What the fuck am I seeing?
A baby.
Kennedy had a baby. The sentence loops through my mind as I try to make sense of everything. Regardless of how I arrange the words, it only leaves me more confused.
My eyes flicker to the bottom right corner, to the date stamp. March. 2009. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to do the math.
The shock forcing oxygen to dissipate from my brain makes it take longer than it should.
She’s huge, looking like she could have a baby at any moment.
Almost six years ago.
My baby. No…our baby.
Rage bubbles inside me, and my hands clench into tight fists.
I feel someone grip my arms, call my name, but I shake it off.
I toss my head back and bellow to the ceiling, “Kennedy!”
“Calm down, Grayson.” Landon shakes my arm, gripping me firmly.
I open my eyes and snap my head in his direction. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down.”
“Let her explain.” His eyes glance at the photo and back at me. He licks his lips, hesitant.
Loud footsteps echo in the apartment, and as they draw near I glare at the intruders in the kitchen.
“What the hell’s going on?” Lynx mutters, wiping the sleep off his face. Sarah scampers in behind him.
“Is Kennedy okay?” she asks, her voice breathy and raw as she glances at all the men in the room.
I laugh coldly. “Is Kennedy okay? That’s your fucking question for me?”
I pick up the photo and flick it toward her like it’s a Frisbee. It lands at her feet, face up, and I see immediately when she recognizes the photo.
“Oh shit,” she mutters, and her eyes dart to mine. “She was going to tell you,” she says quickly, taking a step back when I lunge for her.
I won’t hurt her. But I fucking want to choke the life out of Kennedy.
My baby.
Our baby.
She was pregnant—a lot pregnant, based on her swollen stomach that seems to mock me from its place on the tiled floor.
I reach down and snatch it into my grasp, feeling the paper slice a cut into my thick skin.
“You know what happened?” I ask, waving the photo in Sarah’s face.
Her face blanches, and I’m blocked from her view when Lynx steps in front of her. He holds his palms out and catches my gaze. “Legend, I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but Sarah’s not your enemy.”
I hold the photo out and watch his eyes widen. “That’s Kennedy. Almost six years ago. I’m guessing about eight months after I fucked her.”
His head slowly lifts and our eyes meet. “But Sarah isn’t who you’re pissed at right now.”
No. She’s not.
Red flashes at the edge of my vision as rage boils through my blood. Everything sparks and burns brighter.
I barrel past Lynx and Sarah, intent on getting to Kennedy as fast as possible, when someone grips my bicep and spins me around.
“Calm down, Legend,” Lynx says, his chest heaving almost as quickly as mine. “Don’t go charging in there screaming at her.”
“Yeah?” I shove Lynx out of the way. “Just yesterday you were wondering why she was here—now you’re on her side?”
“I’m on your side, brother.” He reaches for me again, but I jump out of his grasp.
My chest is heaving like I’ve run a marathon. My lungs burn and all my muscles are tense and constricted. My knuckles ache from the fist I’m making in the hand not holding that photo.
Of her. Pregnant. How could she fucking do this to me?
“I’m just suggesting you take a minute or two—take a deep breath, for fuck’s sake.”
I shove the photo in his face. “She had my fucking kid.” I grit each word. My jaw aches and pops. Fuck, I need a drink. I need to hit something. Someone.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I push away from him, taking the stairs three at a time. Fuck, even my legs hurt right now as I make the final leap. Gripping the banister, I swing myself around the corner and then I come to a halted stop.
Everything freezes. Time disappears.
The sound of rushing water runs through my ears as I stare at the woman who, just minutes ago, I wanted to take in my arms and make love to. A woman who felt so perfect in my arms and around my cock all last night.
The woman who had my fucking kid and never once told me.
My lips pull back into another growl, but before I can say anything, Kennedy takes a step toward me, tying the belt of the hotel’s robe around her waist. Her hair is still wild from sleep and her eyes are puffy.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I have to stop myself from physically lashing out at her.
“I heard shouting.”
