Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,97

his mind, blanking again.

It wasn’t like paternity suits were anything new in the NFL. He’d just never imagined it happening to him.

He said, “So I guess you’re having the baby.” Which was, yes, where he needed to go. In the moment. His heart had sunk all the way down to his stomach, like he was hollowed out, but that was where they were.

A long pause, and she looked down at her chocolate milk and said, “At first, I thought, no way. Not again. I did a lot of … thinking.”

“Single mom,” he said. “Again.”

She looked straight at him. No hesitation in her now. “It’s hard,” she said. “Even with my mom and my grandpa, it was hard, and my grandpa’s old and my mom’s not here anymore. And Dyma going to college, and the job with Blake ending.”

“Owen said you were working for some company,” he said. “Salad dressing.”

“Filling in for somebody on maternity leave, because Dyma’s in high school until June, so I’ve got this … awkward gap. After that, I think I’m going to have to ask Blake for something here. In his company. In Portland. I realize that’s too close for you, but I think I’m going to have to do it anyway. I’d love to believe I could stick it out in Wild Horse, but the money doesn’t work. Also …”

“You don’t want to,” he said.

“No. I don’t. I always thought, you know …” A long, long pause.

“Yeah?”

She took another drink of chocolate milk and didn’t look at him. “That I’d be married this time. That it’d be different. You don’t want to know all this, though. I’d say I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m keeping it, but I obviously am, or I’d have had the abortion already. It’s getting late for that now, and it definitely feels too late. I’m not fifteen anymore. I know there’s no magic that makes things not true. I didn’t know I was pregnant for a while, because I had spotting, and the pill makes your periods lighter anyway. I was tired, but I thought maybe I was just depressed about my life. Something you also didn’t need to know, but there you go, I just told you anyway. I found out for sure a few weeks ago. And I … I’m about to turn thirty-five. Whatever I thought would happen in my life, this is what actually did. I don’t want to do this alone again, the timing’s horrible, my life is all wrong for it, but this is probably my last chance. And I keep thinking …” Another deep breath. “Dyma. How that was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but then it was Dyma. It was too hard, and I did so many things wrong, but there she is, and she’s great.”

He tried to think of something to say, something to feel besides the ceiling falling on his head, and couldn’t.

She said, “I’m not trying to trap you. Whatever you think.”

“I get that,” he said. “Hence the DNA test. If it’s mine …” He waited a minute, felt the pressure building in his chest, and didn’t sense any brilliant words coming to him. “I’ll do my best to do the right thing,” he finally said. It came out a little robotically. Not exactly sincere.

His phone buzzed again in his pocket. He said, “Sorry. Hang on,” and pulled it out.

Annabelle.

Four missed calls.

He told Jennifer, “I need to take this. It’s my sister. Hang on. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll … we’ll figure something out. I’ve got this.”

“No,” she said. “This time, I’ve got this. But I think I’m going to need your help. Financially. If it’s yours.”

He heard her, thought, Financially would be the easy part, but he couldn’t think about it any more right now. He needed a timeout, which was why he was walking toward the kitchen again and hitting the redial button.

Annabelle picked up on the first ring. “Harlan?” Her voice sounded breathless.

He had prickles on his arms, a lightness in his head. “What?”

“Harlan.” She was crying, all of a sudden. Great gasping breaths.

“Annabelle,” he said. “Tell me.”

This time, he was calling the cops. He didn’t care if they didn’t want to do anything. He’d make them do something.

“The police came,” she said. “A … a while ago. I’ve been trying and trying to call you. They took Dad. They read him his rights and everything.”

Not bad news, then. “For what?” he asked. Drunk driving, he was guessing. Maybe something else, some kind