Beauty from Love
Page 39
“Isn’t it against some kind of policy for you to look up guests when you work here?” He’s angry.
“It is, but I don’t care. It was worth the risk because I had to see you,” she defends.
“I’m married now.”
It’s clear this is another one of the twelve and I’m so fucking sick of this. It’s ridiculous. This one is ruining our potential baby moment—what could be one of the most epic moments of our lives.
I walk into the living room and Miss Number X is all dolled up for my husband. I’m immediately pissed off. She’s beautiful—I’ll give her that—but she’s not young. She totally fits his type before me.
I could play coy. I could play nice. But what I feel like playing is neither. “I’d like you to leave now.”
“I can do that, but there’s one thing first.” She places a photograph on the table next to our breakfast. “This is my two-year-old son. He belongs to you and you’re going to start supporting him. You can either voluntarily take a paternity test or you can be ordered. The choice is yours.”
I can tell she enjoyed saying that, and I’m sick. I swallow back the puke rising in my throat. I won’t do it in front of her.
She walks toward the door and calls out over her shoulder, “My number is on the back of the photograph. I look forward to hearing from you, Jack.”
I go through a series of emotions all at once but none are more prevalent than the hurt I feel in my heart.
Jack Henry sits in the chair and puts his head in his hands. “I’m assuming there’s a possibility this child could be yours since you aren’t trying to convince me otherwise.”
“I was with her for a few weeks but I don’t remember when. I’d have to do some thinking on it.”
“You’ll have to do some thinking on it?” I feel the tears coming. “Well, I don’t have thinking to do about this shit. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Don’t say that, L.”
I walk to the bed where my clothes are and strip off the robe so I can dress and get the fuck out of here. “You don’t understand what this is like, how humiliating it is for me every time a new one pops into our life. They chip away a part of me each time I’m confronted by another one. I thought I was strong enough to handle it, but I’m not.”
I’m sitting on the bed dressed and putting my shoes on when Jack Henry drops to his knees in front of me. “Don’t leave me, L.”
“I can’t stay.”
“We need to talk about this.”
Tears stream down my face. “Another woman may have had your baby. Not me, your wife.” I place my hand over my chest. “And it breaks my heart because I wanted to be the one—the only one—to give you babies.” I look into his eyes. “Infinity.”
He immediately recognizes our code word. He steps out of my way because he knows the best thing he can do at this point is let me go.
16
Un-fucking-believable! I get my ass out of one shitstorm only to be sucked into another.
I look at the child in the photograph. He’s blond with blue, maybe green eyes. Nothing about him resembles me. I took biology and briefly studied basic genetics so I know he doesn’t have to look like me to be mine, but it seems there would be some kind of semblance.
Although Evan and I are different, we both look like Dad and all the other McLachlans. Evan’s three kids look like him in one way or another, especially his son, but is it fair to make a comparison?
I look at the picture and feel no connection to this boy. Shouldn’t my heart be softened or filled with some kind of excitement about finding out I may have a son? It’s not. I’m mad as hell—not at this child, but at myself. How could I fuck things up like this with my carelessness? L and I were about to have it all and something I did three years ago has shot all of that to hell.
My gut tells me this isn’t my kid, but there’s only one way to find out. I flip the picture over and immediately recognize the name. Jenna Rosenthal. She didn’t even give me an alias when we had our short relationship a few years back.
I call the number and she immediately answers. “That didn’t take long. I knew it wouldn’t, so I already have the kit.”
“No. I want to speak with my lawyer and have him recommend a reputable doctor to do the test.” We’re doing this by the book. No way she’s hoodooing me with false results. I’m sure that kind of shit happens all the time to dumb fuckers, but I’m no sucker. “I’ll take the first available appointment because I want this done as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure you do want it done and over but it doesn’t end with the test. Ashton is yours and I’m going to make sure you take care of him.”
I can’t see myself with a son named Ashton. It doesn’t feel right. “We’ll begin with the paternity test. Prove he’s mine and I’ll take care of him, but let’s get one thing straight. Never be under the impression that anything will happen between us. I’m married.”
“Judging by the look on your wife’s face, you may not be for long.” I can tell she took great pleasure in saying that.
“Not your business.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Ashton is about to become a huge part of your world—and I’m his mother—so that means I’ll be in your face whenever I feel like it. Every part of your life will be my business, beginning with your home life.”
I’m not fighting with this woman about a child who may or may not be mine. “My assistant will set everything up and will phone you with the appointment date and time.” I end the call, not giving her time to argue further.
I need to go to Laurelyn. I don’t know what I’ll say but I have to see her. And I can’t go smelling like sour mash whiskey.
I go into the bathroom to shower and see L’s pregnancy test lying on the counter. We agreed we were going to look at the results together but Jenna Rosenthal ruined that.
So what do I do? We wanted to find out together. It doesn’t feel right to do it without her. Nothing about this situation is right. L should be here with me and we should be doing one of two things: celebrating the new life we’ve created or making a game plan on how we’re going to make our baby happen. But we’re doing neither because of me and my fucked-up past. If he turns out to be my kid, he was conceived long before I met Laurelyn. Can she hold that against me? She’s not here, so I’m beginning to think she can, and will.
