Chapter 2 #3
I need to simmer down. To speak to her calmly, this woman who’s apparently carrying my kids.
“If you’re having these babies—a decision I applaud, by the way—I want to be part of their lives.
Of your life. If you thought otherwise, you’re either willfully ignoring reality or you’re just plain dumb.
And since you’re one of the smartest people I know, my money’s on willful ignorance, which bodes well for our babies.
” I wink when she gasps, which just makes her madder.
“If we’re lucky, the kids will get your brains and my personality and not the other way around. ”
“You’re serious.” She searches my face like she’s certain I’m joking. “You actually want to be tied to these babies. To—to me?”
“Don’t sound so horrified by the prospect.” I nod at the big stack of papers in front of her. “I’m happy to do whatever DNA magic is required to prove I’m the daddy. I’m assuming you’re certain I’m the prime suspect?”
She narrows her gaze. “Why? You don’t think I’m capable of attracting another man?”
“I think you could have any man you wanted, honey, but you’re choosy.” It’s flattering, when I put it that way. “Would you rather I go around assuming you bang every stranger who shows up on your solid-gold doorstep?”
“Go to hell.” Crimson stains her cheeks.
“You lost your father at five, but I lost mine in my thirties, and let me tell you, buddy—that’s hard, too.
I know what it feels like to watch my father hauled off in handcuffs.
To see the man I’ve admired get branded a criminal instead of the hero he’s been to me.
” Tears fill her eyes, and she’s balling her fists like she’s ready to punch me in the junk.
“I won’t have my own children go through that.
A dad who’s a criminal is no better than one who’d abandon his children. ”
So that’s what this is about. “You think I’m a criminal?”
“I know you are,” she snaps. “You went to prison, remember?”
“Gee, I forgot.”
“And you’ve been in trouble since then.” She flips through her packet, a document I’d cheerfully douse in lighter fluid. “Driving with a suspended license,” she recites from a page in the middle. “You went back to jail for two weeks.”
“That was four years ago.” I might be making the wrong point.
“They tacked a suspension onto my license when I got out of prison. I could still drive to and from work, but since I was doing odd jobs for my brother-in-law, work wound up being a weird gray area.” I don’t owe her these details.
“I haven’t gotten so much as a parking ticket since then, Hazel. ”
Her eyes dart back to the packet. “You got pulled over for speeding six months ago. The officer let you off with a warning.”
“Jesus Christ.” Does she also have a record of the last time I jerked off? “I seem to recall you got a speeding ticket the same day you fucked me in your foyer. Does that mean your next step is robbing a bank?”
With a frustrated huff, she slaps the packet shut. “I’m not concerned with petty offenses. What does concern me is a pattern of criminal behavior. A pattern that includes hard time in prison. Not jail, Luke—actual prison.”
“You keep repeating that like it’s news to me. I lived it, you know.”
“Oh, I know.”
I order myself to take a few deep breaths. “You want to hear the story, or just count on heresy and gossip?”
Her chin tips up. “I did a thorough background check.”
“Background checks don’t tell you everything.” When she doesn’t respond, I start spilling the story. “I got into street racing as a teenager. And no, it’s not legal, before you state the obvious.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
I let that slide, even though I saw her getting psyched up to say it. “I was nineteen that summer, taking a year off before college. Had a souped-up Chevy Camaro with a V8. Beautiful car, and fast as hell.”
Hazel does not look impressed.
But she does look curious, so I keep going.
“I went out racing with some buddies that night. My best pal wound up racing this girl who was still in high school. Kayley Hunter was her name.” Something twists in my chest, and it takes me a second to catch my breath.
“She’d been drinking that night and wasn’t an experienced driver.
I didn’t talk to her. Didn’t even know her, but my friend did. ”
“Your co-defendant.” Her hand flexes on top of the packet. “Regis Raeghan.”
“Yes.” I’m not surprised she did her homework.
“His car wasn’t as fast as mine. Some dumbed-down Corvette bought by his rich mommy and daddy.
I was way out ahead of them, maybe half a mile.
I wasn’t even racing at that point. Didn’t see the accident happen.
Just a big ball of fire in my rearview mirror. ”
“Oh, God.” Hazel breathes sharply, so maybe she hasn’t heard everything. Or maybe she just didn’t picture the details.
“Kayley died at the scene,” I continue. “It was her sixteenth birthday—did you know that part?”
