1. Daire
1
DAIRE
I’m in hell.
It’s the only explanation for why I’m standing in front of Rosie Thomas, asking her for a favor. Although favor is too mild a word for what I’m proposing.
Literally proposing.
Marriage.
She gapes at me, blinking a pair of big round eyes that were my undoing when we were kids. Back then, all she had to do was look at me, and I was ready to do her bidding. She had me wrapped around her finger.
Until she didn’t.
The look of shock slowly slips from her face, and then she starts laughing. Great big peals of maniacal laughter.
I look over one shoulder, then the other, to see whether students shuffling in and out of the dining hall are looking at us.
“I have to be dreaming, right?” She pinches her arm. “You can’t be serious?”
I clench my fists at my sides. “As a heart attack.”
I’ve been spiraling for weeks.
Longer.
Since the moment I saw my former professor holding a baby I know is mine. The kid looks just like me. I’ve been driving myself mad. Using my own money so my dad won’t know, I’ve consulted a lawyer for help with figuring out the best way to go about this. According to her, if I were married and had my own place, it’d be much easier. I don’t think she intended for me to immediately jump to the marriage portion of that equation, but I will have access to my child, no matter what. If that means getting married for the time being, then so be it.
That’s why Rosie’s perfect. We don’t even like each other, so she’ll be under no illusion that any of this is permanent.
She breaks into another fit of laughter. “Jesus, did you lose a bet with Cash?” She refers to one of my older brothers.
“No.” I grasp her hand and tug her into a quieter corner since we’re drawing attention.
She yanks free of my hold the second we’re tucked away and crosses her arms so I can’t reach for her again. As if I wanted to touch her.
“Listen, I already explained the situation,” I hiss. I have no reason to be annoyed with her—not when my proposition sounds absolutely insane. “It’s temporary. Two years. Three tops, depending on how long court takes.”
Her mouth drops open. “You want me to be fake married to you for years?” The bark of laugher that escapes her is humorless.
My gut tightens in a knot. I really wish she’d stop doing that. This isn’t a laughing matter.
“All so you can get custody of a kid that may or may not be yours?”
“He’s mine,” I bite out. “I don’t need a DNA test to know. But don’t worry; we’re working on that.”
She sighs, pinching her brow. “This has to be a prank.”
“It’s not a prank.”
She shakes her head. “Find someone else. You don’t even like me.”
That knot in my stomach does some kind of weird flip. You don’t even like me. But she didn’t say she doesn’t like me. Interesting.
“I can’t find someone else.”
Huffing, she rolls her eyes. “Please, any girl would jump at the chance to marry you. Go ask one of them.” She flutters her fingers at a congregation of girls outside the dining hall where I cornered Rosie as she was leaving.
“No.”
She scrutinizes me for a heartbeat. Two. Three. “Why me?” Hands on her hips, she raises her chin defiantly.
“A multitude of reasons.”
“Name one,” she challenges, brows arched skeptically like she doesn’t believe I can.
Teeth gritted, I rattle off the list. “You know me. We grew up together. We have history. It’ll make the marriage more believable.”
She wrinkles her nose and takes a step back. “You have me there, but my answer is still no.”
She turns then, ready to walk away, but I clutch at her arm. She peers down at my hand wrapped around her bicep, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Let go of me.”
“I’ll pay you. A million for every year we have to stay married.”
“Mm, let me think about it.” She twists her lips. “No.”
“Do you want more?”
“I don’t need your money, Hendricks. I have my own inheritance, thank you very much.”
“Yes,” I cock my head to the side, “but mine’s bigger.”
“Are you seriously trying to have a dick measuring contest with me? I assure you, I may be a girl, but mine’s bigger.”
“Your dick, sure, I’d believe it.” I grin. “But we both know my family is richer.”
She bristles at that, her posture going rigid.
“Your mother always wanted us to get married.”
Her shoulders sink, and she takes a step closer. Fuck yes. I’ve found the magic words.
“My mother is an idiot.”
Dammit. My stomach drops, along with my hopes. I guess not, then.
