by Julie Cross
I stop midchew. So he did hear that conversation. “Why would I call her? I’m opening the studio. Probably in nine months. I won’t have time to join a dance company. Besides, they go all over the world. I would hardly—”
“Be home,” he says with a nod. “You could try it out and hold off on the studio opening for another year?”
I set the container on the coffee table. “I don’t want to hold off. Why would I? I mean, you’re signing a lease for the two-bedroom near my house, right? You’ll be moving in by the end of August.”
“It’s just an option,” he says. “One you should at least consider.”
“I want to move back home soon.” I pull my knees to my chest, hugging them. “I was hoping…I thought maybe we could split the rent or something?”
God, did I just ask to move in with him? But he stays in my apartment more often than he doesn’t. It’s not that outrageous. It’s just logic.
His forehead wrinkles. “You want to move in with me? And my kid?”
I shrug. “It was just an idea.”
“What if you wanted to move out eventually? And then I have this kid and he’s gotten to know you. That’s not gonna work.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his face. “I have to start thinking like that, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” I swallow a lump in my throat. Why does it feel like he doesn’t want me around anymore? I hop up from my spot and busy myself getting a glass of water. “Forget I mentioned it.”
Not that it doesn’t hurt to get that kind of rejection from Eddie, but he’s sort of right. If he gets custody of this baby and they’re living together, it’s forever. And if I jump into their world and it’s not forever, it’s so much messier now.
When I sit back down, Eddie says, “You might regret it. If you don’t try out professional dancing.”
“I know what I’ll regret.” I try not to sound snippy, but it’s hard. “Just like you know you want custody of your child instead of a fully qualified adoptive family. Have I tried to talk you out of that?”
His jaw tenses, and he blows out a breath. “Right. Okay. I won’t bring it up again.”
We both stare at the casserole container for way too long until eventually Eddie stands. “I’m…I’m gonna go. Out. To run some errands.”
“Yeah, fine.” I close my eyes, not wanting to watch him leave. He hadn’t said he was staying here tonight, but I guess I’ve gotten used to him being around.
But still…what right does he have to tell me what I’ll regret? I’ve done nothing but support him and his choices. And not doing that audition, it isn’t only about Eddie. It’s about being closer to my family. Being home again.
At least I think that’s what it’s about.
CHAPTER 43
Eddie
I screwed that up. Big-time. I have too many voices in my head right now. There’s Sam, who wants a lot more for his daughter than being some pseudo teen mom to my kid. Then there’s the side of me that wants nothing more than to see Finley every single day. And of course, that side of me that feels guilty as hell for wanting that, because it’s about me and not her. It has to be about her. I had it right at the beginning, when we were first together. I knew she was better off if we just made this a temporary thing, a summer fling, like she said. But somewhere along the way, I forgot all of that. I got caught up in her.
Who am I kidding? I’m still caught up in her.
Except I’m staring down the front door of another girl’s home. I think hurting Fin tonight pushed me over the edge. I need to make things right with at least one person I’ve screwed over.
I wonder if the doorman would let me up to Caroline’s place. I don’t want to run into her parents, but I probably should. I should explain why I changed my mind. That’s the manly thing to do, isn’t it?
I take a deep breath and pull the heavy door open. The doorman looks up the second he sees me. I recognize him, which means he most likely recognizes—
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wellington, but I can’t let you go up,” he says. And he actually does sound a little bit sorry.
For a moment, I debate making a run for it, but there’s no point. Another doorman is up on the penthouse floor, waiting to stop me. Instead, I go outside and stare up at her window like I had done weeks ago. A shadow moves around the room. A rush of adrenaline surges through me. I need to see her. I need to make things right. I glance around to see if anyone is watching, jump and pull down the ladder, then begin the climb up the fire escape. Eighteen floors worth of fire escape.
By the time I reach her window, I’m sweaty and out of breath. I press myself against the building, trying to stay hidden. The last thing I need is trespassing charges on my record. I knock lightly on the window. When I hear the sound of someone opening it, I reveal myself and come face-to-face with RJ.
“Shit,” I say. “I didn’t know you were—”
“Think you’re the only one who knows this trick?” he asks, pushing the window open farther for me to come in.
“Can I come in?” I ask, looking around for Caroline.
“Tell him to jump off the fire escape,” Caroline says from somewhere inside the room.
RJ gives me a grim look. “I think that means enter at your own risk.”
I decide to take my chances and climb in the window. I look around the room, remembering the last time I was here. The day Caroline and I had to sign our eighteen-year friendship away along with the kid we accidentally conceived. It hasn’t changed much, except it’s messier, more lived in. Probably because she’s not allowed out much. Her parents don’t want anyone knowing she’s pregnant. I bet they pull a car up in a dark alley and shove her inside when no one is looking.
Caroline is lying on the bed, on her side—the giant stomach trips me up again—a pillow between her legs. Her face is red, and her hair is sweaty.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, moving closer without being invited. “Are you okay?”
She closes her eyes and nods.
