Chapter 8
EIGHT
DARCY
Why had I thought that would go any better than it had with Liam?
Of the two of them, Archer was the more hotheaded.
Not that I knew Liam all that well, or at all really, but he was a lawyer.
In the movies, they always kept their cool, even when getting ripped apart in a courtroom.
They were like robots—cold, lifeless, and too intelligent for their own good.
However, I did know Archer. Well, I knew of him.
He was in the same grade in high school as Garrett, but the two had drastically different experiences—were drastically different people.
Garrett was our school’s golden boy. He wasn’t the quarterback of the football team like people expected when they looked at him, but he was just as loved, if not more so.
Everyone knew who he was, students and teachers alike, and they probably all had a story to tell about him.
He excelled academically and won “Everyone’s Best Friend” as an accolade his senior year.
On the other hand, with the exception of when Archer was getting called down to the principal’s office, or getting pulled from the cafeteria by the police, I think he could’ve disappeared from the school entirely without anyone ever noticing.
Either he used to have five charcoal gray hoodies that were exactly alike, or he wore the same one to school every single day—the hood always up, his head always down.
Garrett and Archer weren’t exactly enemies, but they weren’t friends either.
When I’d asked Garrett about him my freshman year, he told me to steer clear of Archer Mack.
That he was trouble, and not the skip-school-for-fun, cut-class-to-smoke-a-cigarette kind either.
He was serious trouble. But whenever I’d stolen glances at the mysterious, dark-haired boy in the corner of the cafeteria, that wasn’t the impression I got.
I couldn’t explain it, but from what I could tell, he did well in his classes, he was polite to teachers, he minded his own business.
He wasn’t the stereotypical high school delinquent mouthing off and playing pranks.
Archer didn’t seem like trouble; he seemed like the boy who trouble always happened to.
But right now, I was starting to think that Garrett might’ve been right about him. Not that I’d ever admit that to another living soul. But if Archer was the father of this baby, I was most definitely in trouble because he was a piece of work.
Shouting across the bar wasn’t my finest moment, but his refusal to acknowledge the possibility that he was the father was hitting me harder than Liam’s had.
Our hookup at The Crooked Quill felt different, and maybe that was because sex with Archer was infinitely better, or maybe it was because I thought his “we should do that again” comment meant he liked me at least a little bit.
Enough to at least have a civilized conversation with me like adults.
Regardless, his words stung. So, yeah, I called him a coward. Loudly. Across a near-empty dive bar.
Grabbing a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream out of the freezer, I made my way to the couch. I had Linnea on the phone in under a minute.
“How’d it go with Liam? What’d he say?”
Okay, I guess we were skipping right over greetings tonight.
“Oh, dandy. He called me a liar, denied any potential paternal claim, and essentially told me to abort it before it ruins my life.” I shoved a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth before I finished the sentence, the last few words coming out slightly slurred, as the dessert began melting over my tongue.
Lins hissed in a breath. “Yikes. Okay, well we suspected this phase of the plan wasn’t exactly going to go super great. When are you going to reach out to Archer?”
A sarcastic laugh bubbled out of me. “I already did. I actually just got back from that.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “You what? That wasn’t the plan! What’d you say? What’d he say?”
Gosh I loved my sister. “No, it wasn’t the plan. I stopped by The Crooked Quill for—”
“You went to a bar? Tell me you didn’t drink! You know the one glass of wine thing is a myth, right?”
I suddenly loved my sister a little less.
“Will you shut up and let me talk?” I waited and took her silence as a begrudging yes.
“No, I didn’t drink alcohol; I’m not an idiot.
I was hungry and the only thing that sounded good was their bacon cheeseburger.
Anyway, I was literally about to leave when Archer walked in, and I figured, why have two sucky days when I could have one? ”
Her sigh is mainly apologetic, but also partly relieved, as if a small piece of her really expected me to say that I had a Jack and Coke. “Okay, sorry, I know you’re not an idiot. You just scared me for a second.”
I rolled my eyes and busied my mouth with another bite of ice cream.
“So, what’d he say?”
