Chapter 4 #2
The bottle’s warm from sitting out so I don’t bother checking the temperature.
I still thought Harper would terminate after finding out the baby wasn't Caleb’s—that would’ve stung, but I wasn't gonna let my pussy feelings get in the way of what I wanted.
The whole problem would just… disappear and magically fix itself, and I’d end up with the girl.
I shake the bottle once and stick it in his mouth.
He latches on for three seconds, then turns his head and starts crying again. The formula dribbles down his chin, soaking into his onesie.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I growl.
But I guess I played my part too well. I reacted the way I thought she’d expect me to react when she told me I was the father.
I’m always careful to protect the image of how Harper sees me.
She has to live in a story world, and I’m her protector. I always have been. She’s always had such shit around her, but she doesn’t deserve to live in the real evil fucking reality of the world.
That’s my job. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her from the bad stuff.
The closer to me she is, the safer she is.
So I couldn’t have her suspecting anything was off.
The baby spits out the bottle again and keeps screaming.
My jaw clenches so tight I can feel my teeth grinding together. The headache behind my eyes explodes like someone’s driving an ice pick through my skull.
I wanted adoption. I tried for months to convince her how much better it would be. My arguments were watertight. We’re too young and too broke to be parents. Not to mention how fucked up we are.
I only gave in because I saw clearly that what my manufactured night of pretend intimacy couldn’t do, a baby she thought I fathered could.
It finally convinced her to give us a real shot. To see me as more than a friend or a brother.
Now, every night I get to spread her legs wide and take what’s mine.
Every night she looks at me like I’m someone worth loving.
All my years of patience finally paid off.
I try the bottle again. The baby screams.
I try rocking him. He screams.
I try putting him down on the carpet. He screams louder.
The neighbors bang on the wall again. Hard enough to make the cheap drywall shake.
“Fine!” I snap at the baby. At the neighbors through the wall, at the whole fucking world. “You want to cry? Cry. See if I give a shit!”
I try to join in on the next raid but the little shit’s screaming gives me such a splitting headache I’m a blood splatter again in minutes.
I finally walk over, my footsteps heavy on the cheap linoleum, and pick him up. Not gently. Not the way Harper does it, with all that cooing and careful head support and soft words.
I just scoop him up under the arms and hold him against my chest.
He’s still crying, but quieter now. Hiccupping. His little fists grab at my shirt, holding on like I’m something safe.
“Yeah, okay,” I mutter. “This what you wanted? You happy now?”
His face is still scrunched and wet. But he’s not screaming anymore either.
I bounce him a little and pat his back with stiff, mechanical movements. Not because I care. Not because something in me shifts at the way he’s clutching my shirt like I’m his whole world.
She loved this damn kid the second it popped out at the hospital. She held him and cried and looked at me like I’d given her the greatest gift in the world. Like she was starting to love me. Really love me, and not just friend-love.
Sure, I might have stolen her love at first.
But now it’s real.
I can feel it and see it in the way she looks at me. Like she needs me.
The apartment feels quieter now except for the muffled TV through the wall. The ceiling creaks as the couple upstairs moves around. Everything settles back into the normal background noise of this shitty building.
And that’s when I hear it.
The key in the lock.
The door opening.
Harper’s voice: “Z? You here?”
Fuck.
I turn around just as she walks in. The look on her face does something weird to my stomach. Relief floods her features. Warmth. Her whole face lights up like the sun breaking through clouds, soft and tender in a way that makes me want to look away.
“Oh my God,” she says, dropping her bag by the door and walking over, her work boots leaving little scuff marks on the floor. “You’re so good with him.”
She thinks I’ve been holding him this whole time. She thinks I’ve been soothing him, caring for him and being the father she imagines I am.
Because even after all she’s been through, she still believes the best in people.
She’s such a good person she would never think to start asking questions about that night in the hotel. Or about the paternity test. About any of it.
And I protect that.
I protect her.
“Yeah, well.” I force a smile, adjusting the baby against my chest like I’ve been doing this for hours. “He was fussy. Just needed some attention.”
He makes a little cooing sound, finally content, finally quiet—and Harper’s face just melts. Her eyes go all soft and grateful.
I grin at her, pretending a calm I don’t feel, smoothly playing the part she needs me to. Keeping her story of me intact.
“You’re amazing,” she says, reaching out to stroke his back. Her fingers brush against my chest through my shirt and I feel the thrill of victory. “Seriously, Z. I know I dump a lot on you, but you’re so good at this.”
I smile and nod and let her believe the lie.
It’s easier than admitting the truth.
That ten seconds ago, I was ready to set this kid down, walk out the door and never come back.
That the only reason I picked him up was to make him stop screaming.
That I don’t love him.
That every single day, I regret not pushing harder for adoption.
… That I’ll never forget he’s not even mine.
“You’re a great dad,” Harper says softly, leaning in to kiss my cheek. Her lips are warm. She smells like the coconut lotion from the tattoo shop and underneath it, that Harper smell that’s been mine since we were twelve years old.
And I stand there holding his son—Caleb’s son, the bastard’s son, the golden-boy’s fucking heir—basking in Harper’s warmth and trust. Basking in the way she looks at me like I'm everything.
It’s all built on lies.
But it’s still mine.
“Thanks, Harp,” I say, and lean over to kiss her on the lips. She melts into it like she always does now. Like I’m her whole world.
And I let her take the baby from my arms before she can see my hands shaking.
Before she can see anything at all.