Playing the Game

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "No, I can't. I have Noah. You know that. And you also know that no guy would be interested in seeing a twenty-one-year-old single mother of a child with Noah's issues."

  "I think you just use that as an excuse because you don't want to go out."

  Courtney ignored the comment, knowing what would happen if she answered. They'd had this conversation before—too many times. Beth would try to fix her up with someone, try to talk her into going out. Courtney always said no. That wasn't her life right now. It had never been her life.

  "So you never did tell me how you and the hot firefighter met."

  "Trying to change the subject, hm? Fine, I won't bring up your serious lack of a social life again. For now. And I'm seriously not telling you how we met."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it might offend your virginal sensibilities, that's why."

  "I am hardly virginal. I have a kid, remember?"

  Beth laughed, the short sound holding a world of sarcasm and disbelief. "Okay. So you had sex. Once. Over three years ago. I'm so impressed."

  Courtney opened her mouth to disagree, to tell Beth she'd had sex more than once. A lot more than once. She snapped her mouth closed and swallowed the words. Saying them out loud would take this entire conversation down a different road, one she didn't want to travel. One she didn't want to remember.

  So she didn't date. So what? Her priority was Noah. Life now wasn't always easy but she didn't regret her choices, not for one minute. And if she sometimes felt overwhelmed…well, what mother didn't? She had her own mother to help out. And friends like Beth. And she had her son. That was all she needed.

  "No comeback, hm?"

  "I know better."

  Beth murmured something, her hands working magic on the tense muscles. Courtney leaned forward even more, releasing her breath and letting herself relax. The music piped into the salon's speakers was muted back here, nothing more than a backdrop for the other sounds surrounding them. The chatter of conversation between stylist and client was nothing more than a relaxing buzz, lulling her deeper into a foggy gray world. The phone rang from somewhere out on the floor; the bell signaling the arrival or departure of another client was nothing more than a barely-heard tinkle.

  In a few minutes, she'd have to get back up. Go to work with her next client, shampooing and cutting. But for now, for these few precious minutes, she could try to relax and distance herself from life.

  "Your purple is fading."

  "Hm?"

  "I said your purple is fading." Beth's hands moved to her hair and separated out a thick strand. "You should change it."

  Courtney sighed and straightened, reaching back to pull her hair from Beth's hand. "I happen to like the purple."

  "I know you do. But Fall's here. New season, new color. I'm thinking you'd look really good with some red."

  "Red? I don't think so—"

  "Not red red. More like an auburn cinnamon. With highlights. That would really make your color pop."

  "What's wrong with my color?"

  "Nothing. Except you've been so stressed lately that you're super pale. The blonde only makes you look more washed out."

  "Oh, and going red would be any better?"

  "Sure. A nice warm color, nothing too drastic." Beth started running her fingers through her hair, pulling strands in different directions. "We've never done a red on you before. I think it'll look good."

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "No maybes about it. I already know what I'm going to do. Can you stay late tonight? I'll do it then—"

  "Hey Courtney, someone's here to see you."

  Courtney glanced at the clock then turned toward Shelly, another stylist. There was something about the other woman's expression that made Courtney's hands curl into fists. This wasn't about her next client—or any client, for that matter. Courtney knew that with a certainty that froze her.

  A man stood behind Shelly, middle-aged in a dark nondescript suit. Everything about him was nondescript. Average, unassuming. Someone you'd pass on the street and not even notice.

  So why did he fill Courtney with so much fear? And why did Beth suddenly place a hand on her shoulder, like she was offering support?

  "Miss Williams?"

  "Y-yes?"

  The man pushed past Shelly, a white envelope held in his hand. He stopped in front of her, his face blank of all expression, and held the envelope out to her. "This is a request for a paternity test on one Noah Robert Williams. The information on where to have the test taken is inside. I would suggest you not ignore it."

