Jett
I’ve been sitting in my car outside his house, drifting in and out of sleep, taking large gulps of whiskey every time I wake. I have no idea how long it’s been, but the sun is just starting to rise on the horizon, so I guess it’s been a few hours.
At some point, I hear a car approaching. Looking in my rearview mirror, I realize it’s Daylen’s Jeep. The soon-to-be-dead motherfucker is very obviously singing as he passes me. Singing. He ruined my daughter’s life, and all he can do is sing.
I exit my car and stay low as I run across his lawn like a ninja while he enters his driveway.
He has the goofiest smile on his face as he steps out of his car.
All I can think of is what he and Kennedy have likely been up to for the past few hours to give him that fucking smile.
I can’t stop seeing her with her legs wrapped around him and his hands moving uninhibited over her body.
That scene will forever be burned into my brain.
He practically skips up his front steps.
If he weren’t in La-la Land, he’d see me, but he doesn’t notice me.
As he stands at his door, I charge at him and throw the bottle straight at his head.
It just misses him but hits the door with a loud crash, causing the bottle to shatter.
He grunts in pain as he grabs for his neck.
A piece of glass must have gotten him. Good.
He turns around in time for my fist to meet his stupid, goofy face. The wimp crumbles to the ground like a ton of bricks.
I stand over him in a fighting stance with my fists drawn. We’re not done yet. I want him to bleed on the outside the same way I am on the inside.
“Get the fuck up, Humblecut,” I scream into the quiet morning. “I’m going to beat you senseless.”
He holds up his hand in surrender before attempting to stand. I pull my fist back and punch him as hard as I can in the stomach, causing him to fall back down on his ass.
I got him good on that one. He’s struggling to breathe.
“Stop, Coach. Please,” he wheezes as I see blood beginning to leak from the spot near his eye where I hit him.
With my fists still drawn for battle, I croak out, “I loved you like a son. How could you do this to me?”
“What? What did I do?” he asks as if he doesn’t know the answer. Deceitful bastard. At least have the integrity to own it.
“Kennedy. How dare you touch my daughter!” I yell. “Have you no honor? And she’s...pregnant?”
The reality of the situation hits me, and I deflate while tears begin to spill from my eyes. He’s ruined her life. All her hopes and dreams are about to vanish because of him.
“Why?” I ask. “Why would you treat her like one of your whores?” I hit my chest with my fist. “My daughter. Why? Tell me. I need to know.”
Did he do this to get back at me for something? Is my daughter’s life ruined because of me?
He almost—almost—looks sincere when saying, “You’ve got it wrong, Coach. It’s not like that at all. I lov—”
His sentence is interrupted by the sounds of a car peeling into his driveway, fishtailing like a stuntman is driving it. It’s Kennedy’s car. My baby girl. My pregnant baby girl.
Bringing the car to an abrupt stop and leaving her car door open, she sprints to us and stands between Daylen and me before yelling at me, “What did you do to him?”
With a shaking hand and broken heart, I point at the motherfucker. “He t…touched you. My daughter.”
“So what?” she screams at me. “That makes it okay to hit him? I’m an adult who can make her own decisions. Your solution is to attack him? Are you crazy?”
My eyes move down to her stomach as I croak out, “You’re pregnant with his child?”
She slowly nods while reaching for him in such a comfortable, familiar way. I can’t take my eyes off them. She pulls his arm around her before placing his hand protectively over her stomach, and calmly states, “I am, and I love him.”
I suck in a breath and stumble back at her use of the L word when it comes to Daylen. “Love him?” I ask with incredulity. “This guy? The guy who has no respect for women? How could you be so stupid?”
Daylen grits his teeth at me. “Don’t you dare call my wife stupid.”
All the air leaves my lungs while I nearly collapse. “Wife?” I choke out. Oh my god. They’re married.
Kennedy nods. “Yes, Dad. I’m his wife. We’re married. I love him, and he loves me. We’re having a baby, and I’m about five minutes away from moving in here with him.”
I look up at his giant house. Why the fuck does he have such a big house in the suburbs?
The two of them banter like an old couple about her moving in, but I can’t hear any of it as shock runs through me. My daughter got married without me. Fresh tears fill my eyes, and a wave of nausea fills my gut. I think I’m going to puke.
