Prince's Secret Baby

by Riley Rollins

  What the fuck are you doing man? says the message.

  Another message comes through. The cafe is shutting down. You skipped out on your brand new marriage. Fuck is wrong with you? Marriage is a commitment, as much of a piece of shit as it is.

  I grimace and slam the phone shut, then chuck it into my helmet on the floor. I don't need any more grief over this.

  Last call rings out, but I don't bother. I gather up my helmet and riding jacket and head straight for my room. This Days Inn is the grungiest-ass hotel I've ever been to. I feel like settling down into the tub for a long bath, but I run a finger over the porcelain surface and feel all kinds of crusty particles hanging on. Fucking nasty. Trying to clean myself in this dump will probably only make me dirtier.

  Instead of just grabbing a shower, I rip the comforter off the bed and chuck it in the corner of the room. Pretty fucking sure that's what everyone does with this thing. Everybody knows that hotels don't wash their comforters.

  My sleep is all twisting and turning and nightmares.

  In the morning, I feel like absolute shit. Should have fucking drank some water. I squeeze my temples hard, then fish around on the nightstand for my phone. The battery fucking died overnight, so I have to haul my tired, aching ass out of bed to plug it in to the wall charger. When I do, it automatically turns on and starts blowing up with missed voicemails and text messages.

  They're from Oscar, Eddie, Tess's friend Meg, Jason, and a whole bunch of other numbers I don't even recognize. The common theme is: you fucked up, Hunter. But the one that really gets to me is the last message from Eddie. It reads: If you really do this, don't come back again. You won't be welcome.

  My jaw twitches at the message. Everybody in the damn town thinks I broke Tess's heart, like this was a real marriage. And shit, that's what they think it was. And they all hold me responsible for the café permanently closing its doors barely a month into operation.

  Maybe it is my own fault. I'm sure as hell not a perfect man. It's just the wrong time.

  I down a cup of water from the hotel sink and it tastes like fucking shit. I scrub myself clean as best I can with a wet washcloth, and then I ditch this fucking joint.

  I hit the road on my hog, heading west on I-40. It's hot out on the blacktop today, and the heat comes off the road in waves as I ride. The heat usually clears my head and lets me think straight, but right now I'm all screwed up. By eleven in the morning, I'm drenched in my own cold hangover sweat, and I have to pull off at a rest stop to refuel and grab a damn bite to eat from a vending machine.

  I sit on a concrete table at the rest stop, letting my bike cool off. I chew on a protein bar. My phone sits quiet in my pocket. Looks like the town gave up on me responding. I run my thumb over the contour of my phone.

  It's not too late to go back. I mean, shit, it might be too late for me and Tess. She hasn't contacted me in days, and if I were a betting man, I'd bet she's damn tired of me by now.

  But I could at least go make things right with the rest of the town. I hate to see that asshole Wilkinson get away with this. He does it to Oscar, he does it to Tess, and he's going to do it to other people in the future. Maple Ridge won't amount to anything as long as that bastard is mayor.

  Fine. I decide to fucking turn around and go back. Maybe this can be the last good deed I do. I'll help Tess get her shop open if she wants to have anything to do with me. I'll patch things up with my old buddies, and I'll leave on good terms instead of like this. Even if it means everybody thinks I'm a fucking asshole, at least I can try to make my final act a good one.

  Then I'm getting my ass to Alaska. For real.

  19

  Tess

  Inside the now-defunct Rainbow Café, I box up everything I can. The cash register, the espresso machine, the flatware and silverware. The only light in here shines down from the overhead fixtures. The brown paper over the windows blocks out all the natural light.

  What was briefly an open, bright, social space now feels like a tomb. It's certainly where my dreams have gone to die.

