“What the fuck?”
“Luc, don’t!”
She grabs my arm, sobbing, but I don’t feel it. There’s nothing but wave after wave of shock destroying every other feeling. I clutch the bars of the crib and I look down.
A baby. She had a baby.
The baby can’t be more than a few months. A paralyzing feeling moves up my legs, freezing me into place. There’s no way—no way. I would have known. She would have told me. Wouldn’t she?
My pulse races so fast that I feel dizzy with the rush of blood.
It’s a boy. He wears a light-blue shirt. It’s like looking at myself. The baby—he has my eyes.
My eyes.
The world swims and I tighten my grip on the edge of the crib.
I have a baby. I’m a father.
I want to laugh at that phrase running through my head. The old me had no interest in children—none whatsoever. But this baby is mine, I can tell just by looking at him. Fuck—the same eyes.
I don’t even know his name.
A swell of grief rises inside me and I whirl around at Claire, who flinches at the fury on my face.
“You were going to hide my child from me?” My voice explodes like a bomb, and she recoils.
“Luc—I couldn’t tell you!”
I want to hurt her. For the first time in my life, I’d like to give her a good slap across the face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I had to stay away—I had to do what was best for us!”
“Jesus Christ! You could have sent me letters—told me I had a fucking son.”
“Then Johnny would’ve known exactly how to get to me.”
“No, he wouldn’t have! You could have put no return address and it would have been fine!”
I want to throw her against the wall.
“What’s his name? What’s my baby’s fucking name?”
The first glint of remorse appears in her eyes. “Étienne.”
My father’s name.
The father who won’t even speak to me anymore.
It hits me hard and I feel my chest caving in. Étienne. I turn back toward the crib. He lies there, a perfect, healthy boy. I can’t believe this is real. Suddenly his face screws up and he cries.
The knife in my chest digs in deep and I reach down for my son, cradling that huge head as I lift him. Claire watches anxiously as I hold my son in my arms. His little fists reach out for my jacket. He’s so beautiful. The moment I look into his eyes—it’s instant love. Then my glaze slides to her, and I harden with rage.
“Pack your shit. You’re coming with me.”
* * *
I have a son.
No matter how many times I repeat it in my head, it doesn’t feel real.
I hold him to my chest, standing in the middle of my living room like I have for the last fifteen minutes. I stare into his face as a terrifying feeling consumes me. I’m responsible for this tiny human’s life. I’ve never had to deal with something like this. I don’t know how to deal.
Oh, fuck.
The more I look at him, the more I recognize some of my features. He has a slight cleft in his chin, just like me. His eyes are the same shape, but the color is still light.
Claire shifts from foot to foot, watching us anxiously. We spent the car ride in almost total silence. I wanted to scream at her and call her a selfish bitch, but I didn’t want to wake up the baby. I don’t even bother tying her up. She’s not going anywhere with our son in my arms.
She stretches out her pale arms. “Luc, give him to me.”
“You’ve had him for months. I’ve had him for a few minutes.”
That shuts her up.
Joy ramps up in my chest when I look at the tiny face, and then crushing grief. I want to call my parents and tell them that they have a grandkid.
They didn’t visit me in prison, either.
“Luc, he’s a newborn. He needs to sleep.”
I walk into the room we set up as a nursery in my house—it’s a spare office that I rarely use. Her footsteps follow me close behind, and I gently lower him in the crib. His petal-like eyes close.
Then I turn on her.
Her back hits the wall, but she bites her lip. “I’m not going to apologize.”
I lash out, grabbing her upper arm, and then I drag her out of the room. I won’t have us screaming in front of our son. “You’re a bitch. You’re a cruel bitch.”
Livid, she shoves my chest. “I did what I had to do for my baby! You were the one who got us into that mess with the casino. I saw a way out, and I took it! I don’t regret it!”
“Oh—it’s my fault, is it?”
“Yeah, it is!”
Her hair flies around her face as she screams at me, and I can’t help but notice how a strand falls in her cleavage. I take her shoulders, and her lip trembles.