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I’m alone with a baby who needs attention. As if she can read my thoughts, she begins to wail, only adding to my anxiety about having to lift her. The panic grips my throat, and with a mad rush, I run upstairs to grab my cell and call Em.
I’m talking, fast and incoherent. Trying to explain it all but not believing the words spilling out of my mouth.
“Slow down. You have what there?”
I take deep breaths, trying to calm the nervous energy and explain it again, slower.
“Wesley, I can’t believe it.” She sighs, loudly.
“Just get here. Please. The kid is crying, I don’t know what to do.”
“Pick the baby up, watch its head, and I’ll be there soon.”
She hangs up.
What does she mean watch its head?
Is it going to fall off?
Fuck, this is stressing me out.
I take more deep breaths, pushing aside the sickness settling in my stomach. I have seen this in movies, and I recall holding a baby once, maybe, years ago.
It takes me five minutes to get the goddamn seat belt off. After it finally unclasps, I try to figure out how to get my large hands under the baby and pull her out without her head falling off. Fuck, why is this so hard?
Sliding one hand under her head, and the other under her bottom, I pull her out, gently and slowly, holding her in the air because I don’t know how to bring her close to me without moving one hand.
What if I fucking drop her? Shit, don’t fucking drop her.
After many failed attempts and my poor judgment, almost dropping her, I ease her into my chest, which seems to calm her down until Em arrives.
“Did you know about this?” I question her, my voice low, shielding the baby from the noise.
Emerson remains silent, sitting beside me on the sofa. I can tell she rushed over here, her hair’s barely brushed, tied up and out of her face. She’s wearing baggy sweats, almost too baggy that I suspect they don’t belong to her.
“You fucking knew, and you didn’t tell me?”
She rolls her eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh at the same time. “I didn’t know, okay. But I suspected something was wrong. It’s unlike her to have zero contact. One minute she’s sending me emails telling me how much fun she’s having in Sweden, but her internet access was limited to communal computers or something, and the last I heard, she got this nasty virus on the plane ride home. I lost track of time with the filming of ours, Logan’s and my show, plus the launch for my homewares range.” Em’s face is riddled with confusion. “Her brother never breathed a word. Honestly, I thought she just went back to Liam, and maybe they got hitched.”
It hadn’t crossed my mind.
He hadn’t crossed my mind.
“What if it’s his?” I mumble, staring at the baby’s face.
She has no features to indicate she’s mine. There’s an Asian look about her, and that would be from Milana’s heritage.
“Wait… the timing is off,” Em says, counting numbers out loud that make no sense to me. “I don’t think Flynn would have brought her here if he didn’t believe you were her father.”
“Can’t I get that shit tested? I mean, fuck, what do I do now?”
“You be a daddy. Man the fuck up. We can start by ridding this place of the shit you’ve been snorting all night.”
Em disappears, and with the baby still quiet in my hands, I follow closely. Inside my room, Em looks around, recoiling with a disgusted expression, ripping the sheets off my bed and grabbing the small plastic baggie that sits on my nightstand, flushing it down the toilet.
“Emerson, fuck!”
“Don’t even try to justify it.” She points her finger at me, her face turning red as her eyes widen with anger. “You are it. You are her dad. Until Milana is found, you are all she has. You need to get help, you understand me? For good. Or you’ll fuck her up, too, and she doesn’t deserve this.”
