Tagged & Ashed(49)

“Why?” I prompt.

“You know why, Tag. Don’t act like being a father was on your to-do list,” she whimpers, her eyes still not meeting mine.

“Not on my to-do list?” I almost whisper in disbelief as I cradle my son to my chest. “Ash, do you think that little of me?”

Her eyes finally look up, the tears dripping in streaks as she shakes her head.

“No, I think that much of you. You would have stopped everything. You would have given me money, possibly even tried to be with me for the sake of the child you helped create. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to try to push you away because I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you feel guilty for something you didn’t mean to do. I’m in… I’m sorry, but I couldn’t take it.”

“You didn’t have that right,” I scold, my own tears threatening to drip. “I missed the entire pregnancy. I missed the sonograms, the doctor visits, the damn birth of my son. I missed the first three weeks of his life, and I would have missed all of it if it had been up to you. How could you do that to me?”

She looks away, and then she stares at her hands as she almost whispers, “Either you hated me because you knew, or you hated me because you didn’t. I thought I was helping you. I’m sorry.”

I can’t even look at her right now. I can’t believe she could do this to me.

“When you find this guy, tell me he’s going to jail for a while,” I growl to the forgotten detective.

“We should be able to get him for attempted murder, thanks to the gunshot he delivered against Ms. Branderwood. We’ll be assigning a protective unit to you. Where will your son be staying?”

My son.

“We’ll go to Melanie's,” Ash says while fighting off more tears.

“Not a chance,” I snap. “I think you’ve kept him from me long enough. You can go if you want, but he’s staying here.”

Her thick tears fall harder as she looks up at me with those stormy eyes stinging with pain.

“I can’t leave my son, Tag.”

“Then you know how I feel. You can keep your room. He’s not going anywhere. In fact, there’s a lot of shit that will change. Starting with where he sleeps. You had four weeks, I get four weeks. I’ll get his crib tonight.”

The detective stands, and his lips tighten as he makes his way past the sobbing girl and toward me.

“Can we talk outside, Mr. Masters?”

I nod, my jaw clenching as I stare at the girl I once thought had betrayed me in a completely different way.

I follow him out the door while still holding Trip, and he sighs as he turns to face me.

“I realize this is a really big bomb to have dropped on you. While I don’t agree with what Ms. Branderwood did, I understand what she thought she was doing. It’s not my place to offer advice, but she’s going through hell right now. She’s locked up, her child is in danger, and she’s scared out of her mind. If you take out all of your anger on her, she’s just going to have one more thing to worry about.”

“If she didn’t want me angry, she should have told me he was my son the day she found out she was pregnant,” I almost hiss.

His lips tighten again, and then he turns to walk toward his car.

“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Masters.”

“I’ll be here.”

With my son. My son.



***

Ashiara



I’ve never spent a night away from Trip, and even though I’m just a little bit away, it’s torture. I’ve spent the entire night crying and listening to the monitor that was once in Tag’s room.

Hearing his soothing voice calming our crying child stabs me, especially since I know he truly does hate me. This entire thing is fucked up. He can’t force me to let him keep Trip in his room. He can’t force me to stay here either. I can go to Melanie's, and I can live there without him having any rights. It’ll take him forever to even get the paternity test he would need to prove Trip’s his child.

So why am I staying?

Because I owe him that much.

Breathing in heavily, I go to sit in the kitchen and stare out the window at the world that has forsaken me. This morning, I thought of all the ways we could be together. Tonight, I’m thinking of all the reasons we never will me.

A flash of light draws my attention, and I watch the security guards rush over to take something to the ground.

Shit. It’s a person.

“Tag,” I squeal, and he rushes out of the room with Trip cradled to his chest.

“What?” he angrily rattles out, and then his eyes fall on the crazy scene going on in the front yard. “Shit. Call the detective, and here, hold Trip.”