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“He’s scared, dumbass,” I say, suddenly finding my will to speak. I reach for my sweatshirt and sweatpants and yank them on. Then I reach for the baby. Greg takes a step back, but I frown. “Do you want him to stop crying or not?” I ask.
Both men stare at me, but don’t say anything.
They seem to think this is some sort of trick.
Good.
It kind of is.
But I glare at them and cross my arms over my chest. I raise an eyebrow, as if to say, “I told you I could make him stop crying, but you didn’t want me to.”
I didn’t realize it was possible to cry louder, but Brandon proves me wrong. He starts screeching at the top of his lungs and finally, Andrew motions to me.
“Just hand it over,” he says.
“He’s a baby, not an ‘it’,” I hiss, but I accept Brandon from Greg and instantly start soothing him.
“Why are you here?” Greg looks beyond pissed.
Good.
Fuck that guy.
He murdered his own daughter in cold blood, and for what?
To be able to be right?
To be able to have the final word?
What a fucking dick.
“I could ask you the same question,” I say. “But I don’t get the feeling you’re going to give me a straight answer.”
Greg and Andrew both have the same look of anger on their faces.
There’s something else, though: fear.
They don’t know what my play is, and it’s bothering them. They know I took off with the kid, but they don’t know why. They don’t know why I cam here. They don’t know where I’m going.
“Why do you want this baby, anyway?”
“That’s my grandchild,” Greg says. “He’s mine.”
“You didn’t seem to want your own daughter,” I say. “Why do you want her baby?”
Greg opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Andrew steps forward and slaps me in the face.
What.
The.
Fuck?
I reach for my cheek, rubbing, and it takes all of my energy not to completely lose my shit. He slapped me. He actually slapped me right in the face. Wow. It’s been a long time since anyone treated me like that: an eternity, actually. Visions of professors being assholes to me in med school run through my mind. There was one time when I dated the wrong person who thought smacking me around would give him a leg up while we were doing our clinicals.
Oh, he was wrong.
He was so, so wrong.