“Pretty much the same thing in a lot fewer words, and a whole lot broodier.” I waved my spoon in the air and lowered my voice to imitate Archer, but landed a whole lot closer to Batman territory. “The kid isn’t mine, it’s the other guy’s. I have nothing to give you.”
Linnea clucked her tongue. “Wow! Okay, so two for two in the asshole department. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly searching for husband material.” I couldn’t help the sass that crept into my voice.
“Apparently not baby daddy material either,” she shot back and I took my sister’s subtle hint to ease up on the attitude. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a point. Of all the men I’d slept with, I wound up with two of the worst potential candidates for my baby’s father.
“I guess not.”
“So,” she hedges. “What’s the plan now? Are we still moving on to phase three, or are you having second thoughts?”
My hand holding the spoon dropped to my stomach. “I’m doing this, Lins. I mean, I would’ve loved to know which one was the father, but I’m not changing my mind.”
“Good! I mean, I’m here for you either way, but selfishly I’m excited to be an aunt.”
I laughed, and it felt good. The last few weeks had felt so heavy, and it was one large emotion to the next.
The shock and disbelief of finding out bled into the pure panic and scrambling to figure out what I was going to do.
I’d finally settled squarely in acceptance, and while I was still scared shitless about becoming a mom, excitement had started edging its way in too.
A thought occurred to me, and I was suddenly anxious. “You didn’t tell mom or dad or anyone, right?”
“No, of course not! You told me not to.”
“You promise? You talk to mom all the time.” It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. Linnea was incredibly good at keeping secrets when she wanted to, but she really was excited to be an aunt, and that made me nervous about her ability to keep this from our parents.
“I swear on Mocha’s place in the afterlife that I didn’t tell them.”
Relief instantly replaced the anxiety making me doubt my sister.
Mocha was our childhood dog, a chocolate lab that was as sweet as she was lazy.
I’d never seen a dog care so little about the idea of fetch, and if you’d try to play tug-of-war, she released her end as soon as you grabbed yours.
Linnea loved that dog more than anything and anyone else growing up—including Garrett and I.
Swearing on that dog’s afterlife was what Linnea always did when she wanted to prove that she was telling the truth.
“But, Darse . . .” She trailed off and I waited her out. “You are going to tell them soon, right?”
“I think my growing uterus kind of makes it impossible for me not to,” I joked, but Linnea didn’t laugh. She never kept anything from our parents. It was a side effect of being the favorite child—she was comfortable enough with them that she didn’t have anything to hide.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to tell them I’d gotten myself knocked up.
Especially since I knew that the very first thing they’d want to know is who the father was, and I could picture the exact ways their faces would morph in response to me telling them I wasn’t sure.
It would be shocked disappointment to begin with, a little anger sprinkled in my father’s, and then my mother would try to cover hers with understanding and joy that she clearly didn’t feel.
What I didn’t want or need right now, when I was still trying to process it all myself, was my parents’ pity and poorly-veiled chagrin.
I didn’t want to be made to feel small, not when I was growing more excited by the day at the prospect of being a mom.
And whether it was their intention or not, that’s exactly how I’d feel. Small.
Getting into it with Linnea was pointless. She didn’t see my parents the way I did, and how could she when her experience with them had been completely different? So, instead of saying any of what I was thinking, I decided to placate her.
“I promise I’ll tell them. I just need some more time to figure out how.” I placed the lid back on the ice cream tub, and returned it to the freezer.
“Okay. If you need help with that, you know I’m here for you, right?”
I dropped my spoon in the sink, letting washing it be a task for tomorrow.
“I know you are.”
“They’d be there for you, too, if you’d let them, you know.” Her voice was quieter, like she knew I’d disagree with her, but couldn’t stop herself from saying it anyway.
“Yeah, sure. Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I think I’m going to head to bed.
” I rushed so that there wasn’t room to continue that topic any further.
It wasn’t a lie either. Now that I was on my feet and moving, it suddenly felt like each of my limbs weighed a hundred pounds and I’d just gotten back from a marathon.
I wanted nothing more than to collapse onto my bed and sleep for three days straight.
“Go get some rest, and keep growing my niece or nephew. I love you, Darcy.”