  "What?" The word came out as a strangled whisper. She could have screamed it and the man wouldn't have cared: he was already walking out. Beth's hand tightened on her shoulder and she leaned closer, peering at the envelope in Courtney's shaking hand.

  Courtney looked down at it, the black lettering swimming in front of her. She squeezed her eyes closed, opened them, blinked until the lettering came into focus. Her stomach clenched when she recognized the return address. It was the same law firm that had sent the other letters she had thrown away.

  "Courtney! Oh my God. What is it? Open it! What did he mean? Paternity? For Noah? Why? For what?" Beth's questions came one after the other, the words nothing more than senseless sound, lost in the sudden buzzing surrounding Courtney.

  She dropped the envelope onto the table and pushed her chair back, nearly knocking Beth over. "Throw it in the trash. I don't want it."

  "Shelly, grab me a bottle of water." Beth bent down next to her and placed a comforting hand on her leg. Her other hand snagged the envelope from the table and held it between them. "Courtney, I don't think you can ignore this. You heard him. You need to open it."

  "No. No, I don't."

  "Courtney, he sounded serious. You need to open it."

  "I can't."

  "You have to. But I don't understand, why would anyone want a paternity test on Noah? I thought you said you knew who his father was."

  "I did. I do." And oh God, why was he doing this? It was Harland, it had to be. Of course it was him. But why? What he was hoping to prove?

  Or was he trying to prove Noah wasn't his? Was that what this was about? No, it couldn't be. There was no reason for him to do that. She didn't want anything from him, wouldn't even think of asking him for anything. And Harland hadn't even known about Noah until he barged back into their lives a month ago. He would have never known. So why?

  She shifted in the chair, her frantic gaze resting on Beth. "Open it for me. I can't. I don't want—you have to open it."

  Beth watched her for a long minute, a hundred different unasked questions flashing through her hazel eyes. Then she nodded and slowly opened the envelope, her fingers shaking. She pulled out a single sheet of paper, the letterhead matching what was on the envelope.

  Beth looked at her once more, silently asking permission to read it. Courtney nodded, watched as Beth's eyes skimmed the several short paragraphs.

  "What does it say?"

  "It's a bunch of legal jargon." Beth frowned, her eyes skimming the page once more. "Something about something called an Acknowledgement of Paternity to establish—ohmygod. I know this name. Holy shit. Oh. My. God. Courtney! Seriously? He's Noah's father? Holy shit, I don't believe it."

  Courtney snatched the paper from Beth's shaking hand and read it for herself. The words didn't make sense, not really, not until after the third time. Even then, she wasn't entirely sure what every word meant. But she understood the general meaning.

  Harland wanted to establish his paternity in order to file a correction to Noah's birth certificate so it would list him as the father.

  But why? Why did it matter to Harland? Why would he go to the trouble and expense of hiring an attorney? He wasn't in Noah's life. She didn't want him in Noah's life.

  "Is he really Noah's father?"

  Courtney folded the letter and carefully tucked it back into the envelope, unable to look at Beth. "Yes."

  "You? And Harland Day?
But—"

  "It was a long time ago, okay? I don't like thinking about it."

  "How can you not think about it? He's Noah's father!"

  "And he didn't even know about Noah until a few weeks ago! I don't know why he's doing this. It makes no sense—"

  "But isn't this a good thing? I mean, it looks like he wants to be named as Noah's father. That means you can get him to pay child support and help—"

  "No!" Courtney jumped from the chair and started pacing around the small room, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. They had an audience now: Shelly and Diane and Jackie crowded together in the doorway, their expressions ranging from concern to blatant curiosity. Courtney didn't care. She was too upset to care.

  She paused her frantic pacing, glanced at the women huddled in the doorway, then turned back to Beth. "I don't want his money. I don't want his help. I don't want anything to do with him and I don't want him in our lives."

