Juked (22 page)

“If it makes you feel better, everyone up here was talking about what a good job you were doing trying to keep everyone cohesive. Shows what a good captain you are.”

I sneer, knowing those are the same people that were talking shit about me the last time we had a few team cuts. But she doesn’t need to know that. I hug her and look around for the baby.

“Oh hey, he kept the earmuffs on,” I say. He’s sitting on the floor in a corner, holding tightly to a noisemaker he’s waving around. He’s got bright green noise reduction headphones on. I found them at a sporting goods store and figured he’d need them if he ever came to a game.

“He did!” Quincy says, letting me go. “He cries when I try to take them off. It’s pretty funny.” She scoops him up in her arms. He makes an unhappy sound when his noisemaker falls to the floor, but Quincy ignores him and collects her purse off a chair before making her way back to me.

Chance finally gets distracted from his lost toy and looks up at me. As soon as he catches my eye, he gets a giant grin on his face.

“Hey, buddy,” I say with a smile. “Did you like the game?”

“Dadada!” he yells, bouncing up and down in Quincy’s arms, reaching for me.

Quincy stops dead in her tracks, eyes wide. I’m pretty sure I look the exact same way, except I feel pale.

Chance reaches for me, and he’s stretched so far, I’m afraid he’s going to fall, so I take him from her. He immediately gives me a big slobbery kiss. I chuckle, but inside, I’m panicking.

He called me dada. He thinks I’m his dad.

Holy shit. The kid thinks I’m his
dad
. How do you explain to a ten-month-old that I’m just his mom’s friend? Or his aunt’s friend. Or. . . how can anyone explain
any
of this to him?

“He was probably trying to say Daniel,” Quincy says quietly, watching me to gauge my reaction. I’m trying really hard to not worry her, because there’s nothing to worry about. Right?

“Yeah, he, uh. . . that’s probably it.” I clear my throat and hand him back to her. And then I lie through my teeth. “So listen, I know we made plans tonight, but after a game like this one, I like to get together with my team so we can talk shop and figure out some of the kinks over a beer. Can we take a raincheck?”

I see the hurt cross her face immediately. She knows I’m lying. She’s known me long enough to be able to see through my bullshit. But she doesn’t let on. Just graciously accepts my freak-out.

“Sure,” she says. “I need to get him home and work on his nighttime routine anyway.”

“Quincy,” I say, stopping her. But when she turns, I don’t know what to say to her. That it’s okay? It’s not. That I’m not freaked out? I am. That I can pretend this whole thing didn’t happen? I can’t. So I sigh and try for the next best thing. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

She nods once and turns away from me again. I snag my bag from the floor and follow her.

The walk to the parking lot is quiet, except for Chance’s constant babble. Every once in a while, he looks over at me and yells, “Dadada” or some variation of it, and I cringe. Quincy never makes eye contact with me. She knows thoughts are racing through my brain.

I swore I would never date a single mom for this reason. Just because she’s an aunt doesn’t make her any less of a single mom.

Would it be so bad if we kept dating? Would Chance eventually understand?

What if we broke up? How could I break his heart like my dad broke mine? And would it break my heart to lose him, too, if I spent that long helping raise him?

Quincy makes quick work of getting Chance in his car seat. She hands him a blue squishy book, and he squeals in delight, immediately putting it in his mouth. She shuts the door and turns to face me, leaning against the car.

“Um, so I guess I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” I say and kiss her quickly. “I’ll call you.”

She nods sadly and walks around the car to the driver’s side. Before getting in, she gazes at me over the hood. It looks like she’s about to say something but doesn’t. She shakes her head and climbs in, closing the door and cranking the engine.

I look through the passenger window at the baby, and he smiles when he catches my eye. I smile back, but it feels fake. I keep my eyes on him until Quincy backs up out of the parking space, and I can’t see him anymore.

What do I do now? Do I keep hanging out with the woman who has become one of my best friends? Or do I call it quits?

I honestly don’t know the answers to my questions, but I know something that will get my mind off this cluster fuck. I pull out my phone and send a text to Christian.

Where you guys at? I’m in.

I
stare at the TV, Jamie Fraser’s naked butt strolling by. That alone should hold my attention, but I can’t concentrate on the most recent episode of
Outlander
.

All I can think about is how it’s been more than a week since I’ve heard from Daniel and how it’s pissing me off. I texted him once. He never texted me back. I’m not surprised. I knew this was coming as soon as Chance called him dada. It was written all over his face. It scared the shit out of him and threw him right back into that default mode Blanca talked about. He’d tried to cover it well, but the fear was so obvious.

The next morning, I saw his picture online. He and his teammates were coming out of some strip club at four in the morning. There’s no way to convince me they went to Purple Palace to have a team meeting. So not only did he get freaked out, he lied to me, and immediately ran to the safety of other women. Distant women. Women whose names he will never know, and he doesn’t have to worry about getting close to.

Pissed off doesn’t even begin to cover the amount of anger I feel.

I try to concentrate on
Outlander
while Chance naps, jumping every time my phone alerts me of a text because I keep hoping it’s him, which is ridiculous considering how angry I am. These back-and-forth emotions are draining.

Even as I have the thought, the alert dings, and right on cue, I jump, hating myself for my reaction. But it’s not him.

Geni:
What are you doing?

Me:
Trying to watch
Outlander
. What are you doing?

