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Kyra's glare sags, then she turns away. "I don't know. No, you know - it wasn't right. Not telling you. I know it wasn't. I've wanted to tell you for weeks, over a month now. Even before, part of me thought..." Inhale. Exhale. "But do you know what? I thought of Pamela, and how sad she was when her dad finally came back into her life. How horribly sad she was, with how he'd miss their dinners, drop off the face of the Earth for months at a time. I was just trying to protect Madison, make sure she didn't have to go through that too. I'm sorry, but that's how it was."
Her words are peeling away my rage. They make sense. Too much sense.
But I don't want fucking sense right now. I just want some clarity.
"I'm going to want to see her," I say, half-angrily, half-wearily.
Jesus, I have a daughter.
Kyra nods. "I know. It's probably for the best."
I frown at her. "Damn straight it is."
I swallow, make for the front door.
My hand on the cool silver handle, I pause. "You know, Kyra, what I did was wrong, horrible. But this was pretty fucking terrible too."
"I know," she says softly. "After this, do you think... we can..."
"I don't know," I say. Don't you glance at her. Not a fucking glance. "This... well, this is big. Way bigger than anything I can get my head around right now. I'm not sure I can trust you anymore. Or ever again."
She says nothing, because there is nothing to say to that.
"Night, Kyra," I say, walking out into it.
I get into my Porsche and drive home. The roads are empty, the lights are green and I drive as fast as my foot will dig into the gas pedal.
A kid... I have a kid. Jesus.
A kid. A daughter. An actually cool kid.
And Kyra... how could she not tell me for so fucking long? Especially after we started seeing each other again.
Back at home, whatever's left in the fridge - mainly from Nolan stopping in - I eat. Leftover pizza, cookies, a lonely-looking stalk of celery.
Jesus, a daughter...
My phone rings.
"Hey loser," Nolan says.
"Don't invite girls over to my place when I'm not here," I growl.
Nolan groans. "You really are whipped."
"It's plain common sense," I argue. "A girl like that could be a klepto, a psycho, suicidal..."
"All things I vetted her for, thank you very much," Nolan says with a sniff. "Most guys would be thankful for a hot swimsuit model waiting half-naked on their couch."
"Yeah, well, I'm not. I've had a hell of a weekend, as you know."
"You going to take the deal?"
"Doesn't seem like we have any choice. Anyway, it is a good deal."
"Yeah," Nolan admits, crunching something that's probably chips, "it is."
"That why you're calling me?" I grumble. "To go over what we know already?"
"Nah, I... what's up with you? Disney Weekend that much of a bust?"
"So that's why you're calling?" I growl. "Goodbye, Nolan."
"You pissed because of the model or because I'm right?"
"I'm pissed because I just found out that I'm a father," I snap before I can stop myself.
Fuck.
"Wait - what?" Nolan laughs.
"It's not a joke. Kyra's kid - she's mine."
Even saying it aloud, it doesn't feel real.
"No way," Nolan gasps in a horrified voice. "That's impossible. You get a paternity test?"
"Just a day with her is a paternity test," I grumble back. "I'll send you a pic."
"So, wait - that means I'm an uncle? I now have a decent excuse to go to Fun Haven and pick up hot, lonely single moms?"
"Yeah, not happening."
More crunching. "You're no fun."
More crunching. "And Kyra never told you about this kid?"
"Says I was a kid-hater, and I did dump her pretty shittily."
"Both true," Nolan chimes in.
"Fuck off," I growl.
"Don't shoot the messenger. Still. A kid." Low whistle.
"I know."
"And Kyra?" he continues.
"What about her?"
"You good with her?"
"No, of course I'm not fucking 'good' with her. She didn't tell me about a kid I've had for nine years. Even recently, when we've been seeing each other, she didn't mention it."
"That's fucked," Nolan says, catching on. "What are you going to do?"
When I don't respond, he presses, "Want to know what I think you should do?"
"Nope," I say immediately.
"Forget about her," he says, hastily adding, "Kyra, not the kid. Do your duty by her, visit her or whatever. But as for Kyra? Things are too fucking complicated with that woman. You know I'm right."
When I still don't answer, he says, "Right, well, I'll leave you to it."
'Leaving me to it' only makes me search for more food in my fridge unsuccessfully. And then call her up.
Only she's beat me to it.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey," I say.
"I was just thinking... what if you came back over?" she says. "I know that before... just. There's something I want to say to you in person."