“Heartburn,” RJ says. “And Braxton Hicks. Those are false contrac—”
“I know what they are.” Pretentious premeds. I look at Caroline again. “So it’s probably a bad time to talk?”
She exhales, her nostrils flaring. “Go away, Eddie.”
Her tone isn’t firm enough for me to believe she really wants me gone. Some part of her has to know that we need to talk. It can’t just be between lawyers. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.
“Jesus,” she mutters under her breath. “Why did I eat that pepperoni pizza?”
“Aren’t you a vegetarian?” I ask. She’s been one at least since middle school.
“Yeah, well, this baby isn’t.” She opens her eyes and pulls herself up to a sitting position. “Did you really throw your credit cards at your dad and threaten to change your name?” Caroline rubs her chest. “I think five slices was one too many.”
“Who told you that?” I ask, but I come up with the answer on my own. The maids. Apparently, our feuding families haven’t put a dent in their relationships. “That’s mostly what happened.” I look around the room again and settle on sitting in the window seat across from the bed. “My dad called my lawyer and told him I was a mentally unstable drug addict who caused you to feel physically threatened by me.”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t say anything like that…”
“I figured.” I glance down at my hands. “I’m just…I’m wondering if you’re going to. You know, if someone, like, asks you?”
She clenches her jaw, anger wrinkling her forehead. “God, I hate you for doing this. I can’t believe—but no, Eddie, I’m not going to make up lies about you.”
I blow out a breath, too relieved to be able to conceal it.
“But I’m not changing my mind either. I still believe the family I picked is the best option for
this baby, and that’s what I’m going to say when I’m asked.”
So yeah, that’s a kick to the gut, but I get it. It’s her right.
RJ makes a big show of clearing his throat, and eventually, Caroline rolls her eyes and says, “Fine. Show him.”
He goes over to Caroline’s desk, opens a folder, and pulls out what looks like printed photos. I don’t know what I expected to see, but it wasn’t the face of my kid. My heart pounds. My finger drifts over the image. He’s got his mouth open like he’s yawning. The clarity is incredible.
“It’s a 3D ultrasound,” RJ explains. “The technology is unreal.”
I flip to the next photo and immediately lean away from it. “Whoa, is that his—”
“Penis?” RJ says. “Yep. Definitely a boy.”
“Jesus, is this legal?” I’m not sure I want images of my kid’s private parts floating around everywhere. I flip to the next photo. It’s a clear image of his spine.
RJ moves closer and points to the center of the picture. “They’re checking for spinal abnormalities. It’s so clear you can count each vertebrae and see if they’re fused properly. Everything was perfect.”
I hang on the word perfect. It’s kind of a miracle that this kid is perfect, given the conditions he was conceived under. It makes me want him even more. He’s already got an attitude, enough to say, Screw you people who made me. I’m gonna function properly, even without your help.
Caroline seems super uncomfortable about all this, but somehow, RJ must have convinced her that I at least deserved to see photos of my kid. While I’m poring over the twenty or so pics, she rattles on about anything but this baby.
“Tell me more about this modeling gig. I can’t believe you’re giving up Princeton to pose in your underwear.”
“I only did one underwear shoot,” I say while studying a photo of the baby’s full body, curled up and asleep. “I did a shoot with Toby Rhinehart.”
“No!” Caroline pulls herself up further. “Seriously?”
“Yep. Nice guy.” I finish up with the pictures and hand them back to RJ—reluctantly, because I’d really love to keep one.
“What about your model girlfriend?” Caroline asks. “Is she prepared to be your baby mama?”
“You mean Finley?” I turn to face her. “She’s definitely prepared and capable, but I don’t think that’s what she should do.” The fight with Finley comes back to me, and I still don’t know what to do about it. “Her family is great though.”
“Right. Of course. She’s perfect.” Caroline releases a frustrated breath. “That’s just like you, Eddie, finding someone else to do the hard work for you.”
“I’m not letting her do anything for me.” I stand up. It might be time to go. Before I say something I’ll regret or something that can be used against me later. “I’m going to have my own place. A car. Baby gear. Safety covers over all the outlets. Infant CPR card.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks me. “Like, with yourself? With your life? I know you don’t need money, but seriously, you need something for you.”
This sounds like a manipulative tactic, so I don’t respond.
“Eddie, you are setting yourself up for insanity,” she presses. “Maybe Princeton isn’t for you. God knows you couldn’t have gotten in on your own merits…”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
“Are you planning to keep modeling?”
I shake my head. Not if I can help it. Maybe if there’s a delay in custody or if it takes a while to get access to my grandmother’s trust. “I’ll probably get another job. My girlfriend wants to reopen a dance studio. I might be their piano player.”
This seems to surprise her. She sinks back against the headboard, looking slightly amused. “You have a girlfriend. That’s so…I don’t know, not you. But it is though.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“I’m happy for you.” Caroline manages a smile and then it fades. She opens the bedside drawer and removes a folder. “Just look at this, Eddie. Take thirty seconds to look at it.”