Geni:
Laundry. Want some company?

Me:
I know what you’re trying to do. I’m fine.

Geni:
You’re not fine. You’ve been moping around all week. He’s an asshole. You need some fun.

Me:
Yes he’s an asshole. But fun on my day off means Jamie Fraser in a kilt.

Geni:
Really. Which episode are you on?

When I don’t answer her fast enough, because I don’t honestly know, she texts again.

Geni:
That’s what I thought. Now what kind of ice cream do you want?

Me:
Mint Chocolate Chip. Breyer’s.

Geni:
K. Give me about an hour to finish up and get there.

I toss my phone on the couch and listen for any sign that Chance is waking up before unpausing my show. Claire and Jamie are going at it, high-budget porn style again, but I still can’t concentrate.

I want so bad to text Daniel and find out where his head is at. I want to reassure him that Chance is a baby. He’s trying to figure out language and how sounds make words. I read all about it in my baby book. But I won’t be that girl. I won’t be the girl who chases him.

I’m not glamorous. I’ve got more responsibility than most women my age. I come with baggage. But I also know I’m worth it. I’m okay with not defining a relationship for the sake of having a label, but I’m not okay with being treated like shit, by anyone, for any reason.

The doorbell rings as the episode ends.

Good thing Geni’s here, because I’m going to need to re-watch that episode.

I pad to the door, pulling my hair down from its messy bun and redoing it. I pull the door open without bothering to look through the peephole.

“I wasn’t expecting you for—” I stop mid-sentence. “Oh. I thought you were someone else.”

It’s not Geni standing in front of my door. It’s a guy. He’s a little taller than Daniel, maybe six one, sandy blond hair, decent build.

He smiles. “I stopped by unannounced. Sorry.”

“Can I help you with something?” I ask, discreetly putting my foot behind the bottom of the door in case he tries to force his way in. You can never be too careful.

“I’m Erik,” he says.

I stare at him blankly. I don’t know an Erik.

“Erik Cope,” he says. The name still isn’t ringing any bells. Is Geni trying to set me up? He clears his throat and tries a third time. “I think you have my kid.”

The small smile I had on my face drops, and my knees suddenly feel weak. “What?” I croak.

“You’re Quincy, right?” he asks. “Sarah’s sister?” All I can do is nod. “Then you definitely have my kid.”

I shake my head, trying to get rid of the fog in my brain. I finally pull myself together enough to respond. “You can’t just knock on my door and claim to be my nephew’s dad. He’s almost a year old, for God’s sake.”

“Already?” He has the audacity to look surprised, like he didn’t just turn my world completely upside down when he knocked on the door. “Wow. I didn’t realize it had been that long. That night was kind of a blur.” He takes a step forward. “Can I come in?”

“No.” I force him to step back. “You can’t expect me to let some guy I’ve never met into my home because he claims to be the father of my nephew. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I don’t claim to be him. I am him.” He’s arguing with me, but his demeanor and tone don’t indicate he’s angry. It’s a really strange combination and makes me confused about his intensions. And then it hits me. Fucking Daniel.

I laugh in disbelief. “Let me guess, you read I’m dating Daniel Zavaro, so you decided to come over here, pretend to be the baby’s long-lost father so you can get some free tickets and maybe party with the team, right?” I cross my arms defensively. “That’s not the way it works. There are paternity tests that would have to be done, and lawyers would have to get involved. So you can just be on your way now. I have a half-naked Scottish highlander who needs my attention more than you do.”

“I know a paternity test needs to be done. That’s why my lawyer is already working on the paperwork,” he says, shocking me.

I wasn’t expecting that answer. My arms go limp at my sides. “What?”

He rubs his stick-straight hair. Chance’s hair is stick straight. Everyone in my family has wavy or curly hair. “I wanted to come over before you were surprised with custody paperwork. I thought maybe I could see the kid. Maybe save us all some money with a paternity test if he looks like me or something.”

“He looks like my dad,” I whisper. He’s fighting for custody. Chance has a dad and that dad is fighting for custody of him. I’m going to lose this baby, who I love so dearly—my sister’s child—to this man. My brain is spinning with questions and thoughts. Some rational, some not so rational. Like running away to Canada where this man, this
Erik
, can never find us. But I know that’s not realistic. Nor is being on the lam a great way to raise a child; likely, I’d end up in prison for kidnapping at some point.

“I guess we’ll have to wait for the test then.”

“Why are you…? I mean… if you knew about him all along, where have you been?” I’m more curious than angry.

“Around.” He doesn’t seem to understand why it’s a big deal. “I heard Sarah was pregnant, and I knew she was trying to find me, but I didn’t wanna be a dad, so I just never made any contact.” I narrow my eyes. He knew the whole time and ignored his responsibilities. He raises his hands defensively. “Hey, it was a one-night stand. She was a nice girl, but I didn’t think either of us wanted to be stuck with each other for the rest of our lives.”

“But there was a
baby
involved.”

“Like I said, I didn’t want to be a dad.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What changed? Why do you want him now?”

He leans back against the railing and makes himself comfortable, crossing his arms and legs. “My mom.”

“Your mom?”

“We were talking at Sunday brunch the other day, and she mentioned she can’t wait to have grandkids. I realized, well, she does have one and her birthday’s coming up. When I saw the article in the paper and that you had him, it was almost like fate, ya know?”