“You don’t get to ignore me for years and glower at me every time you see me just to then beg me for a so-called favor.” She wags a finger in front of my face. “A marriage isn’t a favor, Daire.”
She has a point, I know this, but I need her.
“Rosie—”
She holds up a hand. “I’ve heard enough. Fuck you.”
With the flash of a middle finger, she hurries away, her glossy dark hair swishing over her shoulders. She leaves behind a cloud of fresh, sweet-smelling perfume. Something citrusy and?—
Why the fuck am I thinking about what Rosie Thomas smells like?
I won’t be deterred by her reluctance. She’s the only one who can help me.
Despite how much I hate it.
She steps through the door and disappears. I don’t go after her. No, while I need her to agree, I know her well enough to know she needs space.
Choking back my frustration, I turn for the dining hall. I don’t really need to eat, but I’m here, so I might as well.
Some of the guys on my team gesture for me to join them at their table when they see me.
I shake my head and continue moving.
I’ve been distancing myself from everyone this year, even my roommates, not that it’s been too difficult. Cree is always busy hanging out with his mystery girl now that he found her. Tutoring her? Please. He just wants to fuck her. And my other roommate, Jude, spends all his free time trying to get in our fourth roommate’s pants. That’s a whole other level of fuckery since she’s Cree’s sister.
Yeah, our off-campus townhouse is a whole fucking hot mess.
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve told them about the kid by now. A kid whose name I don’t even know, since Danielle refuses to tell me. But while she’s withholding that information, she’s yet to deny that I’m his father.
Bitch.
Maybe it’s wrong to think such a thing about my son’s mother, but I can’t help it. She probably assumed I wouldn’t give a shit, that if I did find out he existed, I wouldn’t care. Well, surprise, I do care. My kid is going to know me. End of discussion.
Our fling was short-lived. She claimed to be having marital problems because they couldn’t get pregnant. Now I have to wonder, despite her assurance that she was on birth control and my strict use of condoms all except that one stupid fucking time, if she used me as a stud—an unwitting sperm donor.
After I’ve purchased a lunch, I find a spot in the corner and sit alone, ignoring the funny looks from my hockey teammates. It’s shitty of me, but I don’t want to talk to anyone these days. I have too much on my mind, and I’m too angry.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the betrayal of not knowing about my own child.
Plenty of guys my age would be relieved that the mother didn’t expect or even want them involved; not me. I was raised by a single dad. He was a workaholic, but he always made time for us. He made parenthood look easy, even as he ran a billion-dollar multimedia company. Sure, we had nannies, but he was there when a lot of parents in his position wouldn’t have been. He made it to all our school events, and he was almost always home for dinner.
My mom was killed in a freak boating accident when I was five. I have very few memories of her, all of which are hazy, and my dad only speaks of her on rare occasions. Even after all this time, it still hurts him. If it weren’t for all of us boys, it’s hard not to question whether he would’ve tried to join her.
Regardless, he stepped up, and I’ll do the same. Not out of some sense of obligation, but because I want to. I don’t want my kid to ever think that I didn’t want to be there for him. I might not have planned on him, but he’s here, and I want to know him.
If I told my dad what was going on, I have no doubt that he’d help. He’d be ready to throw money at the best lawyers. But I don’t want that, even if it would be the easy way out. I want to fight for my son on my own… with Rosie’s help. I’ll gladly step up to the plate and prove that I can handle this on my own. I want my son to know that I’ll do whatever it takes. That he matters that much to me.
If I eventually need help from my dad, then I’m not too proud to admit defeat. Not if it means having a relationship with my son.
Though my tray is full, I’m suddenly not hungry. I haven’t been hungry much lately, which doesn’t bode well. With the number of calories I burn between time spent in the gym and on ice, I need to eat.
But I can’t make myself.
I stand and gather my tray, intending to throw it away, but instead I shove it into an unsuspecting student’s hands.
“Enjoy lunch on me,” I mutter.
Head down, I stalk out of the building, already plotting ways to get Rosie to agree.