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Mary Anne? Did he even remember a Mary Anne?
Damn his siblings for taking some random woman’s word. Some woman who’d just busted in on a family barbecue and tried to destroy his life.
Fuck that.
The kid wasn’t his. No way in hell. He was the last person on earth who should be trusted with another human being. He’d had nothing but horrid examples of parenthood throughout his childhood. An abusive drunk of a father who couldn’t have paid a woman enough to take on him and five kids. A man who’d rather drink every dime he stumbled upon than make sure his family was fed. A man who spoke with his fists and currently sat rotting in a prison cell.
Great role model.
No, he couldn’t accept this.
“Come on, guys. Let’s finish eating.” To the woman, he said, “You can see yourself out.”
When he turned, he encountered the troubled stares of his siblings.
“But, it’s—”
He tried to tune the woman out, but she was too damn close.
“Sir, I can assure you this is real. If you’ll just—”
“Leave!”
Mickie rushed forward. When she reached him, she cupped his shoulders and smiled with sympathy. Or maybe pity. Then she went over to the stroller and gasped. “Oh, she looks just like a Benson. She’s beautiful. Hi, sweet girl.” She reached into the stroller. A huge smile broke out across her face.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he froze in place. Nausea churned in his gut.
This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t want this.
Didn’t want it.
He was going to be sick.
“JP?” Mickie’s impossibly soft hand circled his wrist.
Back at the table, his oldest brother stood and narrowed his eyes at JP in a subtle but firm warning. Don’t fucking upset my woman.
“Just come look at her. That’s all. For one minute,” Mickie whispered as though speaking to a frightened animal.
He glanced down at her fingers, lightly tugging on his wrist, and nodded. If that was the only way to end this nightmare, he’d look at the baby. But there was no fucking way he’d touch it. Or claim it.
Because it wasn’t his.
With a soft smile, Mickie led him over to the stroller. Miss Rosen stepped back to give him space but eyed him as if he couldn’t be trusted.
After taking a fortifying breath, he glanced at the sleeping baby and nearly collapsed to his knees.
Jesus Christ, she could have been his twin as an infant. A tuft of dark hair, chubby cheeks, the same exact tiny nose.
“She’s beautiful,” Mickie whispered as she rubbed his back. “She’s you.”
No. No. No! Inside he was screaming with all he had, but outside he stood motionless. Unable to speak, unable to breathe, unable to think.
“I know this is a lot.” The woman said as she stepped forward. She reached into the diaper big and pulled out an envelope. “This will explain everything.”
He blinked and reached for the envelope as though on autopilot. His arm moved without direction from his brain. Once he had the letter, he glanced back at his mini-me. She was real. A flesh-and-blood baby. A squishy little lump that terrified him to his soul.
“Would you like to hold her?” Mickie asked, still talking in a near whisper.
“What?” His head snapped up.
She smiled. “Do you want to hold your daughter?”
“No!” The shout startled Mickie and Bethany. The baby began to cry. He flinched as guilt joined his fear. “S-sorry.” See? He’d scared the baby already. He couldn’t hold her.
The woman shot him an angry glare then scooped the kid up.
“No,” he said again. “I don’t want anything to do with it. I have to go.”
He fled into the house at full speed, ignoring the shouts from his siblings. Thankfully, no one followed him as he sprinted through the house then locked himself in his basement bedroom.
He dropped onto the side of his bed like a lead weight and sat gazing at the unopened letter for what had to be hours. Eventually, the sun set, and he found himself staring into darkness.
His insides felt heavy, as though he carried the weight of the world. Dread sat like a boulder in the pit of his stomach. He switched on the lamp next to his bed then went back to staring at the envelope. With trembling hands, he tore it open.
It contained multiple pages, handwritten in shaky, blue ink. In a few spots, a round stain had smudged letters.
Tears?
Had Mary Anne cried as she wrote this letter?
Had she really birthed his baby only to die shortly afterward?
Who the hell was she?
Though he knew deep down this letter was going to flip his entire life upside down, he took a deep breath and began to read.
CHAPTER TWO
DEAR JP,
Have you ever done something so wrong, so completely selfish, that it made you question the kind of person you were? Really wonder about the state of your soul? I mean, am I rotten at my core? Am I evil? Immoral? Tainted?
