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"I think Hanna has been through a lot and pretending Ellie's father doesn't exist helps her cope with how her life is. She struggles, Jameson. She's a single mom."
"Fuck," I growl, "why didn't she just tell me? I could've at least helped financially. I kind of thought the guy she was here with was Ellie's father until she left without him."
"I don't think she would let you help even if you knew and offered. Hanna wanted something from you, bro, and it wasn't money."
"Ellie James," I whisper out, sitting back in my chair dramatically, wondering if her middle name is a coincidence.
"Ellison James," he corrects, "I had Carter pull her birth certificate."
I choke back a sarcastic laugh. Judson knew Ellie was mine. He knew, and he didn't fucking tell me. Not that it would've made much difference. Would I have come back here? Would she have moved to Colorado with me and kept dealing with my shit? No, not without hating me.
"What am I supposed to do?"
Judson looks me in the eye, obviously conflicted about his answer, "Well, I guess it depends on how you would feel about being a father."
"Well, I've had all of about five minutes to think about it."
A smile tugs his lips, "I'm just saying, I wouldn't approach Hanna about it unless you are willing to accept the possibility that Ellie could be yours and be in her life. Hanna doesn't fuck around, and she definitely won't when it comes to Ellie."
I don't respond. Instead, I sit here in silence, watching the wood burn, wondering how things might've been if I weren't so fucked up.
18 Years Old
"Shit, sorry," I mumble, picking my football up off the grass, shaking the vanilla latte off of it, looking up to see a scowling blonde. Her shoe and hem of her pants are covered in coffee, thanks to me.
"I, uh…" I fumble my words, attempting to sweet-talk my way out of this, "I didn't mean to do that. Let me get you another coffee."
She takes a defensive step backward, her backpack slung casually over one shoulder, bending to pick her empty eco-friendly coffee cup up off the ground. Her strawberry blonde hair falls into her face, and she flips it over her shoulder as she stands, "I can get it myself."
"Yeah, but I knocked it out of your hand. It's the least I can do."
"The least you could do is actually go to class and put your scholarship money to good use."
Damn, okay. So she's one of those girls, the "I hate football players" type. Usually, they are easy to scope out around here, but she took me a little by surprise.
She pushes past me, our shoulders banging together dramatically, a wicked smile spreading across my face.
"Actually, I'm not here on scholarship!" I yell out, trying to make an argument. She doesn't respond though, she just keeps walking, throwing her hand up, flipping me the bird, like she couldn't care less.
I can't erase my smile as I jog back over to the middle of the quad to the guys.
"Damn, Jay. She told you." My friend Logan teases as I throw the ball like a rocket straight to his chest. He coughs a little too dramatically, pretending that it hurt.
"Shut up," I grab my backpack off the grass, "I have class."
Logan tosses the ball up and catches it back, "A few of us are going to The Rock. You should just skip."
"I can't. My brother will fucking kick my ass if I start skipping school. Especially if he knew it was to day drink."
The Rocking Horse, aka "The Rock," is a little dive bar a few miles off campus where they don't really care enough to check IDs. Well, they turn a blind eye to state football players, that is.
"Suit yourself, have fun in Chemistry."
"I will, asshole."
A grin spreads across his face, "Try not to piss off any more girls."
"That was an accident," I argue, "Do you know who that was?"
