by Lane Hart
“As soon as we get the discharge papers for you to sign, I’ll get him dressed; and then we’ll be ready to go.”
“I’m not his father,” Quinton blurts out. “I mean, of course I’m gonna cover all his medical expenses. I just meant…he’s not mine.”
“He’s not?” I gasp in surprise, turning toward Quinton to try and read his face.
While I’m secretly thrilled because that will make it so much easier for me to be awarded custody of Brady, at the same time I actually feel bad for Quinton. And I instantly recognize the saddened look on his face. It’s the same expression I would see reflecting back in the mirror every single month that John and I tried to get pregnant, but failed.
He’s disappointed.
“I should be relieved, right?” Quinton meets my eyes and asks sadly. “You made it clear I’m not cut out to be a father, I know that. But I still wanted to…try.”
“I’m sorry, Quinton,” I tell him sincerely while reaching over to cover the top of his hand with mine.
“Even if he’s not Bianca’s, I want to help you get custody,” he says, shocking the ever-loving shit out of me. “I’ll pay for your attorneys; and either way, I’ll give you child support so you can have everything you need…”
Wow, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever offered me. He’s sad and maybe even mourning the loss of the baby he thought was his own, but even so, he’s being nice to me, despite all the things I’ve said and done, taking him to court Tuesday for custody. And now I feel even guiltier for snooping around his house, trying to dig up dirt on him to make him look bad.
I was wrong about him. Quinton’s a good guy, and one day I think he’ll make a pretty good father.
“Thank you for the offer, Quinton, but you don’t have to do that, pay me child support or whatever,” I tell him. “I’ve been saving for a baby for years; and believe it or not, I actually make pretty good money at my boring job. Plenty for me to take care of him, so you don’t have to–”
“I just, I want to, okay?” he suddenly exclaims before getting to his feet, keeping his back to me when he stalks across the room. “I want to make sure he’s taken care of.”
“He will be,” I assure him, more certain of that than anything in my entire life.
“What if he’s not Bianca’s? I don’t want him to end up in foster care,” Quinton says as he braces his hands on the sink counter and hangs his head. “He deserves better than that.”
“I agree,” I tell him. “And if he’s not Bianca’s and he’s not yours, no one has to know, right?”
Spinning back around, I catch the wetness on Quinton’s cheeks before he quickly wipes it away, and it nearly breaks my heart. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice huskier with emotion.
“I mean, if neither of us report it, we could just keep him, right?” I explain, not missing the fact that I said “we” like we’re a team or…or a couple. “If he’s not Bianca’s, his mother obviously didn’t want him either. So, can’t it just be our little secret?”
“Yes,” Quinton says with a grin. “We’ll do that. You’re a genius, Callie.”
“Nah, I just refuse to give him up,” I reply with my own grin, walking over to his bed to watch Brady sleeping, and wishing it was that easy. But I know deep down that it’s not. He’ll have to have a birth certificate and Social Security number someday. I don’t know how it will all work or what we’ll have to do, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen. Besides, Quinton looks like he needs some good news.
Before he can say anything else, Tina pushes open the door and comes back in with her small laptop in her hands. “So, are you guys ready to take him home?” she asks with a smile.
“Hell yes,” Quinton looks at me and says with a wink that solidifies our agreement to do what it takes to give Brady a home, even if we have to lie or keep the truth a secret.
“So will we see you later this week?” Tina asks me after all the paperwork is signed and she tells us that a home nursing agency will send someone over to Quinton’s house later to put on the portable light therapy device.
“Um, yeah, probably,” I tell her.
“Great. I don’t have the research to prove it, but I think the babies you cuddle get out of here faster than the others,” she tells me with a smile before she leaves.
“What was that about?” Quinton asks as we get Brady dressed in his footed coveralls.
“Oh, nothing. I just volunteer a few afternoons a week,” I tell him, packing everything up in Brady’s diaper bag.
“Volunteer? Like as a nurse’s aide or something?” he asks.
“No, as a cuddler,” I respond, somewhat embarrassed to be admitting that to him.
“A cuddler?” Quinton repeats, trying to bite back his smile.
“Go ahead and laugh, but it’s good for the babies, and it makes me happy,” I tell him defensively.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replies as he picks up Brady’s car seat and we start for the elevator bank. “And I think it’s sweet.”
“Please drop it,” I tell him as I wave goodbye to a few nurses at the desk who I recognize. Ones who are blatantly staring at Quinton. Who could blame them?
Once we get off the elevator and step through the sliding doors at the front of the hospital, I inhale a deep breath of fresh air after being cramped up inside the antiseptic fog of the hospital since yesterday.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use some greasy breakfast comfort food after these last few hellish days,” Quinton says when we get to his huge, and very safe looking, Land Cruiser.
“Yeah, breakfast sounds good,” I agree. After snacking on vending machine foods for the past twenty-four hours, I could use an actual warm meal.
Quinton snaps Brady’s seat into the secured base in the backseat, and I climb into the back next to him since the seat’s rear facing and I still worry about the little guy.