I lean closer and read the label printed across the front: The Kingsley Family. I lift my hands and back away. “Uh-uh.”
“Why not?” she demands. “Afraid you’ll change your mind? Is your choice that fragile?”
“I don’t need to look, because my decision isn’t fragile. I’m not changing my mind. Why should I feel guilty for you misleading this family?”
“I’m not misleading anyone!” She glares at me. “I’m doing what’s best for my kid!”
I’m about to remind her that it’s my kid too, but I don’t, because (1) technically he’s not mine until declared so by the family court, and (2) the bedroom door opens, and Caroline’s mom, the maid, and the doorman stare us down.
RJ and I look at each other, both of us beginning to panic. But Caroline’s mom does nothing more than look at RJ and point down the hallway. “Harry will see you out.”
He nods and gives Caroline a long look before leaving. I attempt to follow behind him, but Mrs. Davenport stops me. She closes the bedroom door, leaving the two of us alone in the hall.
“Name your price,” she says right away, surprising the shit out of me.
I lift an eyebrow. “My price?” Did she forget my family is richer than hers? Not that I’m connected with them anymore, but I could be if I did exactly what she’s about to ask me to do.
“To drop the custody suit.” She eyes me like I’m different than the last time we saw each other. Like I’m more of a threat. I consider this a small victory. “Whatever you want, name it. A giant dance studio for your girlfriend, full private school tuition for her little brothers, a brand-new accessible home for her disabled father…”
My heart thuds with fury, and my fists clench at my sides. “Stay the hell away from her. You have no right to—”
“No right?” she snaps. “To learn more about the girl who is claiming to be a support system for my grandson? And her family who are listed as your references?”
“So he’s your grandson now?” I challenge. “Since when?”
She narrows her eyes. “You have no case. No chance at winning. All you’re going to do is put my daughter through hell and keep her from getting to school on time.”
“If I don’t stand a chance, then why are you fucking bribing me?” I don’t wait for her to answer. I show myself out, taking the stairs and heading out the back entrance.
CHAPTER 44
Finley
“You’ll definitely make sure Eddie gets the cookies and croissants?” Elana asks for the hundredth time today.
“I promise,” I say for the ninety-ninth time. It took a while for the baked goods production, coupled with Eddie actually meeting up with Toby Rhinehart, to come together, so I can’t bear to tell Elana that Eddie and I have been on the outs for a few days.
Or maybe he’s been busy. I don’t know. Regardless, I told Summer to hand over the stuff when Eddie stops by so that I would have some more time to deal with everything. I know those cookies are safe with Summer.
“If you ask Eddie,” I tell Elana, “he’d probably let you go with him to meet up with Toby.”
Elana slows her treadmill down to walking speed—we’re at the gym—and then stares at me like I’m nuts. “I couldn’t. I would freak out. He’s just so…”
“Famous?” I suggest. Though I kind of freaked out too, he really did seem pretty normal. But whatever. I won’t force her.
We have to stop the conversation, because my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but it’s a state office. I have a feeling I know what this is for. I stop my elliptical and answer it.
A woman on the other end quickly explains that she’s setting up interviews for a case and asks if I’m aware of the circumstances and willing to speak with a judge about a client of Ron Miller�
�s in mid-September. That’s well over a month away.
“Um…yes, of course. I’ll do whatever you need me to.” Despite our recent snag, I’d never let that stop me from helping him with this trial.
We set up an appointment, and I quickly add it to my calendar. When I finish, Elana is staring at me. “What’s going on?”
I give her the briefest summary of Eddie’s life story, and then I wait for her reaction. Her eyes widen. “Oh man… Do not tell my mother any of this!”
Seriously? How exactly would I do that?
“She’d flip out.” Elana says something in French, perfectly mimicking her mother’s tone. “This is what happens when you talk to boys!”
We go back to working out again, but when we finish, Elana says, “You guys are fighting, aren’t you? Or did you break up?”
I wipe my face with a towel, hiding it from her. “Why would you think that?”
“I can just tell,” she says. “Something is off.”
“We aren’t fighting.” That’s mostly true. We’re disagreeing. We’re keeping our distance. Not speaking. But fighting…not so much.
Elana looks panicked all of a sudden. “He’s still going to give the cookies to Toby, right?”
I laugh. “Of course. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“Good,” Elana reasons. “Because my mother would kill him.”
Somehow, I don’t doubt that.
CHAPTER 45
Eddie
By the time I arrive at Toby’s “decoy house,” my fingers are about to fall off from lugging the grocery sack of baked goods from my parenting class. I’ve still got my fake baby—perfectly burrito wrapped—in one arm when the door to the apartment opens.
A big dude with a long beard glares down at me from his nearly seven-foot height. He looks like he’s about to stomp on me, but then I hear a voice behind him.
“Rocko, relax. Don’t kill anyone.” Toby pushes past the big dude and stands in front of me, grinning. “Don’t worry. He only inflicts pain if you’ve got mud on your shoes—” He spots the fake baby and stops. “Oh, look at that little—”