“I—no.” Her liquid blue eyes shimmer. “What happened next?”
“Prosecutors made the case that Regis and I were equally responsible because we’d both been racing that night. The DA went after us hard because a pretty young girl died, and someone should pay, right?”
She frowns. “It makes a difference that she’s pretty?”
“It does when it plays out on TV news.” I’m getting off track here.
“My co-defendant’s parents hired a whole mob of lawyers.
Regis wound up taking a plea deal to do six months in jail.
I couldn’t afford some fancy legal team, and I didn’t think a judge would find me guilty if I took my chances at trial. I wasn’t the one who raced Kayley.”
“But the judge found you guilty,” Hazel says. “Of second-degree manslaughter.”
“Yes. A Measure 11 crime.” For all her familiarity with the legal system, I’m not sure Hazel knows what that means. “That was an Oregon ballot measure outlining which crimes carry mandatory minimum sentences. Stuff like assault and unlawful sexual penetration and kidnapping—”
“And manslaughter.” Hazel winces. “So Regis went off to college, and you got seventy-five months of hard time.”
“I appealed my sentence and got out early. But yeah, I still spent more than four years behind bars.” Technically, fifty-five months and six days. I’m guessing Hazel could tell me how many seconds. “I paid my debt to society, Hazel.”
She looks down at the packet and swallows. Squeezing her eyes shut, she keeps her chin tipped toward her belly.
Toward the space where our babies float in their warm, snuggly womb.
When she speaks, I almost can’t hear her. “Watching my father get convicted—knowing the man I loved and admired is an actual criminal—I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” Her eyes lift to mine and there’s that twist in my chest again. “And I won’t let it happen to my children.”
“Neither will I.” This feels like a risk, but I reach out and lace my fingers through hers.
She stiffens at first, then allows it. “You have my word, Hazel. I’m a good man.
An honest man. I promise I’ll stay out of trouble.
I’ll keep my nose clean and live by the law.
All I want is the chance to be a father to these babies. ”
Her eyes get all shimmery, droplets of moisture dotting her lashes. “You have to promise,” she rasps. “If I let you be part of their lives, you won’t get arrested.”
“I promise.”
“You’ll stay away from criminals, too.”
“I can do that.”
“I mean it, Luke—no criminals or other unsavory characters.”
What the hell is an unsavory character? “Your cousin smells kinda rank when he comes in from a week on his fishing boat,” I point out. “Does Jake count as ‘unsavory’?”
Hazel’s eyes flash. “You think this is a joke?”
“No.” I sober up fast. “I get it. This matters to me, too.”
“I won’t let my children get attached to a man who will break their heart getting hauled off to jail.
I might only be four months pregnant, but I will fight to the death to protect these babies.
” She rests a hand on her middle, and the steel in her jaw is enough to convince me she’d rip off my nuts with her teeth if I hurt our children.
“I’d rather not have you in their lives at all than have them lose their father to a life of crime. ”
“Understood.” I get where she’s coming from, truly. “I promise, Hazel—I’ll stay out of trouble, I won’t hang with criminals, I won’t get arrested, and I won’t walk away from my children like my dad did.”
“Children.” She repeats it like she’s still processing this part. “I only just found out that detail. I can’t believe we’re having twins.”
We.
She said we. That’s a good sign, right?
A sign she’s beginning to see this as a shared experience.
Like she’s reading my mind, she presses her lips into a tight little line. “If we agree to co-parent, this can’t be anything more. We’re not moving in together or having a romantic relationship.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
She narrows her eyes. “Good. Because this is purely a business relationship.”
“How would that work, exactly?” It’s not like I have much experience with two parents. “We swap them back and forth like library books?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she admits. “But my own parents managed to do it while despising each other and living in two different countries while raising me. We’ll figure it out.”
There’s a story there, but now’s not the time to fish for it. “We live two miles apart and I don’t despise you,” I point out. “And as far as I know, you don’t despise me, so we’re already on the right track.” When she doesn’t speak up, I lift an eyebrow. “Feel free to chime in here.”
“I don’t despise you.” Her mouth quirks a little. “I even like you a little.”
“Careful, Hazel. All that gushing might go to my head.”
This time she musters a limp little smile. “I’ll consult with doctors and my attorney to draw up a platonic co-parenting plan. They can help us determine what’s best for the babies.”