“Trish?” Lucas eyed her dubiously. Given that she was the least maternal of the four of them and wasn’t even dating anyone, Violet wasn’t surprised at his expression. Yet it made her wonder why he’d pass right over her and had concluded Trish.
“Then who the hell is it?” Mack asked, putting his hand on his hips. “Oh no, it’s the dog, isn’t it? See, I knew that nasty bulldog was sniffing around Bitsy again. Damn, we’re going to have mutant puppies on our hands. Poodles can’t breed with bulldogs, it’s going to be just ugly.”
Violet clapped her hand over her mouth, the urge to laugh mingling with the need to cry hysterically.
“Your precious poodle isn’t having puppies.” Kindra stood up. “Violet is pregnant.”
“Violet?” Mack’s eyes bugged out.
“Yes, Violet.”
“Well…”
“Uh…”
Really, just excuse her. They didn’t have to look so damn stunned.
Violet found her voice. “Why do you both look so surprised?”
They shuffled. Looked at each other. She wasn’t feeling up to mercy. They had insulted her with their assumptions that she couldn’t be the one knocked up.
“Because I didn’t think you were all that serious with Frank,” Lucas said, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “We haven’t even seen him in weeks.”
“Besides, I didn’t figure Frank had sperm,” Mack said.
Kindra gasped. “Mack!”
With a sigh, Violet folded her feet under her on the couch. It might be her imagination, but her denim shorts were jabbing her in the gut. “Frank didn’t get me pregnant.” Might as well come clean with them all at once.
They all stared at her.
“Then who the hell did?” Trish demanded.
Ashley grabbed her hand, horror on her face. “Oh dear God, you were raped? Sweetie, why didn’t you tell us?”
“No! I had a one-night stand, okay?” Even saying that seemed wrong, though it was true. Yet it had been something much more than bodies slapping, as Dylan had said. “I slept with the guy who picked me up out of the water the night I fell off Frank’s boat. His name is Dylan Diaz and we’re not dating or anything.”
Which was her fault.
“That’s funny,” Mack said, breaking the stunned silence. “The catcher for the Indians is named Dylan Diaz.” He reached for the remote control and flicked Ashley’s TV on. “What a coincidence.”
Yeah. A huge one. Violet gave a sigh and braved a glance at the TV. Mack had found the Indians game and was pointing. “See? He’s behind the plate right now. Dylan Diaz. Wow. Weird. And he’s having a great season. He’s been pounding them out of the park the last few weeks.”
“I know, it’s amazing,” Lucas said. “His average is through the roof all of a sudden.”
“Violet?” Kindra was looking at her strangely. “Is he the father?”
Violet couldn’t pry her eyes off the screen. There he was. Dylan was down in the catcher’s squat, and he jumped up, ball in his glove, and threw it back to the pitcher. She couldn’t see his face particularly well because of the mask, but she recognized his movements, the shape of his body, the muscles of his thighs.
Oh, geez Louise, she missed him. “Yes, he’s the father.”
“Whoa,” Lucas said.
“That’s cool,” was Mack’s opinion. “The kid will be a ball player.”
“That’s not cool!” Trish yelled. “Think of the legalities here. Custody, child support, it’s a paternity suit waiting to happen.”
“I don’t want anything from him.” The room was starting to spin and whirl again and Violet clutched the couch. Undid the snap on her shorts. Sucked in some deep breaths.
“Then we need to get him to surrender parental rights so he can’t request custody down the road.”
Violet knew Trish was a lawyer, and she was only trying to protect her rights, but Violet just couldn’t think about this right now. “I think I’m going to faint.”
Ashley pushed her head down between her knees. “Just take slow breaths, sweetie.”
Violet stared at the hardwood floor, the grain of the wood undulating bigger and smaller, the black spots shifting.
She didn’t know why she was so hot and light-headed all of a sudden. She’d gotten exactly what she had wanted.
Except she was very much afraid she’d been wrong.
Dylan was drinking a Coke as he headed down the hall from the locker room, his gym bag on his shoulder.
“Hey, Diaz.”
He turned to see one of the assistant coaches coming up behind him. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I’ve been looking all over the damn building for you. They got a certified letter in the front office for you. They overheaded you, then asked me to play errand boy if I saw you.”
“I was in the shower.” He couldn’t imagine what he would have gotten in the mail, and he didn’t really give a shit. “But thanks, I’ll take care of it.”
Nothing seemed to mean a whole lot of anything for the past month, except for cracking his bat against the ball hard enough to force all the ugly, painful feelings right out of him.
So far it wasn’t working, but it was good for his career.
At first he wasn’t even sure why he was so hurt, so upset, but now he realized it was because Violet had showed him a glimpse of something that he wanted. A home, family, love. A wife. Who loved him just as he was, with or without the ball career.
She had shown him a glimpse of that and then taken it all away.
He wanted to love Violet. He wanted to be with her, and every day he spent missing her.
The secretary thrust an envelope in his hand the second he walked into the front office. “Legal’s down the hall if you’re getting sued,” she said, smoothing her hair back from her plump face.
“Gee, thanks.” Dylan ripped the envelope open and pulled out a greeting card. It had a flower on the front and on the inside it read:
Dear Dylan,
Thank you. You hit a home run.
With love,
Violet
Well. Dylan dropped his Coke can in the wastebasket and stared at the words again. Violet was pregnant. He had gotten her pregnant. And she was thanking him. With love.
Shock gave way to pleasure. Elation raced through him. A baby. They were going to have a baby.
He grinned at the secretary. He couldn’t help but be a little bit proud that he’d only needed one time up to bat. Not every guy could claim that kind of average.
“Good news?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Dylan handed her the envelope. “Can you throw this away for me, Kathy? I need to go see someone.” He needed to go to Violet, tell her how happy he was for her. Beg her for a chance to take things slow, to date and really get to know each other before their child was born.
She had said she didn’t want that, but Dylan just couldn’t accept that. He wanted a future with Violet.
“There’s something still in this envelope, Dylan.” Kathy pulled out a sheaf of papers stapled together.
“What is it? Read it to me real quick.” His leg was jiggling and he dug his keys out of his gym bag. He could be at Violet’s in twenty minutes.
“‘Dear Dylan’,” she read. “‘Please sign and notarize the following relinquishment of parental rights…’ Uh-oh.”
Kathy shoved the packet of papers into his hand.
Shocked, Dylan stared at it, the words blurring in front of him. It was a two-page document of legal bullshit, outlining how he would never have contact with his child or that child’s mother.
It shouldn’t be news. It was everything Violet had asked for, everything he had agreed to. Everything she had reaffirmed that morning when he had dropped her off. But damn, it hurt deep inside, right about where his heart was, that he could want her so much, and she could have so little interest in him.
And it made him angry, that she would shove this at him, like she didn’t trust him, and right now, when he was feeling excitement and pride that she was going to have his child.