Chapter 12 Felix
FELIX
The question comes out harsh, like my vocal chords were just scraped across gravel, but I can’t help it. Piper’s known for a while, definitely the whole time I’ve been here, and hasn’t bothered to share the information? What the fuck.
Her eyes lock on mine, and there’s fire in them now, which is strangely comforting. Turbulent Piper is way more familiar than the fragile version, puking her guts out into the toilet. “I’ve been trying to figure out how.”
I rise to my full height and place my hands on hips, glaring at her. “How about ‘Hey Felix, remember that night we’re pretending didn’t happen? Well, surprise, I’m having your baby.’ That seems pretty straightforward.”
“Oh, really?” Her voice rises. “Should I have mentioned it that first night when you showed up exhausted and frustrated with Ellie? Or maybe when you told me you weren’t keeping her because you don’t want to be a father?”
Her words hit like a full-body tackle. “I never said that.”
“You did. Multiple times. Loudly and on repeat.” She wraps her arms around herself, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen her.
Fuck, now I want to punch myself in the gut.
“So yeah, I was trying to decide when and how to tell you without it seeming like I was trapping you or expecting something you’ve made very clear you don’t want to give. ”
“Piper—”
“I thought if I stayed here to help with Ellie, maybe I’d get to see what kind of father you could be. If you’d...” She trails off, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that you’d magically change your mind about kids, which would make what’s coming way easier on both of us.”
The vulnerability in her voice wrecks me. Especially when I realize she’s not angry, she’s scared of my reaction. And probably of doing this alone. She thinks I’m going to be another guy who lets her down.
“You offered to nanny for me because this is some kind of covert audition?” I ask, still trying to understand. To put aside the maelstrom of emotions pounding through me and think about this from Piper’s point of view. “Like if I did good with Ellie, you’d tell me?”
“No. I…” She hesitates just long enough that I’m pretty confident my guess might be at least partially true. “I wanted to figure out what’s best for the baby. And for me.”
“What about what’s best for me? For us?” I sound like a little bitch, but I can’t help it.
Her eyes go wide. “Us? There’s no us. We had amazing sex. Twice now. But most of the time, we barely tolerate each other. We’re not together. We’re two people who made a mistake.”
“Don’t call it that,” I snap, then clear my throat and say in a quieter voice, “Don’t call our baby a mistake.”
“I wasn’t—” She shakes her head, pressing two fingers to each temple. “I meant the situation.”
“Are you keeping the baby?” The question is out before I can stop it, and I hold my breath waiting for her answer.
“Yes. A thousand times yes.” She sounds almost offended, and the relief that floods my veins nearly knocks me off my feet. “I know it’s complicated and the timing is terrible and you don’t want kids, but this is my baby and I’m—”
“Our baby,” I interrupt.
“You don’t want kids,” she repeats.
Fuck. Why does she keep reminding me of that?
It’s not like I can deny it, but she doesn’t understand.
Hell, I barely understand. I never believed I could be the kind of dad a kid deserves, but I was willing to try.
Right up until Ronnie’s betrayal. Then, something broke inside me.
If I wasn’t worth a woman sticking around, I sure as hell wouldn’t be good enough to be someone’s dad.
I didn’t have a great role model in my own father.
My brother is a fantastic dad now, but it took him a hot minute to get it together for Riva.
And Ian is better than me in every way, which means it could take me decades—hell, a lifetime.
My dad always said the Barlowe men were cursed in love, and with a trail of failed relationships in my wake, I’m living up to his prediction.
It sucks to grow up with parents who hated each other, and I’d never want to put that on a child. But Piper’s doubt cuts deeper than any knife could. “Do you really think I’m going to let you do this alone?”
“I don’t know, Felix.” Her voice cracks.
“All I know is that I’m pregnant and puking on the regular and sue me for not saying anything.
I thought I could figure this out by myself.
I want to be able to stand on my own two feet without needing somebody to rescue me.
This baby needs a mom who can take care of herself. ”
The fear in her eyes guts me. She’s been carrying this all by herself because she didn’t think she could count on me. But, even worse, she doesn’t believe she can count on herself.
I own my part in this. Those offhand comments about not wanting kids. The interviews where I’ve said football is my only priority. She believed all that. And the truth is, I meant it at the time.
But this changes everything.
“We had sex last night.” The sudden realization feels like being dunked in an ice bath.
“We did,” she agrees, like no shit, Sherlock.
“What if I hurt the baby?”
She blinks. “Um…how?”
I throw my hands up. “You know.”
“I don’t.”
I thrust my hips forward a couple of times. “You know.”
