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I gritted my teeth. “What do you want?”
“I’m still figuring that out.”
“Yeah, well, do it somewhere else.”
He exhaled, a weary sound. “I wish I could, but I haven’t been able to sleep since you showed up with a three-year-old who looks a hell of a lot like me.”
His confession hit me harder than I expected. I ached to believe him, to see a glimmer of something good in him. An alarming thought.
“Is he mine?” he asked.
My throat tightened. What should I do? Deny it?
He sighed. “You think I killed her, don’t you?”
“All I know is that you’re dangerous.”
“Yes, but not to you or him.”
I laughed bitterly. “That’s not what you implied in our talk last night.”
“I’ve had a change of heart.”
His voice, smooth as honey, wavered my resolve. Could the man responsible for so much fear also be the missing piece in Jack’s life?
I scoffed. “A thug with a conscience. Not buyin’ it.”
“Is the boy mine?”
“You have no right to ask about him,” I hissed, glaring into the distant trees where he probably hid. “You’re not in his life.”
“I never knew he existed.”
The frost emanating from his words threw me off-kilter. “Well, if you’re lookin’ for an apology, you can look elsewhere.”
“Is he my son?”
“You don’t have to concern yourself with us. We’ve been gettin’ along fine without you.”
“I’ve looked into your situation, Bumpkin. You are living paycheck to paycheck, scraping by, on food stamps?—”
“I’m doin’ my best with what I got. I’m raising him on my own. I don’t sleep. I barely eat. Every penny I make goes to rent and daycare. There’s nothin’ left for me. Don’t tell me I’m not doing enough.”
Static crackled as the other end went silent.
“I can’t let this go,” he said gently. “I can’t let a stranger raise my child.”
“You have no right?—”
“I have every right. If there’s even a chance he’s mine, don’t you think I should know? And what about the truth? Doesn’t he deserve that?”
“The truth is a luxury we can’t afford.”
“Am I the father?”
I inhaled, the cold air stabbing me. “I have to go.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me.”
