
I snap back to the present when Zander and Amber rush toward the noise. The door swings open and blows my entire world apart. Standing in the doorway is the most pissed-off-looking tiny human I think I’ve ever seen. He’s got a stuffed dog clutched to his chest. Chubby little fingers dig into the dog’s neck as he holds it protectively. I eye his face to try to figure out what I’m looking at, but all I see is angry kid. His face is wet with tears, his bottom lip is jutted out, and he’s glaring at his big brother. With the most defiant little expression, he says, “Bad!” Then he looks around, and his face falls on Amber and all of the anger slides right off of his face as he runs to her. She scoops him into her arms, and it’s only now that I see it—the truth. His eyes are the same distinct blue-green color that looks similar to what I see every day in the mirror.
Amber turns to face me with red cheeks. She’s flustered. The nervousness in her eyes is amplified, and she’s hopping from foot to foot. She’s jittery and her jaw ticks, a sure sign she’s gearing up for a fight.
“How old is he?”
Her brow furrows and she purses her lips. “Almost two.”
“Tell me, baby,” I whisper. I stare into her eyes, desperate to tell her how badly I need to hear it. We were fucking like crazy a few years back, but if I let myself believe he’s mine only to find out it’s not true, I’m going to lose my shit. All this stuff with my boy and my old lady is heavy enough without adding this to the mix. I can’t let myself want this kid to be mine until I know he really is. Amber still doesn’t speak. My arm stretches out, and I glide my fingers over her cheek. She takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly.
And she nods. She fucking nods, and I swear to Christ there’s a small smile playing at her lips. She’s practically shaking with her silent omission. Her voice is strained and low when she speaks, and it hits me right in the gut. “I tried to call you. I wanted you to know, but you wouldn’t take my call. So I just . . .”
My hand wraps itself around the back of her neck, and I pull her to me, placing a kiss on her forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to stop myself from crying like a bitch. I’m careful not to get too close to her. I don’t want to squish our boy.
When I pull away, I see Zander is standing beside us. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he stares at my bike to his left. “Her name’s Piper,” he says.
Our little boy isn’t a boy after all. She’s a girl. A tiny little girl with a temper like her momma and blue-green eyes like her daddy. She’s fucking perfect.
“She’s wearing blue,” I say in defense. I thought parents color-coded their kids and shit. I feel like an asshole. What kind of father doesn’t know his own child? What kind of dad doesn’t know he has a daughter?