Her lips twitch and she coughs to try to cover her laugh, which is such a big improvement over sad Piper that I don’t even care that she’s laughing at me. “You didn’t hurt the baby with your giant elephant trunk of a—”
“I’m being serious, Piper.”
“So am I.” Now she’s grinning outright, which is possibly the most baffling thing that’s happened in this already confusing morning. “The baby is fine, Felix. Perfectly cushioned and protected. You can’t hurt it by...you know.”
“You’re sure?” I know she’s a nurse and all, but still…
“I’m sure.”
I massage a hand along the back of my neck and draw in a long breath, still trying to process everything.
“I’m going to be a dad.”
“Yep.”
“You’re having my baby.”
“We’ve established that, Barlowe.”
“When are you due?” My brain can’t do that math right now.
“Around the third week of January.”
Seven months away. And smack in the middle of playoff season—not that I’m going to mention that not-so-small detail right now. I thought being traded to Denver was a big change, but this is…
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, head spinning and knees weak, like I’m the one who needs attention. She’s still got the covers pulled up nearly to her chin, watching me with those soft hazel eyes, and I can see the doubt start to resurface.
Shit. My intention isn’t to add to Piper’s already overflowing plate of worry, yet I can’t seem to figure out how to ease her fears when mine are coming at me like a defensive lineman.
I run both hands through my hair, gripping hard enough that it almost hurts. “I need a minute. This is—” I gesture helplessly. “I don’t know what to say next.” Let alone what to do.
“I get it.” Her voice is gentle now, and somehow that makes it worse. “It’s a lot to process.”
“Yeah.” My brain cells seem to be whirring around in a blender. “I just need—”
“Fee! Fee!” Ellie’s cry cuts through the monitor on my dresser, getting louder with each shout. “Pi! Up!”
Piper and I freeze, staring at each other, and the king-size guest bed might as well be an ocean between us.
“I need to…”
“Go get her.”
I head for the door, then turn back. “Piper—”
“Go,” she says softly. “We can talk more later. After you’ve had time to process.”
I nod, even though I have no idea what I’m going to say when “later” comes. My entire world just shifted on its axis, and I’m not sure which way is up anymore.
I grab a T-shirt from the dresser on my way out the door and head down the hall to Ellie’s room. She’s standing in her crib, holding onto the rail, her face red and tear-streaked.
“Fee!” She reaches for me with those cute, chubby hands.
“I’ve got you, munchkin.” I lift her out and settle her against my chest. She immediately burrows in, her tears soaking into my shirt.
“Bad dweam,” she mumbles into my neck.
“It’s okay, Bean.” For now, anyway. I carry her downstairs as I grasp at answers to help me figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
I’m going to be a father, a role I never expected to play. But now that it’s happening, I can’t stop thinking about what it means. I’m not just going to be a toddler’s temporary guardian, but an actual dad to a tiny baby who’s half me and half Piper. The thought terrifies me.
But there’s also something else underneath the panic. It feels almost like…hope.
I’m in the kitchen, Ellie on my hip as I put together breakfast with shaking hands, when Piper appears.
She’s still wearing my Grizzlies T-shirt with pajama pants covering those gorgeous legs.
Her hair is down around her shoulders, and she looks pale.
Exhausted. And more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.
My chest does something complicated that I don’t bother to try to understand.
All I know is Piper Hart has changed everything.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” She moves toward the fridge. “Want me to make eggs?”
“Are you going to eat them?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not when there’s leftover focaccia.”
“Hart, come on. You need to—”
The sound of a car door slamming cuts me off, followed by voices out the open window above the sink. Familiar voices.
Oh, hell no.
The front door opens, and my brother’s voice booms through the cabin. “Wakey-wakey, sis-in-law.”
“You’re going to piss her off if you wake her,” Sadie chides, but there’s laughter in her tone.
Piper’s eyes go wide as saucers. “This can’t be happening.”
“Pip loves me,” Ian answers with his usual confidence.
“Fuck,” I mutter, then quickly amend at Ellie’s curious stare, “Fudge. Fudge fudge fudge.”
Sadie and Ian round the corner into the kitchen and stop dead in their tracks. The two of them glance from Ellie in my arms to Piper in my T-shirt, and I can only imagine the rumpled, morning-after scene we must present.
Sadie’s eyes go wide. “Oh, my God.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” Piper says, which might be the worst thing she could say, because it’s exactly what it looks like.
Ian’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline as he looks from me to Piper and back again. “Then what is it?”
My mouth opens and closes. For possibly the first time in my life, I’m completely speechless. Piper looks like she might pass out or throw up again. Maybe both. And this is about to be a very different conversation than the one we were supposed to finish.