  Every time I bend over to pack up a box, the sheet of paper in my back pocket crinkles, a reminder of what else I lost. Hunter. It's the note he left on my kitchen table, saying he consents to annul the marriage. I barely recovered from my first divorce with Roger, and now I have to face another one. I haven't had the heart to go down to the courthouse and start the process. I haven't even told Meg about it yet. Everybody's going to think I'm so foolish for putting myself in the exact same situation. I guess I just don't learn.

  Then my phone vibrates on the counter. It dings once, indicating a new text message.

  I leave the box I'm working on and grab it off the counter.

  It's a text from Hunter.

  I'm heading back. We need to talk.

  For a minute I think about calling him and just ripping into him. I barely slept for two days straight after he left. It was like re-living eight years ago all over again.

  And now he thinks he can just reverse his decision and come back? Pick up where he left off?

  Instead, I text him back, There's nothing further to talk about.

  I return to my boxes and spend the next few hours packing. A reply never comes.

  It's a total pig-out. I twirl my spoon around in a pint of Ben & Jerry's rocky road ice cream, and a package of cookie dough lays on the counter between us. Meg and I are going full piggy tonight. Her husband finally took a break from his workshop downstairs, and he took the baby out to dinner at a friend's house. Tonight, it's just me and Meg, like the old times in college.

  "So when are you leaving?" asks Meg.

  I sigh in resignation. "It's going to take at least a month to get the shop cleaned out. All the new equipment's going up for auction to pay down my debt."

  "And then?"

  "And then I'm going to culinary school I guess. Getting a job as a head chef or sous chef at a restaurant. It won't be the same as having my own, but it'll have to do. Apparently owning a business just isn't for me."

  "I'm happy you tried," says Meg. She picks off a fat piece of cookie dough using her nails, and licks it off her fingers. I follow suit, but I take an even bigger chunk. "Most people never get that far."

  "I guess."

  "Before you know it, you'll clear out the debt and get to start fresh. For real, this time."

  "I guess. Yeah."

  I look at my phone. Still no new messages. "You know," I say, "Hunter texted me today."

  Meg looks shocked. "He did?"

  "He said we need to talk."

  The expression on Meg's face lifts. "Oh my god, that's great!"

  "I don't know that it really is."

  "Why wouldn't it be?"

  "Because how many times am I going to let him do the same thing to me? Fool me once, fool me twice, you know?"

  "Well, what did you say?"

  "I told him there's nothing to talk about."

  "Well, doll, I want what you want. I think you should hear him out. Give him one more chance. He's coming back, right?"

  Just then, my phone vibrates. Meg snatches it off the table before I can react.

  "He says he'll be in town in an hour. And he really wants to talk."

  "Oh."

  Meg gets ready to type a response for me. "What should I tell him?"

  Wow, this really does feel like college again. My best friend texting guys for me. Except this time, there's a whole lot more on the line than a date or a hookup.

  "Ugh." My gut tells me the best thing I can do for myself is to not respond at all. But now that I've had another taste of Hunter, I can't stop thinking about what it'd be like to have a happily-ever-after with him. Of course I have no idea what he's actually thinking right now.

  I think for a while. Meg puts the phone down and we wordlessly eat our ice cream.

  "Okay," I say. "Tell him I'll hear whatever he has to say. But he can't stay at my apartment anymore."

  "Okay," says Meg. She taps out a response and ha
nds my phone back to me.

  "Hey," I say, "would you want to go for a walk? I need to clear my head."

  The night bathes us in its warmth. I haven't been out and about at night in months. I forgot how nice it is to walk around without freezing my behind off. The summer months are just one more thing I need to take better advantage of in the future. I'm starting to realize just how limited my time is on this earth, and that I'm going to have to go out and fight for what I want if I'm going to become the person I want to be.

  Hunter is an enigma. He makes me feel more beautiful than any other man ever has. And I feel this attraction to him that's not only physical, but also emotional, and cerebral. I love simply being around him, but I don't understand why he's always leaving. If he could just be there for me the way a man is supposed to be, it would be a perfect relationship. Even in spite of our past.

