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How the hell can I be a father?
Leslie didn’t reach out to me, but I know she had my number because we talked about hooking up again when I was back in the area.
Fuck me.
I scrub my hands over my face, feeling the weight of this new information heavy on me. Looking at my folks, I see my mom has tears in her eyes, as she looks down at the baby boy: my son.
My father is looking at me, waiting for any sort of reaction from me. Finan is also watching, noting my emotional state. His gaze flicks over my shoulder, and I frown following where he is looking.
I see Kady, wrapped up in her sister’s arms. Her brow is dipped, her eyes focused on the car seat that holds my son. She nibbles at her bottom lip, as her chin trembles. Her gaze comes up to meet mine, her eyes show me the concern she is having, the worry for what will happen next.
“There is one thing he is missing.” Ms. Armstrong speaks, snapping my attention back to her.
Suddenly I feel sick that my son is missing something, that he could have issues in the future. My heart hammers in my chest, my body tingling with fear.
“What is he missing? You just said that he was healthy.” She smiles at me, stepping closer.
“He is perfect, Calder, I swear to you. He is missing a name.”
“She didn’t name him?” The air is knocked out of my lungs at the complete fucking disregard that Leslie had for this baby.
My anger boils my blood, and it is not like me to flip the fuck out, but right now I want to smash something, hit someone.
“SHE COULDN’T EVEN FUCKING NAME HER SON!” I bellow.
“Calm down, Son.” My father steps to me, Finan comes to my other side, each with a hand on my shoulder.
My body is vibrating with anger, my heart hurts it is beating so fucking fast in my chest.
“If it will make an ounce of difference, she was in a bad place. That is why she knew that she couldn’t care for him,” Ms. Armstrong explains, but it doesn’t soothe me.
The baby cries, pulling my attention to him. Before anyone can move, I step to him, pulling the soft grey blanket off him, then unbuckle the straps. Lifting his tiny body into my arms, I cradle him against my chest.
His cries simmer down to little whimpers. With my one hand on his tiny butt, the other on his back, my thumb securing his head, I look down at him.
“Shit,” my father mutters.
“Oh, Calder. He looks just like you when you were a baby.” My mom steps to us, brushing her hand gently across my son’s head.
“He knows his dad,” Finan adds.
Shaking my head at my brother, I dismiss his claim, “Nah, he just wanted to be held.”
“I don’t think so, man.”
I ignore my brother and look down at this tiny baby against my chest. His eyes are open, his fist against his mouth, and fuck me, he is beautiful. He has my hair color; Leslie is white-blonde, all natural, but this baby has dark hair, with pale eyebrows.
“He has your nose,” my mom says.
I say nothing, I just keep looking at my son.
Holy shit, I have a son.
Tearing my gaze from him, I look across the room to where Kady is standing with Tree; they are talking but it doesn’t look good. Kady is crying, so is Tree, but Kady looks confused, scared even, while Tree looks angry at her.
What the hell is going on?
“What will you be calling him?” Magnum’s question pulls me from the girls arguing.
