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But I do remember both those events happened—yeah, a few years back, because that was the season I set my first record: most first-half receptions in a game during our 37-3 rout of Philly.
“Name rings a bell,” I croak, throat suddenly tight. “But I wrap it up. Every time, Melissa, I swear it.”
“I believe you,” she replies, even though it sounds like she most certainly does not. “But condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective, Rhett. There’s always a chance . . .”
A chance you might knock up a stranger and end up with a kid.
Panic swarms in my veins, threatening to overwhelm me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose, moving through the familiar breath work I’ve relied on for years now to calm my heart rate. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In, out.
In. A kid. I might have a fucking kid.
Out. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not like—
“Jennifer passed away suddenly two days ago,” Melissa continues. “She fell off a ladder and broke her neck. Elle reached out because Jennifer confided in her that you were the father of Jennifer’s little boy.”
“Oh,” I say, the word coming out like I’ve just been punched in the gut. The whir in my head reaches fever pitch as the meaning of what she’s saying starts to crystalize. “Oh, God, I’m so—I’m sorry. Jesus Christ, Melissa.”
Tom crouches beside me and puts a hand on my shoulder. I don’t know why I’m apologizing to my attorney for this woman’s death. I just don’t know what else to say. And yeah, maybe saying the words I’m sorry makes me feel like a slightly less garbage human being. She fell off a ladder?
Fuck.
Just . . . fuck.
Also, who gets a woman pregnant and doesn’t show up for their kid?
Yeah, she didn’t tell me about him. But maybe I should’ve, I don’t know, checked in on her or something.
“I know. Rhett, I know. I’m sorry to have to bring you this news. But you’re Liam’s only surviving relative, at least if the paternity test comes back positive, which means you’d be in the running to get full custody. That’s the boy’s name, by the way—Liam James Williams.”
I drag my legs apart, knees bent, and stick my head between them. Tom squeezes my shoulder.
“Keep breathing,” he reminds me.
“Full custody. That means full time? Like, all the time? He’ll be with me all the time?”
I can practically hear Melissa’s gulp through the phone. “That’s what full custody entails, yes.”
“Oh.” Jesus fuck, I sound like a lobotomized monkey.
I try to keep breathing. My lungs feel like a pair of stale prunes, small and shriveled and hard.
“Would you be willing to take custody of Liam? As his only surviving relative?”
I wince. So I’d be getting this kid because Jennifer literally had no one else. I’m the last resort. The last pick. Same as I was growing up.
I shove the thought aside. Think about poor Liam instead. Kid’s probably wondering what he did to deserve losing his mom and his home all in one fell swoop. Is he confused? Inconsolable? Probably. I sure as hell would be.
I hope he’s not hungry.
God, what’s wrong with me, thinking about my own stupid feelings when a two-year-old kid just lost the only family he’s ever known?
I lost my father when I was young, and it sucked. I’d never put my son through the same hell of being fatherless.
“Yes,” I say. “Of course I’ll take him. I just . . . why didn’t she tell me about him? Jennifer.”
“I asked Elle that question.” A pause.
“And?”
“And she said that the two of you, you and Jennifer, never exchanged contact information.”
“Okay, that’s fair. I don’t give out my number.”
“Yes.” Another pause. “But she could’ve reached out via Instagram. We would’ve seen her message.”
I wince. “Also fair.”
“Ultimately, I get the sense that Jennifer felt you weren’t ready to be a parent.”
Anger grips my windpipe. “That’s bullshit. Even if that were true, there’s no excuse for not telling the father of your child about, well, being the fucking father of that child.”
“I don’t disagree. But she did say—and I’m quoting Elle here—that Jennifer claimed you were intoxicated when the two of you were together. Very, very intoxicated and very . . . immature. Jennifer was ‘not your biggest fan’ after she left that morning, and so she made the decision not to raise a child with you. Y’all were strangers. Again, her words, not mine.”
That anger morphs into embarrassment. My face burns. Only an asshole deserves Jennifer’s description. A stupid, selfish asshole.
The thing is, I don’t doubt I was that asshole back then. And yeah, maybe she made a less than stellar, too, to cut me out of my kid’s life without ever asking if I wanted to be involved in the first place. But was I that big of a jerk that she’d choose to raise our baby without me?