After Quinton shuts the door and climbs in the front, I notice the crumpled ball of paper on the otherwise, clean, spotless floorboard and reach down to pick it up. The testing facility’s letterhead instantly grabs my attention; and unable to stop myself, I open it up to read it.
Oh my God!
My hand flies up to my gaping mouth as I reread the typed, bold words over and over again. Words that shatter my heart into a million tiny pieces. Why did I have to read the stupid letter? I was so close to finally having custody of Brady and the disappointment of having this chance ripped away from me is almost too painful to bear.
For one long, agonizing minute I have an internal debate with my conscience, wondering if I should say something or just keep my mouth shut.
But then I remember Quinton’s sweet words about how seriously he takes his responsibility for Brady, the tears he shed just moments ago when he was certain he wasn’t his father, and I know I could never live with myself if I withheld this information from him. Brady would never really be mine; it would be a lie that would ruin any happiness he may bring me.
“Quinton…” I say before he can back out of the parking spot. Wiping away the moisture from my eyes, I lean forward between the two front seats and offer the wrinkled up sheet of paper to him.
“I don’t want to see that again, Callie,” he grumbles.
“Quinton, look at it. Read it again,” I encourage him, even though it means I lose everything.
“Dammit, fine,” he says when he finally jerks the document from my hand and starts to read the words in bold. “Quinton Dunn is not excluded as the biological father of Brady Dunn. There, you happy?” he asks, handing the paper back to me.
“Exactly how many times have you been hit in the head, hot shot?” I ask him teasingly, trying not to let my despair show.
“What the hell?” Quinton replies, twisting around in his seat so he can face me.
“Okay. Let’s try this instead,” I say with a heavy exhale to gather my strength. This is the right thing to do, I tell myself. “Do you know what ‘not excluded’
means?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I get it, Callie. I’m not his father.”
“No, Quinton,” I say slowly. “You’re not excluded as his father. In paternity testing language, that means that you are the most likely biological match. But since it’s only like ninety-nine percent certain instead of one hundred percent, they can’t come out and say you are his father.”
“Wait, what are you saying?” he says with his dark eyebrows drawn together.
Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I finally shout, “You’re his father!”
“Seriously?” he asks with his eyes widening in shock. He grabs the paper away from me again and then starts punching something into his phone. If I had to guess, he’s probably doing an internet search to verify my explanation. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters.
“Hey, that might be my sister you’re talking about,” I tease him.
“I’m his father?” he asks, looking back at me again and then the car seat. “He’s really mine?”
And even knowing that I just lost any chance I had of getting custody of Brady, I can’t help but smile and be happy for Quinton as tears begin to leak from my eyes.
“Congratulations,” I tell him, reaching over to tug Brady’s blanket up over his chest. It hurts like hell to face the truth, but Brady deserves to be raised by one of his biological parents, especially one who already loves him so much, even if he was unexpected.
“Holy shit,” Quinton says, running his fingers through his hair and giving it a tug. “Holy. Shit.”
“Might want to work on your explicit language,” I warn him, brushing away the wetness on my cheeks with my knuckles.
“Shit, you’re right,” he says, which makes me laugh, especially since he doesn’t even notice what he said. “I’ve got to call my parents. Hell, I’ve got to call…everyone.”
“Slow down, Daddy. How about you make a few important calls, and then we get that breakfast you offered?” I ask him because I need some time to process all this.
“Thank you, Callie,” Quinton says. Reaching for my hand that’s in my lap, Quinton brings it to his lips, kissing my still damp knuckles before he presses my palm to his face and I end up stroking the stubble over his cheek. I’m not sure why; it just sort of happens. “Thank you, sweetheart. We’re gonna work out custody. You can see him whenever you want. I know how much you already love him too.”
Before I can reply with my gratitude, he’s letting my hand go so he can turn back around in his seat to start making calls, the first being obviously to his parents since the first words out of his mouth are, “You’re a grandma!”
It’s sweet to see him so excited after how upset he was earlier. And I’m envious, wondering if I’ll ever get to experience the same happiness and to be someone’s mother like I’ve always wanted.
First thing’s first, tomorrow or Monday I’ll find out for certain if Brady is my nephew. That would be wonderful if he is, but at the same time, in my heart, he’ll always be Quinton and Bianca’s son no matter how much time I spend with him or how much I love him. In the end, he’s not mine, and I have no real claim to him, only whatever Quinton offers for visitation. He loves his son and deserves full custody of him. I’ll just take whatever time with Brady he’ll give me.
Chapter Fifteen
Quinton
I’m a father.
I’m a freaking father.
I can’t seem to stop saying those words to myself over and over again while Callie and I sit across from each other in the diner’s red, vinyl booth, my son sleeping in his car seat next to me.
My son.
I have a son. He’s actually mine, which is a completely different possessive feeling than I’ve ever had before. I’ve owned things, cars, phones, clothing, a house, all material items that were mine. Things that eventually break down, fade, fall apart, or I eventually give away. Nothing has ever been permanent. Constant.