  Meg and I walk quietly side by side, around the base of the ridge. It's really a perfect night out.

  If business is all Hunter wants to talk about, then so be it. But if he wants to talk about more… well, I guess I'll hear it. But I'm not going to be stupid this time. He has to have a damn good reason for why things will be different this time. If he doesn't, then I'm not letting him back in. Not again.

  By the time Meg and I circle around the ridge and head back into town, the stars are shining at full strength above. The moon is just a tiny sliver, but in combination with the stars there's enough light out here to navigate anything. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can accept whatever outcome happens.

  My phone buzzes again and I pull it out. I'm back, the text message says.

  20

  Hunter

  The bike rumbles to a stop at the base of Maple Ridge. I kill the ignition and strap my helmet around the handlebars. Tess texted me back half an hour ago and asked to meet up on top, where we shared our last night together eight years ago.

  The more I think about things, the more I think I'm fucking up. Maybe I do love her. I've never loved a woman before. Or at least I've never said the words to one. I don't know if I know what true love really is. All I know is that I sure as hell wouldn't have turned my bike around for any other woman on this planet. And that has to mean something, right?

  The night air blows cool and crisp as I hike up the side of the ridge. The footpaths are worn and rutted, following the same contours as when I was a kid, but rougher, more ragged around the edges. That's what this whole town is like. Slowly fraying around the edges, slowly decaying. That's why the rainbow bagel shop is so important to the future of the town. Not because I expect it to singlehandedly save the town, but because it represents a new direction for everything, the first glimmer of hope since everything started slowly trickling out to Springville. It's proof that the town has the potential for a better future.

  When I reach the top of the ridge, I see her. She's wearing a lacy white shirt and a skirt that blows in the quiet night wind. The moonlight illuminates her, and where her collar unfolds I see the luscious, curvy folds of skin where her cleavage tucks into her shirt. But as fucking gorgeous as she looks, her face is what truly captivates me.

  In that moment, I realize I'm a fucking idiot. There's nowhere fucking else for me except by her side.

  I approach her. Her bangs flutter against her forehead in the wind, and I nearly reach out to brush them out of her face before I manage to restrain myself. The expression on her face tells me that I've got some explaining to do.

  "So," she says.

  "So."

  "Tell me what you want to talk about."

  "First things first. Sit down." I sit down on one of the flat-cut tree stumps and make room for Tess next to me, but she takes a seat on a different one. She folds her arms. I ignore it.

  "First thing," I say, "is fuck that old man Wilkinson. We're gonna rip down the notice on the restaurant and resume business."

  Tess looks skeptical. "That's illegal."

  "Does it look like I give a fuck about a stupid law?"

  "Hunter," says Tess, her voice exasperated. "I thought you wanted to have a real conversation."

  "This is a real conversation."

  "You don't seem to understand. This isn't the wild west. There are lawyers, and government officials, Hunter. There are fines."

  I shrug. "Let them come. They can bring all their ammo. But when the public finds out about what the mayor is doing to his citizens, he'll get thrown out of office."

  "And operating the business without permission is supposed to help that?"

  "It'll be a peaceful protest."

  "And then what?"

  "And then you have your restaurant back."

  "What about you?"

  I pause. I don't want to say anything I don't mean.

  "Are you still going to leave me and go to Alaska?" She's not pulling any punches.

  "What do you want, Tess?"

  She sighs and stands up. She turns away from me, and stares off over the ridge, at the sleepy little town. "What I don't want is to force you to do anything. I want it to be your decision."

  At least a full minute of silence passes. Then I speak. "I want to stay here with you."

  She looks back at me, an expression of incredulity on her face. "Are you saying that you love me?"

  I pause again and I grit my teeth. This feels like a much bigger deal than the fake marriage did. I've never said those three words to any woman on the planet, not even my crappy mom when I was a kid. "I want to be completely honest with you," I say. "I'm not going to say something that I can't be 100% sure about. I think so. But I'm not ready to say it yet."

