“Well, I know one thing for sure…you blush like your mom.”
“Mommy also says I talk like my dad, too.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. “And how’s that?”
“She’s always correcting me. She says, ‘You sound like your father’ every time I say something grammarly wrong. But she doesn’t say it in a mean way. I think she likes it because she gets a real big smile and laughs. Oh! And I know his favorite music. She’s played me some of the songs, but some parts we have to skip over because they aren’t appropriated for kids.” She began to hum a familiar strand of Guns N’ Roses.
The room suddenly became really warm and my body felt on fire at her words. “Ayla, honey…have you ever seen a picture of your father?”
“Mommy gave me a picture of him, but it’s not really of him.”
“What’s it of?”
“Weird eyes.”
My heart raced in my chest. “What kind of eyes.”
“She says they’re from a wolf.”
My lungs refused to work and the room began to spin. My eyesight turned dark and spotted as my brain threatened to shut down. There was no way. It was impossible. Images frantically ran through my mind at warped speed: Her hands on my bare chest. My body between her legs as she sat on my kitchen counter. Her fingers working my belt. Me, telling her how we didn’t need to go that far. Her, telling me how much she needed to feel safe. Bandaging her back one moment, and then soothing her with my body the next.
Me, giving in, pulling a condom from my wallet.
Sitting on my couch.
Bree on top of me.
Her virginity.
And then my mind ran through her words since I found out about Ayla. The things she’d told me about her father: He was just some kid from school. She was in a place where she needed him. The condom must have been defective. He gave her exactly what she needed. And that Ayla was an even mix of Bree and…
I narrowed my eyes on the little girl in front of me, taking in her every feature and comparing it to mine and Aubrey’s. She had really blond hair—the color of mine as a child—yet it was curly like Bree’s. Her eyes were a bright, blue-green shade, the color you’d get when mixing blue with greenish-yellow. There were a few of Aubrey’s freckles on her nose—a nose that, now that I look at it, looks very much like mine—and her coloring was right in between mine and her mother’s, olive yet fair.
How the fuck didn’t I see this before?
Because you weren’t looking…
Because you’d worn a condom that never ripped.
“All right class,” I said, standing from my seat in the hopes of clearing the haze from my brain. “It’s time to line up.”
All the kids grabbed their backpacks and lined up next to the door. I kept Ayla next to me as I walked them to the parent pick-up area in the back of the school. I didn’t have to be back there since the school took turns having different grade levels monitor the lines, and this week wasn’t kindergarten. But I wasn’t out there to work. I had something else on my agenda.
The moment Ayla’s name was called, I escorted her to Aubrey’s car. I noticed the smile through the windshield immediately, right before she caught sight of me. That’s when her smile fell. She obviously saw the look of fury on my face. I opened the back door and waited for Ayla to climb in before tapping on the driver’s side window.
“Take her to your sister, your parents’ house, I don’t care,” I growled into the open window, not caring that Bree’s face had gone ghostly white and still. “Just take her somewhere and meet me back at your house in thirty minutes.”
“Axel—”
“You don’t get to argue with me. You don’t get a choice in this. Drop her off. Meet me in thirty minutes. Don’t make me wait, Aubrey, or I swear to Christ…” I let my threat hang, not wanting to finish it in front of Ayla. She was too small to hear the things I wanted to say to her mother—the things I needed to say.
I couldn’t even look anyone in the eye on my way out of the school, worrying that they’d see the rage that burned inside me. My steps were hard and fast as I stormed to my truck, not paying any attention to the world around me. I had so many thoughts crammed inside my head, fighting for control, threatening to take me under. My mind became consumed with fear, worry, anger…any and every emotion under the sun, and it made my drive to her house pass by quickly. I paid no attention to the speed limit, couldn’t recall how many—if any—red lights I’d hit on my way. It was nothing but a blur. But by the time I pulled up to her house, throwing the truck in park, my hands ached from the way I’d apparently gripped the wheel with every ounce of strength I had in me.
Bree wasn’t there by the time I pulled up, and I had to wait for her. The waiting only served to increase my temper, adding fuel to the fire as every moment passed. A fire that had been lit inside my chest and then, it’d burned into an inferno, causing my skin to blister regardless of the ice-cold air blowing through the vents as I waited. The time it took me to get there blurred, yet as I sat in my truck parked in front of her house, waiting on her to show up, I felt every painful second as it ticked by.
Finally, her car pulled into the driveway. I didn’t wait for her to get out before stomping toward her. I didn’t wait for her to open her door before I grabbed the handle, swinging it open, nearly pulling it from its hinges. And the moment she stepped out of the car, I slammed it closed, rocking the entire vehicle on its wheels. I stalked toward her front door, not bothering to wait for her.
“Axel—”
I slammed my palm on her closed front door, immediately cutting off her words. Without turning to her, keeping my stiff back in her direction, I growled in the deepest, most angry voice I’d ever used, “Just open the damn door. Unless you want your entire neighborhood to know how pissed I am at you right now.”
Her hands shook violently as her fingers attempted to work the lock. The keys dropped to the porch, and without the patience to wait on her, I picked them up and finished the job myself, worrying that the anger-fueled strength I used would break the key off in the deadbolt. I flung it open, marched inside, and paced the small living room with my head buried in my hands. I had so much to say, so many questions and thoughts I needed to get out, but they all fought for control. I couldn’t seem to organize anything in my head to get out what I needed to.
Aubrey sat quietly on the couch, studying her twisted fingers in her lap. In one glance, my heart broke for her, imagining what it must’ve been like for her to be seventeen and pregnant. But the moment didn’t last long before I remembered her lies, her deceit, and that’s when the heartbreak quickly turned to betrayal.
I stood in front of her, every muscle in my body twitching, as I bent down enough for her to feel my words. “I dare you to lie to my face, Aubrey. Look me in the eye”—I waited for her tear-filled gaze to meet mine—“and tell me Ayla isn’t my kid.”
Her face scrunched with pain before she covered it with her hands.
“Stop!” I grabbed her wrists and pulled them away, making her look at me. “You don’t have the right to hide from me. You don’t have the right to cry. Look me in the eyes and tell me who Ayla’s father is.”
She hiccupped a sob.
“Tell me!”
“You are!” she screamed through her tears, pushing me away and standing up. Getting in my face, finding her own anger, she yelled, “But you don’t have the right to question me! You don’t have the right to come in here and point fingers, assign blame, and condemn me. I’ve done it all on my own for six years, ever since finding out I was pregnant. I don’t need you.” Her voice may have been strong, and her body told of the fight she experienced inside, yet as if I could hear her thoughts, I knew she was anything but strong.