“Coach,” Daylen interrupts my spinning head. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for a long while. Months.”
“I asked him not to, Dad,” Kennedy interrupts. “He wanted to. I wasn’t ready to tell you about us. Be mad at me, not him. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Daylen pulls her close. God, I hate how familiarly he touches her. “It doesn’t matter now,” he says. “No one needs to be mad at anyone. This is a happy situation. I love her. I’m madly in love with her. She and our baby girl are everything to me. They’re my family.”
Family? Daylen and Kennedy are family? Maybe I’m still too drunk to hear him clearly. It can’t be.
I take a few labored breaths, trying to hold myself back from falling to my knees and physically sobbing. “When did you get married? Who walked you down the aisle?” I’m her father. I should be the one walking her down the aisle on her wedding day, even if to a shit-for-brains like Daylen.
They start trying to explain things, but I have no idea what the hell they’re talking about. It’s like the two of them speak their own language. They then suggest going inside and making breakfast to discuss everything.
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. My life is spinning out of control, and all I can do is hover above and helplessly watch it all go down the drain.
He opens the door, and a giant beast of a dog comes barreling out before gently rubbing himself against Kennedy as if the beast knows her. She’s obviously spent significant time at Daylen’s house. The thought makes my stomach turn. I know I’m going to be sick.
We walk inside and straight to the kitchen, where Daylen opens his fridge and starts pulling out items to make breakfast for everyone. He cooks at the stove while she tends to the wounds on his face.
I stare at them in disbelief as they share tender kisses and touches. They even feed each other fruit as he rambles on about her needing vitamins for the baby.
Everything about their interactions is so intimate and familiar. I stare at them in disbelief as I take it all in. How long has this been going on? A long time judging by their seamless, comfortable movements.
It’s like they don’t even realize I’m here as they care for each other. At some point, I tug on my hair, unable to take it anymore. “What the fuck is happening here?” I bark out. “You two are so domestic. It’s…unsettling.”
The two morons smile as if taking it as a compliment.
With the room spinning, I fall into a chair at his kitchen table and stare at my daughter, who’s still caring for the moron. “He’s a buffoon, Kennedy. He doesn’t take anything or anyone seriously. He treats women like objects.”
She turns and narrows her eyes at me in a way that makes me flinch in fear. “Don’t talk like that about my husband. I’ll make you coffee to sober you up, but if you’re mean to my husband, I’m kicking you out of our house.”
Daylen smiles widely like the goofy imbecile he is.
She raises an unamused eyebrow at him. “Don’t look so damn happy. We don’t have a prenup. Half this shit is mine. And I’ll sue for custody of BJ.” I think that’s the dog.
I can’t help but snort a small laugh. I hope she takes half his fucking money. Money I got for him. Oh god, this is my fault. I fought for Daylen to stay in Philly when his contract expired last year. If I hadn’t, he’d be gone and my baby wouldn’t be pregnant.
A cup of coffee and a weird conversation about how the dog sits at the table with them later, and we are finally all seated with a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. Who knew Humblecut could cook?
Again, they sit there chatting with familiarity. Back and forth like it’s normal for them to have breakfast together.
Throb, throb, throb goes my head. I think I’m sobering up. I wish I wasn’t. I’m still silently praying this is all a mix-up. That she’s not pregnant and married to Daylen. I’m having a nightmare. Please let this be a nightmare.
My mind goes to Fallon. Oh god, I barged into her house in the middle of the night. And Harper. The fearful look on her face will forever haunt me.
Daylen and Kennedy joking around brings me to my official boiling point. I cut off their bantering by gritting out, “Can someone please start talking before my head explodes?”
They then tell me the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard in my life.
When they were in Vegas earlier this year, they got trashed one night and got married.
They hated each other but still managed to get married.
A judge refused them an annulment until they spent the rest of the year putting real effort into the marriage.
They claim that, somehow, along the way, they fell in love and now want to potentially stay married.
They spare me the dirty details, but she somehow also fell pregnant over the summer and is due in March.
In less than five months, I’m going to be a grandfather. A grandfather.
Daylen does what he always does. Cracks childish jokes. He’s not ready to be a damn father.