“It is, but I don’t care. It was worth the risk because I had to see you,” she defends.
“I’m married now.”
It’s clear this is another one of the twelve and I’m so fucking sick of this. It’s ridiculous. This one is ruining our potential baby moment—what could be one of the most epic moments of our lives.
I walk into the living room and Miss Number X is all dolled up for my husband. I’m immediately pissed off. She’s beautiful—I’ll give her that—but she’s not young. She totally fits his type before me.
I could play coy. I could play nice. But what I feel like playing is neither. “I’d like you to leave now.”
“I can do that, but there’s one thing first.” She places a photograph on the table next to our breakfast. “This is my two-year-old son. He belongs to you and you’re going to start supporting him. You can either voluntarily take a paternity test or you can be ordered. The choice is yours.”
I can tell she enjoyed saying that, and I’m sick. I swallow back the puke rising in my throat. I won’t do it in front of her.
She walks toward the door and calls out over her shoulder, “My number is on the back of the photograph. I look forward to hearing from you, Jack.”
I go through a series of emotions all at once but none are more prevalent than the hurt I feel in my heart.
Jack Henry sits in the chair and puts his head in his hands. “I’m assuming there’s a possibility this child could be yours since you aren’t trying to convince me otherwise.”
“I was with her for a few weeks but I don’t remember when. I’d have to do some thinking on it.”
“You’ll have to do some thinking on it?” I feel the tears coming. “Well, I don’t have thinking to do about this shit. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Don’t say that, L.”
I walk to the bed where my clothes are and strip off the robe so I can dress and get the fuck out of here. “You don’t understand what this is like, how humiliating it is for me every time a new one pops into our life. They chip away a part of me each time I’m confronted by another one. I thought I was strong enough to handle it, but I’m not.”
I’m sitting on the bed dressed and putting my shoes on when Jack Henry drops to his knees in front of me. “Don’t leave me, L.”
“I can’t stay.”
“We need to talk about this.”
Tears stream down my face. “Another woman may have had your baby. Not me, your wife.” I place my hand over my chest. “And it breaks my heart because I wanted to be the one—the only one—to give you babies.” I look into his eyes. “Infinity.”
He immediately recognizes our code word. He steps out of my way because he knows the best thing he can do at this point is let me go.
16
Un-fucking-believable! I get my ass out of one shitstorm only to be sucked into another.
I look at the child in the photograph. He’s blond with blue, maybe green eyes. Nothing about him resembles me. I took biology and briefly studied basic genetics so I know he doesn’t have to look like me to be mine, but it seems there would be some kind of semblance.
Although Evan and I are different, we both look like Dad and all the other McLachlans. Evan’s three kids look like him in one way or another, especially his son, but is it fair to make a comparison?
I look at the picture and feel no connection to this boy. Shouldn’t my heart be softened or filled with some kind of excitement about finding out I may have a son? It’s not. I’m mad as hell—not at this child, but at myself. How could I fuck things up like this with my carelessness? L and I were about to have it all and something I did three years ago has shot all of that to hell.
My gut tells me this isn’t my kid, but there’s only one way to find out. I flip the picture over and immediately recognize the name. Jenna Rosenthal. She didn’t even give me an alias when we had our short relationship a few years back.
I call the number and she immediately answers. “That didn’t take long. I knew it wouldn’t, so I already have the kit.”
“No. I want to speak with my lawyer and have him recommend a reputable doctor to do the test.” We’re doing this by the book. No way she’s hoodooing me with false results. I’m sure that kind of shit happens all the time to dumb fuckers, but I’m no sucker. “I’ll take the first available appointment because I want this done as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure you do want it done and over but it doesn’t end with the test. Ashton is yours and I’m going to make sure you take care of him.”
I can’t see myself with a son named Ashton. It doesn’t feel right. “We’ll begin with the paternity test. Prove he’s mine and I’ll take care of him, but let’s get one thing straight. Never be under the impression that anything will happen between us. I’m married.”
“Judging by the look on your wife’s face, you may not be for long.” I can tell she took great pleasure in saying that.
“Not your business.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Ashton is about to become a huge part of your world—and I’m his mother—so that means I’ll be in your face whenever I feel like it. Every part of your life will be my business, beginning with your home life.”
I’m not fighting with this woman about a child who may or may not be mine. “My assistant will set everything up and will phone you with the appointment date and time.” I end the call, not giving her time to argue further.
I need to go to Laurelyn. I don’t know what I’ll say but I have to see her. And I can’t go smelling like sour mash whiskey.
I go into the bathroom to shower and see L’s pregnancy test lying on the counter. We agreed we were going to look at the results together but Jenna Rosenthal ruined that.
So what do I do? We wanted to find out together. It doesn’t feel right to do it without her. Nothing about this situation is right. L should be here with me and we should be doing one of two things: celebrating the new life we’ve created or making a game plan on how we’re going to make our baby happen. But we’re doing neither because of me and my fucked-up past. If he turns out to be my kid, he was conceived long before I met Laurelyn. Can she hold that against me? She’s not here, so I’m beginning to think she can, and will.