  "But why? Wouldn't this help—"

  "Because he accused me of sleeping with someone else when I first told him I was pregnant. He kept insisting, over and over and over, that it wasn't his. That it couldn't be his." Courtney made an angry swipe at her cheek, not surprised that her hand came away damp. "So I told him it wasn't. I told him I wouldn't have it and that was it. I never saw him again."

  "Oh, Courtney." Beth hurried over to her and pulled her into a comforting hug. Several more pairs of arms joined them, offering words of comfort and consolation and support. Courtney didn't know how long they stood there, huddled together. Beth was the first one to pull away. She wiped her own face, her mouth trembling with a watery smile.

  "Okay, no more of this. Shelly, you and the others get back out there. Diane, can you take Courtney's next appointment?"

  "Sure, no problem."

  "I can take my own appointment." Courtney tried to object but Beth waved her off before shooing everyone out of the room. "Beth, I can take—"

  "No, you can't." She grabbed the envelope from the table and held it out. "You need to get this taken care of first."

  Courtney stepped back and shook her head. "No. I want nothing to do with that."

  "Courtney, you can't ignore it."

  "I'm not letting them put more needles in Noah. I'm not. Not for this. I don't care what they say."

  "Then go talk to his father."

  "Beth, I told you, I don't want—"

  "This isn't going to go away, no matter how much you want it to. You should at least go talk to him. Maybe there's another way. Maybe there's some way to work this out so you're both happy."

  Happy? That would never happen, not the way Beth meant. But maybe there was something else she could do, some way to talk Harland out of this insanity. She stared down at the envelope in Beth's outstretched hand, eyeing it with distaste and fear.

  Then she reluctantly took it, surprised that it didn't weigh more than it did. It was just a letter. A simple letter in a plain envelope. But it had the potential of completely destroying the world as she knew it. Shouldn't it weigh more than it did?

  She tightened her hand around the letter, not caring that she was crumpling it. Then she raised her eyes and looked at Beth. "I don't know what to do."

  "Go talk to him. It's the only thing you can do for now."

  Chapter Nine

  Harland lowered the volume on the television and cocked his head, listening. Had someone knocked at the door? No, he must be hearing things. Besides, there was a doorbell right there in plain sight. If anyone was outside the door, they'd ring the bell, not knock.

  He grabbed the remote, ready to edge the volume back up, when he heard it again. It wasn't even really a knock, more like a light tap.

  "What the fuck?" Impatience edged his voice. He jabbed the remote with one finger, pausing the video of the game he'd been studying, then pushed off the sofa. Maybe he was hearing things. Or maybe it was just some kids playing games. If that was the case, he was going to let them have it. He wasn't in the mood for games. Hell, he wasn't in the mood for people, period. That was why he had backed out on meeting Jason and Zach later, and why he'd told his father to get lost for a few hours.

  He yanked the door open, ready to read the riot act to whatever unfortunate soul happened to be standing there. Every scathing word died in his throat, replaced by nothing more than a gasp that came out as a wheeze.

  Courtney stood in the hallway, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. She was dressed in form-hugging black pants, a jacket at least a full-size too big for her hanging off her slim frame. An expression of pain distorted the fine features of her pale face. She'd been crying, he could tell from the smudged makeup around her eyes and the faint streaks on her face. His own heart lodged in his throat.

  "Did something happen to Noah? Is he okay?" His voice shook, sounding strained to his own ears. She didn't say anything, just stood there, staring at him. He reached for her arm, ready to pull her inside, to pull her into his arms. His hand barely grazed her when she pulled away, stepping out of his reach with a small moan of despair.

  "Why? Why would you do this?"

  "Do what? Courtney, what's wrong? What happened?"

  "This!" She pulled an envelope from her jacket and waved it in front of his face, so fast he could barely make out what it was. But he didn't need to see it—he knew what it was.

  The concern—the fright—that had shaken him only seconds before disappeared in the space of a heartbeat. Anger and impatience took their places. He leaned against the doorframe, no longer worried about inviting her inside, and stared at her through narrowed eyes.

