“Thanks, but her car seat is in Ian’s car.” I can tell that fact grates on his nerves, but it’s the truth.
“Yea, right.”
“Should I get the dishes?” I ask belatedly.
“No, I’ve got it,” he says, grabbing our plates. We stand in the hallway next to his bedroom door, no words between us. It makes sense, I guess. Because, really, we’re strangers. The only thing we have in common is Rose, and I need to remember that.
Because it’s getting close to Rose’s bedtime, we make quick work of thanking everyone and saying goodbye. Knox walks us out. It’s not necessary, but I get the sense that he wants to be involved, so I let him walk us to the car while Ian’s grabbing his coat.
Knox kisses Rose on her forehead and wishes her sweet dreams. His words take me back to a lifetime ago when he said those same words to me on a crowded bus the morning of our senior trip. So much has happened in just over a year and a half. He pauses, and it might be my imagination, but I swear Knox leans in close to me, as if to hold me or brush a kiss across my lips. Whether it’s fear or self-preservation, I don’t know, but I turn and open the car door. He stands behind me, watching me snap Rose’s car seat into place. And then we just sort of stare at each other, unsure of what to say or do.
Which is fitting, because we may share a daughter, but we are not in the same place.
Chapter 14
Knox
Willa lefta few hours ago with Rose, and, of course, Ian. Ty and Phoebe called it a night and are busy screwing each other’s brains out. Booker’s studying for a test, so I volunteered for kitchen clean-up duty. I figure it’s the least I can do, considering Whit cooked a huge meal and it was mostly for my benefit—well, my baby mama’s benefit, which is kind of the same thing, and yet, at the same time, not the same thing at all.
It felt like we were getting somewhere earlier, but as soon as the past was brought up, Willa shut down. And I know my guys are right—I can’t pressure her for an explanation, but damn it, I want to. I want to know what the fuck I did or said to make Willa think she couldn’t contact me or that I would ever reject her or my kid. Jesus. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I was halfway to proposing that week we were together. I didn’t make any declarations because even as a dumbass eighteen-year-old, I knew enough to know I was in over my head and didn’t want to scare her off.
The dishwasher is running, the leftovers are in the fridge, and I’ve wiped down all the countertops. I do a quick once-over with the broom and call it good. Grabbing two beers from the fridge, I head into the living room and flop my ass down on the couch across from Whit, who’s scrolling through his phone.
“Lacrosse house is having a party,” he tells me. “You going?”
A week ago, I would have. Hell, a week ago, I’d be on my third beer and pouring shots. But all of that was a distraction. I see that clearly now. “Nah. I’m tired as fuck. You’re messy as hell when you cook.”
“Truth. But I’m also a genius in the kitchen, so…”
“Fair point. Seriously, dinner was delicious. You went all out, and...thanks.”
He looks me in the eye and nods his understanding. “No problem. Things were good upstairs? It was fairly quiet, and you don’t look like she beat your ass with one of Booker’s hockey sticks, so... That’s a good sign, right?”
“I guess,” I shrug, and take a sip of my beer. “It’s fucking surreal.”
“No doubt. I can’t even imagine. It’s gotta be a total mindfuck.”
I nod, realizing Whit gets it. Ty is our crew’s version of Captain America, ready to protect and serve at a moment’s notice. And Booker’s the golden boy. I don’t think he’s ever made a mistake, seriously. No detentions, no bad grades, nothing. But Whit? He’s almost as screwed up as I am, so it makes sense that he gets the weight of this situation. “Dude. I’m somebody’s freaking dad. That’s some heavy shit. And a role I’m completely unprepared for, and not just because I’m nineteen. Christ, my own dad didn’t even want me. And Keith? Yea, he’s a decent dad to Ronin, but he’s never been my father in any sense of the word. What the hell do I know about raising kids? Just tonight, I found out my kid’s freaking birthday. I don’t even know her middle name, if she has one.”
Whit sits up. “She has to have one. Only sociopaths don’t have middle names.”
“Uh, that is not true.”
“Pretty sure it is. Lucy doesn’t have one, and she’s decidedly a sociopath, so...yea. The math checks out.”
“What? She’s a sociopath because she’s not interested in you? Dude. You’ve been a pain in her ass since the day you guys met. Besides, she’s your stepsister. That ship has sailed.” Whit mumbles something under his breath, but I’m too busy making an account on that baby book app to decipher what he’s saying. A few clicks later, and a slew of images appear on my phone screen. “Holy shit…”
“What? What are you looking at?” He hops up from his couch and parks his ass on mine. “Is that Rose?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say,no, asshole, that’s not Rose. I just downloaded pictures of random infants like a fucking weirdo,but I’m too mesmerized by the pictures of my daughter to manage any snark. “Yea,” I breathe.
“Wow. She was beautiful even at, what?” he squints at the screen, “two hours old? That’s pretty impressive. Most babies are ugly at first. Hell, some of ‘em never outgrow it.”
I scroll through the pictures and fall more in love with every image I see. Not only did Willa upload a million pictures, but she’s captioned most of them, too. I see my kid all wrapped up in a fluffy towel after her first bath, and I see a million images of her sleeping, milk-drunk, in her mama’s arms. My gaze zeroes in on Willa’s soft blonde hair, the curve of her shoulder, and yea, the swell of her breast. But it’s not just the total horndog in me that’s paying attention. There’s a longing I just can’t explain. It’s crazy, but I want to jump into that photo with them, travel back in time, fix whatever I managed to fuck up, and be there for them, with them.
I want us to be a family.
And maybe one of the many psychiatrists I’ve had the pleasure of seeing would tell me that’s because I never really had a family. And hell, maybe that has something to do with it. I’ve studied enough abnormal Psych to know I'm either a therapist’s dream or nightmare, depending on my mood. But looking at this picture, spending time with Willa and Rose tonight, I don’t want to be a moody, angry asshole anymore. I want to be someone they’re proud of. Fuck me, I want to be someone they love.
