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She gasps. “It’s a girl?”
“Surprise.” I toss the bottle in the direction of the trash can, but thanks to my sucky aim, it lands a whole foot away. There’s a reason I played hockey over basketball, and that right there proves it.
“No need to freak out just yet. You don’t even know if the kid is yours.”
“Lana didn’t take too kindly to me when I insinuated she might be.” Suggesting such a thing wasn’t my finest moment. Neither was my comment about her sleeping with someone so soon after we broke up, but I let my emotions get the best of me.
You have no right to be angry at her for what she did after you ended things.
Easier said than done. I’m not the kind of person who usually gets jealous, but I sense it festering inside of me, searching for an outlet.
“Please tell me you didn’t ask her like that.”
“Okay. I won’t.” I search the mini fridge for another bottle. Since I already cleared the fridge of all the vodka, I’m stuck choosing between tequila and Fireball.
And here you thought your night couldn’t get any worse.
I grab the plastic bottle of Fireball and shut the door with my foot.
Iris groans. “Sometimes I question whether or not you truly are a genius.”
“You and I both.” If it weren’t for my parents forcing me into gifted classes all throughout my life, I’d think they lied to me solely so I was challenged enough in school to avoid getting in trouble.
“There has to be an explanation for this. Based on the stories you shared about Lana, I doubt she would keep a child from you—no matter how much she dislikes you.”
“Well, I plan on getting an answer from her tomorrow morning if it’s the last thing I do.”
“What are you going to do if the kid is yours?”
“Besides drink myself into an alcohol-induced coma?” I twist off the red cap and take a whiff of the cinnamon-scented liquor. Unlike Lana’s warm scent, this one makes my stomach churn. I ignore the nausea as I chug, craving the relief only alcohol can provide.
Iris huffs. “That’s not even remotely funny.”
I stop drinking to answer her. “Ifshe’s mine, then I’ll bring it up with Grandpa’s lawyer when I call him tomorrow.”
“Why do you need to speak with Leo?”
“There’s a…complication.”
“What kind of complication?” Worry seeps into her voice, making me feel shitty for calling her in the first place, only to stress her out.
“Don’t worry about it.” I slur toward the end of my sentence.
“Are you drunk?”
“Nope.” Okay, I’m a little drunk, but I don’t want to worry Iris with my issues.
Her deep sigh echoes through the speaker. “I thought you were doing better.”
If by doing better, she means doing better at hiding my issues from everyone, then yes, I am.
“Turns out I’m in a celebrating mood.”
“Cal.” It’s amazing how a single word can hold so much disappointment.
I pick at the label on the bottle. “What do you expect? I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”
“Is it really considered a crisis if it’s a constant state of being for you?” Declan grumbles on the other side of the line.
