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“Yes, you did.”
“How?”
“How what, Montana? How fate fucked us in the ass? That nothing we did was going to stop her from screwing up our lives? Hell, I don’t know. Condoms are only ninety-eight perfect effective and the shot, well that’s only compromised when taking antibiotics. Oh, shit.”
Reality hit me like a freight train, and I cursed.
I’d been sick as a dog back then. I caught a nasty bug. The doctor put me on a regime of antibiotics for two weeks. Montana never left my side, and I remember being miserable during that time.
“You were getting over the flu.”
“Damn it,” I muttered, getting to my feet. “Look Montana, I never planned this. I was finishing up my residency program. Having a baby wasn’t even in my realm of comprehension. I know you never wanted kids. So, I am going to raise York by myself. Now, since the interrogation is over, may I use your phone to call a cab?”
He shook his head and stared directly at me menacingly as the hairs on the back of my neck rose again.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“What do you mean?” I gasped.
“The rules just changed, babe.”
Chapter Seven
Montana
Fuck me, was she one pissed off bitch,I thought as I sat downstairs in the living room nursing a bottle of scotch.
Fuck the tumbler tonight. I drank straight from the bottle.
Glass shattering from above had me lifting the bottle in salute before I took another swig. She was systematically redecorating my room with her bare hands all by her little self. Whoever said southern women were timid and sweet hadn’t met my Tessa. That bitch could filet my ass with her sharp tongue easily while looking as pretty as a summer’s day.
From the first moment I met Tessa, I knew she was mine. She had an inner strength that most women would kill for. A fire that burned hot and a caring nature that rivaled Mother Teresa.
And fuck me hard, was she smart.
Like, wickedly smart.
Tessa was the complete package and more.
More importantly, she was mine.
She didn’t know it yet, but it would be over my dead body before I let her walk out of my life again. Now that I understood why she left, that was easy to forgive her. But the other thing. Having my son and not telling me, well, that was a whole other story. By the time I was done with her, she would never withhold shit from me ever again.
I have a son.
York. Cool name.
Never thought at forty-two years of age, I’d be a father. Never even thought I wanted kids until I saw that picture with her and my kid playing in the park. Kids were a complication I’ve avoided like the plague. I’d seen firsthand what they could do to a good-natured man. My father raised four boys and barely survived with his life.
Yet seeing that smiling boy, who looked so much like me, I knew I was never giving him up.
He was mine.
My blood.
A loud crash from above evaporated my train of thought. Narrowing my eyes, my thoughts of spanking her ass red made me smile. Bitch was close to getting the ass-beating of a lifetime. Still, what bothered me the most was that she didn’t even try to let me know about him. Almost as if I was an afterthought.
For the longest time, my world revolved around her. Would do anything for her. Wanted to give her the world. Then she bolted like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