  "You finally got it, huh?"

  "Why, Harland? What is this about? Why would you do this to me?"

  "To you? Honey, this has nothing to do with you. Noah's my son. I want that on record."

  "But why? I don't understand."

  "You don't need to understand, now do you? This has nothing to do with you."

  "It has everything to do with me. Noah is my son. I'm not going to let you put him through this."

  Harland leaned forward, his anger growing. "He's my son, too. You seem to keep forgetting that."

  "You didn't want him! You didn't want anything to do with him! You didn't even want to hear that he was yours when I told you I was pregnant." Her voice was a plaintive wail, the final words dying amid choking tears. He watched as she tried to stop them, as she brushed one hand across her face.

  The muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. He tried to tamp down his own emotions, tried not to let the sight of Courtney crying get to him.

  Tried…and failed. Because no matter what everyone thought of him, no matter how hard and cold he pretended to be, he wasn't the heartless bastard everyone thought he was.

  Harland reached for her again, surprised she didn't struggle to rip her arm from his grasp. He led her inside and steered her toward the sofa, urging her to sit. Then he moved to the kitchen and ripped several sheets of paper towels from the roll before returning to the living room.

  He sat down next to her, his leg brushing against hers. His body stiffened and he slid away, ignoring the flare of heat from just that small touch. What the fuck was wrong with him? Seriously? She was falling apart in front of him and he was wondering about getting closer to her?

  He shoved the paper towels toward her then slid back a few more inches, wondering if maybe he should move to the chair. Because yeah, apparently he really was a heartless bastard because his body was still reacting to that small touch.

  Courtney wiped a towel across her face, dragged it under her eyes then blew her nose. She looked like hell: worn out, tired, stressed. Her face was too pale, her eyes too wide, rimmed in red. Her normally full lips were nearly colorless, pressed together in a tight line. And her hands were shaking. He could see that without even really looking. Just like he could see she was trying to hide it by curling her fists around the wad of towels.

  He looked away, ashamed of himself. Ashamed for noticing her weakness, li
ke he was somehow spying on her. Ashamed that he was partly to blame. Partly? Who the fuck was he kidding? He was the only one to blame. And he was going to make it worse. There was no doubt in his mind about that, no matter how much shame he felt.

  Noah was his son, and he wasn't backing down from this.

  "Why, Harland? I don't understand."

  He shifted on the sofa, turning so he faced her. "He's my son."

  "You keep saying that but he's not. You weren't there when he was born. You've never been there. You didn't even know about him! So why? Why does it matter? Why now?"

  "Because I do know about him. And I'm not going to walk away."

  "Please don't do this to him. To me."

  "Do what? You're acting like this is such a big deal. I'm his father. I want to be in his life. Why are you fighting me on this?"

  "Because you're going to walk away again. Just like you did last time. I know it." The words were barely more than a whisper but she might as well have shouted them for the effect they had on him. He felt like he'd been punched, hard, then slammed into the boards. The pain was a physical thing, shoving the breath from his lungs and leaving him feeling battered.

  It wasn't just the words. It was the look in Courtney's wide brown eyes: flat, distant…and filled with complete certainty. She wasn't worried he might walk away—she was convinced that was exactly what he'd do.

  He wanted to argue with her, tell her she was wrong. But he couldn't. How could he, when it was exactly what he'd done three years ago? He wanted to tell her he wasn't the same person he had been back then.

  Another truth. Except was the person he was now any better? Harland clenched his jaw and looked away. He couldn't answer that question. No, that wasn't right. He didn't want to answer that question—because he was truly afraid of the answer.

  That didn't mean he was going to back down or give up. Not even close. This was too important.

  He relaxed his jaw, forced his hands to unclench, then turned back to face Courtney. "I'm not backing down on this."

  Maybe she heard the finality in his voice, or saw something in his eyes. Her color paled even more and she leaned forward, her slender hand wrapping around his wrist, squeezing.