  She looks damn hurt, and turns away again. "Hey," I say. I tug on her sleeve. "Look at me."

  She does, and she looks more damn beautiful than I've ever seen her.

  I cup her cheeks in my hands and crush my lips against hers. Everything else in the world disappears while our lips touch. She tastes like ice cream, and I breathe her in. My body craves everything she has to offer.

  When our lips part, she looks dazed, and I damn well bet that I do too. "Only honesty from now on," I say.

  She pauses, and then nods. "Don't hurt me again," she says. "I don't think my heart can take it."

  "I won't. I promise." I'm not ready to say the three words yet, but I think I will be. Soon.

  "Let's go," I say. "Let's go open up that café, and tell all our friends near and far to come get some goddamn illegal rainbow bagels."

  21

  Tess

  The line is longer than I've ever seen it before. It wraps all the way around the block, and halfway down Main Street. The dumpster out back overflows with brown paper we ripped off the storefront. The boilers hum, online once again. The scent of fresh bagels wafts through the store, and the refrigerator brims with gallons and gallons of M&M swirl cream cheese.

  Today is a message that Maple Ridge is going to soar into the future, and no one is going to stop it.

  "I just love these swirls," crows Mrs. Abraham, Hunter's old math teacher. She hands me a $10, enough to cover a dozen bagels and a half-pint of rainbow cream cheese. I punch her purchase into the register, which dings and shoots the cash drawer out like a rocket. "I'm so glad you're open again. I'll be back tomorrow. Good luck, honey. And your man is looking fine as hell."

  I blush at the shameless old lady and look over my shoulder at Hunter. He's manning the espresso machine, frothing a cup of hot milk. We haven't talked about us since the night he came back, but for the first time in weeks I feel hopeful again. About the café, about him, about me.

  "Kick that old man's ass," shouts someone deep in the line. It seems like each customer I serve has something nice to say about the shop. They're telling me it's breathing new life into the town. And for the first time I can remember, people are talking about Maple Ridge like it's some cool, quirky little town like Portland instead of a backwater village with nothing to offer.

  But about an hour and a half into the morning, something unexpected
happens. I'm boxing up a dozen bagels for Tim Selleck, the town's barber, when the sheriff of Maple Ridge squeezes through the crowd. Along with three deputies. He pushes his way past the line, straight to the counter where I stand behind the register.

  "Tess Cassidy?"

  "Yes?" I say. I instantly break into a cold sweat.

  "Your restaurant is operating in violation of the Maple Ridge city health code. Please shut down your equipment immediately and take a seat in the kitchen when you are finished. Wait for us."

  I swallow hard. "Hunter," I call out. He's in the back, helping Jason load a new batch of dough into the extruder machine. He comes around the corner, and a deadly expression appears on his face.

  "What the hell is this?"

  "Sir, are you Mr. Thorne?"

  "You're goddamn right."

  "Your store is illegally serving food products. Shut down the equipment immediately and wait with Ms. Cassidy in the kitchen while we clear out the patrons from the dining area."

  Hunter points a spatula at the sheriff's chest, like a gun. "Fuck you. We're not in violation of anything."

  "Mayor's orders, sir."

  "Fuck right off with that. The mayor is a corrupt piece of—"

  Two of the deputies jump over the counter and grab Hunter, forcing his arms behind his back. I scream, and so do several ladies at the front of the line. There must be 30 or 40 people crammed into the line right now, and a commotion breaks out, verging on a riot. I step back from the brawling deputies, and barely dodge a swinging arm. Hunter breaks free of the deputies and puts one in a headlock, taking him to the ground.

  "Don't touch me, motherfucker," growls Hunter. The other deputy grabs at his head, but Hunter shrugs him off, then moves to sit on top of the head-locked deputy, preventing him from moving.

  The sheriff himself leaps over the counter, and I stand back in horror as he and the second deputy wrestle Hunter off the first man, then pin him down to the ground belly-first.