Of course, there are my parents, who still live in our hometown up in Virginia. But for the past eight years, I only see them occasionally and talk to them on the phone a few times a week, whenever the mood strikes. I love them and know they’ll always be there for me whenever I need them, but this, with Brady, is completely different.
Even when I’m away from him for even a short time, I’m thinking about him, worrying about him, wanting to be near him to make sure he’s okay. He’s my responsibility, his health, his well-being; all of it is in my hands, on my shoulders.
Oh shit.
My chest tightens, and I feel a little dizzy like at the beginning of a panic attack.
How could I ever think the game of football was the most important thing ever when there’s this? Fatherhood.
“You okay? You went from smiling like a fool to looking like you’re gonna hurl,” Callie says, pulling my attention to her beautiful, serene face.
“This is…big,” I say, gesturing to Brady.
Breathe in through the nose, out the through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
“It is,” Callie agrees. “But I think you can handle it.”
“Really?” I ask, gasping for oxygen before my lungs explode.
“Yeah. It won’t happen overnight, but you’ll figure it out,” she says while looking over at Brady with a small smile.
“How long have you known you wanted to be a mother?” I ask since it’s so obvious from the way she looks at him and holds him, not to mention the fact that her attempting to adopt came up in court. Oh, and I just found out that she volunteers to cuddle the babies at the hospital. It’s sweet and…incredibly sad.
“Since I was a little girl,” she answers, somewhat surprising me. “I dressed my cats up in baby doll clothes and diapers. They didn’t mind too much since I would also feed them milk in real bottles.”
“Seriously?” I ask with a grin, imagining a younger Callie holding down a cat to shove a bottle in its mouth.
“Yeah,” she answers. “And when John and I got married, we started trying to get pregnant around our one-year anniversary. I couldn’t wait to be a mother.”
“But you two couldn’t…” I start to ask.
“No,” she answers with a frown. “I have endometriosis, which can impede fertility. I’ve had several surgeries in seven years, taken fertility drugs, ate healthy, exercised three days a week, stayed away from alcohol, caffeine, and… none of it worked.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her sincerely. “I guess to you it really doesn’t seem fair for so many girls to get pregnant with babies they don’t want, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s why we started looking into adoption about two years ago. I think we were really close when…well, it all went to hell,” she says, picking up her water and chugging it.
“Your husband cheated on you?” I ask, and her wide, stormy green eyes flash up to mine.
“How did you know that?” she asks.
“My attorney, he, um, he had pulled the divorce filings before court,” I admit, now feeling guilty, like I’m eavesdropping on something that was none of my business.
“Oh,” Callie mutters in understanding before a smile stretches across her face. “I’m sort of relieved you’re Brady’s father, especially if he’s Bianca’s.”
“You are?” I ask with my eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Yeah, I was really hoping he wasn’t John’s.”
“Ah, what? Now I’m confused,” I tell her. “John was your husband?”
“Uh-huh,” she asks with a slow nod.
“And you thought he could be the father of Bianca’s baby?” I ask.
“Uh-huh.”
“Your husband cheated on you…with your sister?” I clarify.
“Yep,” she answers. “In my house. I guess it was our house, even though I paid for it. Now it’s my house.”
“How the hell could they do that to you?” I ask, indignant on her behalf.
“Well, remember I told you that Bianca was a heroin addict?” Callie replies, and I nod while glan
cing over at Brady, so damn thankful that he’s healthy. “She would do anything for heroin, including have sex with my husband for a hit,” she elaborates.
My jaw falls open. “And you caught them? Together?”
“Yep. It wasn’t the happiest day of my life.”
“I bet not,” I tell her, leaning on my forearms to whisper across the table. “That’s horrible, like seriously fucked up.”
“Indeed,” she says. “Which is why I kicked them both out and asked for a divorce.”
“Damn right. You didn’t deserve that.”
“The last time I saw Bianca was the day she told me she was pregnant,” Callie admits, her eyes watering with unshed tears. “I thought it was John’s, figured he would ironically knock her up since he couldn’t get the job done with me.”
“I’m sorry, Callie,” I tell her, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.
“The last thing I said to her was leave and don’t ever think of coming back here after calling her a whore. I’m a horrible sister. I shouldn’t have told you it was your fault she died. It was mine. I pushed her away when she needed me.”
“That’s not true. It sounds like she didn’t deserve you and neither did he.”
“Thanks,” she replies, turning her head away to wipe away her tears. “Now I’m a thirty-six-year-old single woman. The adoption agencies have shunned me, so I don’t think I’ll ever get a chance to be a mother.”
“You still have plenty of time,” I assure her. “Women have babies in their forties nowadays.”
“Well, you see, hot shot, to conceive a baby naturally, there has to be a man involved.”
“Yeah, I know that,” I tell her with a roll of my eyes. “I meant that there’s still time for you to find a man who isn’t a cheating asshole to give you children.”
“The clock’s ticking and I’m not just gonna marry the first man I meet so he’ll put a baby inside me,” she huffs.
Hearing that, my cock twitches beneath the table with great interest, liking the idea of pounding inside Callie until I fill her with my potent seed, as evidenced by the baby on the seat next to me.
