Chapter Thirty-Nine
DYLAN
F ive hours and three vomit bouts from Grav later, Tucker arrived, and he looked none too pleased about it. The only ray of sunshine in this entire crap-a-licious day was that my daughter was probably done puking, and I’d managed to get some chicken noodle soup into her.
“Yo.”
Yo? Was he twelve?
I stepped sideways to let him in.
He peered around, spotted our daughter on the couch, and approached her with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. My breath caught in the back of my throat when he crouched down and tapped her knee.
“Hey, buddy. Heard you aren’t feeling too well. Care for some company?”
Well, this wasn’t that bad at all. I released the trapped air in my lungs.
Gravity nodded. “Can we draw a little bit?”
“Sure. Yeah.” Tucker looked about him.
Something clenched behind my rib cage.
“I…I’ll go get the colors and the paper.” I cleared my throat, making myself useful and trekking over to her room.
As I gathered the washable crayons and paper, I allowed myself to hope Tucker was finally turning a corner. I’d figure out the logistics of staying in New York and studying here if he stepped up. I’d plan my entire existence around Grav’s happiness.
I gave them the colors and got started on cleaning the apartment. Every now and then, I checked in on them. They were doing surprisingly well together. First, they drew. Then, Tucker helped her color in her drawing. They made M she was just a pawn in his very twisted chess game.
“What we are and aren’t is none of your business,” I said coldly, walking over to him. He was wearing clothes of Rhyland’s I didn’t recognize. Pink Bermuda shorts and a long-sleeve yellow button-down with a llama print on it. He looked absolutely ridiculous, and I had no doubt Rhyland had put effort and care into ensuring the outfit was as disastrous as possible. “You really upset my daughter today.”
“Our daughter,” Tucker corrected.
“No,” I said calmly. “Mine. Being a sperm donor does not make you a dad. You are no father, Tucker. And if you want visitation rights, then I suggest you retain a lawyer, because I’m going to fight you on it every step of the way.”
“You can’t be serious.” He raised his voice, not paying heed to the fact that our child was asleep in the next room. “This is an insane overreaction. You can’t do that.”
“I can, and I am. Now get the fuck out of my apartment before I call the police and tell them about the bruise you left on my arm and the way you slammed our daughter’s head against the wall.”
Rhyland’s face swiveled my way, his expression astonished. “What did you just say?”
“When Gravity puked on him, he ‘reflexively’ pushed her. She bumped against the wall,” I explained.
“You’re making it sound so much worse than it really was,” Tucker exploded.
“I’m saying it exactly as it is.”
“Tucker.” Rhyland turned to him, eyes ablaze, a war raging inside them.
Dread trickled down the back of my neck. He looked like he was about to murder Tucker. Not in a figure-of-speech kind of way. In a what-the-hell-do-we-do-with-the-body kind of way.
“You’d better get out right this minute, before I rip out your intestines and wrap them around your neck until I cut off your oxygen supply,” Rhyland said slowly, methodically, calmly, which made everything so much worse somehow.
“Okay, okay, I’m leaving!” Tucker walked backward, face red with shame.
“You’re never coming back,” Rhyland said, not asked. “I mean it, Tucker. I’m not responsible for my actions if I see you on the same street as Dylan and Gravity again.”
Tucker looked between us, shocked and annoyed. For a moment, I thought he was going to argue, but then he took another look at Rhy, thought better of it, and stomped out of my apartment.
The first thing I did was lock the door and press my back against it, heaving.
He hurt my child.
He.
Hurt.
My.
Child.
The second thing I did was break down in tears, sliding off the door and falling apart.
And the third thing?
I was put back together by Rhyland Coltridge.