I swallow bile in my throat. My hand curls around the wooden railing so harshly that I wonder how it doesn’t break.
Every muscle in my body bunches and tightens as I inhale one long, searing breath.
Kennedy’s eyes widen and she takes a careful step toward me. “Grayson?”
My name rolls from her swollen lips and settles like acid in my gut.
“Stay there,” I snap harshly. My entire body vibrates with fury. With confusion. With disbelief, even though the fucking proof is still in my hand.
I hold out the photo so she can see it.
“Don’t fucking move an inch until you can explain this.”
Twelve
Kennedy
“Tell me this is some sick joke, Kennedy.”
I barely hear Grayson’s ragged and rough voice through the thundering in my ears. My pulse is caught in my throat, and I press my hand to my heart, rubbing the stinging pain that is increasing with every breath I take.
“How did you get that?” I stare at the photo in his hand. I know the exact day I wore that dress. The exact day I stood on the burned-out lawn. The exact moment I stepped out of my car, pressed my butt to the passenger side door, and stared at his childhood home.
No one saw me.
I was certain of it.
Apparently, I was also dead wrong.
“That’s what you have to say?”
I snap my eyes to his and flinch.
My body chills despite being wrapped in an overly plush robe that’s too large for me.
I retreat until my back is against the hallway wall. Grayson prowls forward. I can feel his fury rolling off him. I see it in the tightness around his eyes, the flex of every one of his muscles.
He looks as if he’s barely restraining himself from wrapping his fingers around my body and beating the truth out of me.
The thought makes me gasp and I throw my hands up. “I was going to tell you,” I stammer and watch his features harden further.
“Yeah? When? When our kid was grown-up?” He leans in and shouts, “You’ve had six fucking years! And this is how I find out? From a fucking picture my drunken asshole of a father drops off at my hotel room?”
His voice is raw. His chest heaves as he forces out the disgust from his words. The photo lands at my feet on the floor as he tosses it and then pushes his hands forcefully through his hair and pulls.
“Fuck!” he roars at the ceiling. The anguished scream bounces off the walls and vibrates in my ears, making goose bumps flare all over my skin.
Tears instantly burn my eyes and I sniff. My body is shaking—not from fear of him actually hurting me. I know he won’t. No, my shaking is purely due to the overwhelming shame and regret that floods my veins as I see how tortured he is by this.
The day Grayson Legend walked away from me was the day I truly began believing that he didn’t care—that he hadn’t ever really cared about me, that he had just kept me around because I was the only person who, for years, said anything nice about him or to him. The day he looked at me and said what we’d done was a mistake, that I’d ruined our friendship for throwing myself at him, was the day I knew in my gut that Grayson didn’t care about a single person besides himself.
That he would never care about our baby.
That doesn’t make what I did right, either. I know it. I’ve known it every day since I stared at the agency’s adoption counselor when she asked me “Who is the father?”
I had lied—pressed my teeth together and whispered, “I don’t know.”
I had looked into it. There was no way to create an adoption plan without both parents’ consent unless the father was unknown or untraceable. Since I had already spent three months looking for him, wanting to tell him, I didn’t see the point in making the process take longer.
Her eyes had quickly showed her pity. To Mary, I was just a girl showing up at twenty years old and announcing I was pregnant, wanting to place the baby in an adoptive home, and had no clue who I had slept with.
I’m pulled out of the moment by Grayson’s harsh breathing. When I open my eyes, I see him hunched over, hands on his knees. His chest and back pull in fierce, loud breaths as he tries to calm down.
I take a step toward him. “Grayson.”
His head snaps up and he pins me in place with a glare. “Don’t touch me.”
My hand falls to my side as tears rush down my cheeks.
“Grayson.” A cautious, deep voice comes from the hallway behind us.
His head drops forward again along with his shoulders. I’ve never seen him so angry and so defeated at the same time when he turns his head. “Yeah?”
“How about you two take five minutes,” Landon suggests, his hands loose at his sides, but his gaze assessing and wary. All his muscles are pulled tight with tension. “Let the girl get dressed and then you can talk rationally.”