I pick my hand up, about to slap at his arm, when I remember his earlier threat and drop it back into my lap. “Oh, nothing like that. It’s just something that happened a few years ago. I was home alone and someone broke in. The guy saw me, so I went and hid in my parents’ closet and called the police.”
“God, did he come after you?”
I shake my head. “No, but I thought he had. Luckily, and also sadly, the person that found me there was only my dad, but I didn’t know it until I smacked him in the face with the cordless phone. The police caught the guy and he ended up in jail, but still . . . it freaks me out to be home alone. I know. I’m a big baby.”
“No, you’re not.” He flips on his blinker. “I need to stop for gas. I’ll only be a minute.”
“Okay.” My eyes flick over to the gas gauge. Hmm, half a tank. He’s stalling. For me.
I sit in silence, allowing that to sink in, while he stands at the pump. Hearing his voice, I look over my shoulder to find him with his phone to his ear. I guess he could’ve just needed to make a private business call, and he wasn’t stalling for my benefit at all.
Just as I’m turning to face forward again, I notice a flash of color against the dark interior. Pink. I twist around in my seat to look for the source, and I find it in the back floorboard. It’s a stuffed elephant like a child would have, the soft pink is dulled by a haze of dirt. The green polka-dotted ribbon around its neck is frayed at the loose ends. There’s even a little hole at the end of the elephant’s trunk where the stuffing is peeking out. It reminds me of the stuffed dog—aptly named “Puppy”—that I used to carry when I was little. My mom couldn’t ever keep it clean or sewn together.
The realization hits me. The elephant belongs to a little girl.
I know that Makenna told me he was married at one point, and his wife lost the baby, but if she knew he’s had more kids since then, she sure didn’t mention it. And I don’t think that’s knowledge that Makenna would keep to herself.
I have to wrap my head around this. I know he’s clearly not into relationships, but that doesn’t include sex. So that brings me to the possible number of women he’s had sex with. Considering that few women would likely stay with him very long without a chance of a commitment, I’m guessing that there’s quite a revolving door at times. A high number of women significantly increases the odds of getting one of them pregnant. Possibly more than one.
Which begs the question . . . how many kids does this guy have? And why am I not totally flipping out right now?
Sure, he’s twenty-six years old. He should be having kids now, right? Granted, he should be married first, but not everyone believes as I do. I hope that I’m having kids by the time I’m his age, so I can’t really say anything about that. I’ve always wanted a house full of them. Kids have always been a part of my grand plan, which is to finish college, teach elementary school, get married, and have kids. I want my life filled with children at both work and home. I adore them. Their blissful innocence. Their easy smiles and laughter. The curiosity and wonder in their bright eyes. Even their sticky little fingers.
I’m all for having kids.
But something about him having kids doesn’t sit well with me. I know I don’t know him very well, but I would think that would be something that his family would embrace, make known to the whole world. I know that when my parents are finally grandparents, they’ll make sure every total stranger they come across knows it. But I’ve been to his parents’ house. There isn’t a basket of toys. There aren’t juice boxes in the fridge or sippy cups or bottles in the cabinet. No signs of children whatsoever.
So maybe, just maybe . . . this child—or children—is a secret that no one in his family knows about. Maybe his parents are super traditional and would frown on him having a child out of wedlock. That makes me sad for both him and the little girl.
I can imagine her having the same features as Wes. Bright blue eyes that can look right through to your soul and mousy brown hair, fine and soft like most little girls. I can imagine her lying against his shoulder as he rocks her to sleep. Despite how hardened and gruff he can be, I’ve seen his softer, more caring side. I bet he’s a great dad.
He jumps back in the jeep and does a double take. “What’s with the dreamy smile? You look weird.”
Thanks for bursting that bubble for me. “Nothing.”
“Okaaay . . .” he drawls. “I called Shane, and I don’t think Makenna will be home tonight, since she doesn’t have class tomorrow. Would it make you feel better if you stay at my place? I can drop you by your dorm on my way to work tomorrow morning.”