29 #3
“Things are already so complicated between us, and now he’s in Germany, or whatever.” I release a loaded sigh, then blow my nose and sit up.
I have no idea what Mitchell’s up to, or even which team he’s playing for. Hell, he could be somewhere else entirely and I would be none the wiser unless Hunter told me.
“I don’t want to raise a child with someone who’s life is elsewhere. Someone who isn’t present. And I don’t want to make him choose.”
“Would he really be like that?”
Considering, I glare ahead, but I end up shrugging because I have no idea how Mitch would react. And I’m terrified of finding out.
“I know the two of you went through a lot while he was here,” Zayne says, tucking some of my hair behind my ear. “And I get why you’re afraid he won’t be available. But you need to tell him. If for no other reason than because he deserves to know. The kid is half his, after all.”
Narrowing my eyes, I purse my lips at him, then drop my head into my hands. “I know, I know. You’re right. I need to. But I’m not sure I can.”
“Have you told Hunter?”
I cackle. “Absolutely not. If he found out I was pregnant with his best friend’s child, he’d be the first to kill Mitch.”
“But Hunt is like super Zen.”
“Not when it comes to his baby sister, he isn’t.”
I blow my nose, balling the tissue and throwing it onto the table.
“And how would Mitch react if he heard it from someone else?”
My shoulders fall, and I shake my head. “Not great.”
How am I here again, even thinking of keeping another secret from Mitch?
I remember all too vividly what happened the last time I did something like this.
The guilt of lying to Mitch may have subsided, but it still lies in the hidden corners of my mind.
And now, when I think of not telling him the news, it reemerges.
How come I can be honest with everyone else, but when it comes to Mitch, it fills me with anxiety?
I blow out a long exhale. “I’ll tell him. I will. I just need to find the best time.”
“There might never be a best time.” Zayne takes my hand. “Until then, what can I do?”
“Stay here with me?”
“Of course.”
After a few minutes of sitting quietly in my living room, staring at the wall, I straighten up. “Okay, it’s your turn. I told you mine…”
He laughs, propping his feet on the table. “So, I met this guy.”
All too interested in distractions from the insane developments in my life, I lean back against the armrest and drop my feet into Zayne’s lap.
“I don’t know who he is,” he explains, rubbing my feet, “but he’s stunning. And his mouth? Unreal.”
I giggle. “Nice. Where did you meet?”
In lively detail that keeps me captivated, he tells me about meeting a dark-haired man with light eyes during the Oakwhite Shamble party, an annual tradition held at the end of summer.
Kids hang out on an old abandoned farm with a barn that’s, well, in shambles.
The parties are renowned for late-night hookups in the shadows of the nearby woods, and I still vividly remember losing my virginity at one of them.
As I listen to Zayne gush about this stranger in the dark, my issues seem to fade into the background. The weight on my shoulders lightens, if only a little.
“Wait. So, the guy gave you head, but you didn’t find out his name?” I ask.
“You know how these things go. No one’s there to make lifelong connections,” he replies with a playful eye roll.
I’m stunned at his casualness. “I’m not saying you become besties with the guy, but at least get his name!”
“We were way too busy to talk. And like I said, his mouth was…” Zayne bites his lip as if he still isn’t over how good it was.
“Damn,” I say with a laugh.
“He left pretty quickly after…” He waves a hand around. “I looked for him, but he vanished. Haven’t seen him around town, either. He disappeared like some sort of—”
“Ghost-dick-sucker?” I tease.
Annoyed, he pinches my toe, but laughs. “Let’s not call him that.”
“Well, I’d love to call him by his name, but…”
Zayne smiles. “Max, he’s the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen. Oh, and he has these tattoos on his fingers, like right below his knuckles.”
“Of course, that’s what you noticed,” I reply. A moment goes by, and my mood turns sour again. “Look at us. Used goods.”
“We are not used goods.”
“Sure we aren’t.”
Since taking the pregnancy test a few days ago, I haven’t been able to think of anything except the life growing inside of me and the man who helped me create it. Without doubt I need to tell Mitch.
But I’m worried he won’t take it well. After all, Mitchell left—again—for the sport that runs in his blood. I can’t force this major thing on him. I don’t want my child to grow up with a father who resents him and isn’t fully invested.
My hands float down to my flat tummy, and I see the empathy fill Zayne’s soft eyes.
“We’ll get through this,” he reminds me, his words meant to comfort, but they only make me feel worse. Remind me that I’m alone.
I’m sure I can handle this, with or without Mitch, and fake a tight smile, but deep down, I wish I didn’t have to fake it.
I wish Mitch were here.