It’s fine. Forget it. Send me my half a million – since I helped you get in contact with that chick you thought you knew. With that cash, I’ll get myself a new nose, I’ll fill in my chin, and I’ll buy a new name. Problem solved.
Me: I’ll give you a new name for free. I’ll pay for the whole wedding, no questions asked. You just have to be at the chapel on time.
Soph snorts. God knows how she does the things she does, but she has my chat screen enlarged on her laptop, so now everyone in my family can see the bit about the forest, the octagon… the quasi proposal. “Smooth, kid. But I feel like she’s gonna say no.”
Cam: No!
Instead of replying via text, I swallow my nerves and dial. Fuck it. At this point, I don’t have a hell of a lot to lose, so I toss all my cards down and lean against the counter while the call rings.
And rings.
And rings.
“Pick it up,” Soph murmurs. “Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up.”
Finally, right when I think the call will cut out, and her answering machine will greet me, the line clicks, and every single person in my family freezes. My call isn’t even on speaker, but they see me, they feel my nerves in the air.
“Cam?” I whisper. “Tell me it’s you.”
“He’s innocent,” she whimpers. Her sweet voice, the rasp in her words, the desperation that follows, it all coils in my belly and threatens to strangle me. “He’s not a murderer, Jamie. But until we can prove it, we have no choice but to stay hidden. Your stunt tonight put us both at risk.”
“You sound older.” I walk as far as the cord will allow me. “You sound good. Strong.”
“I’m four years older. And I’m angry. Make the statement. I’m begging you to undo what you did.”
“That first time we made love,” I murmur. I turn my back to my family and try for even a semblance of privacy. “That time at the gym—”
“I don’t have the strength to skip down memory lane with you,” she whispers. “I’m hurting, okay? I’ve been hurting, but you’re cruelly picking at a scab and won’t let me heal.”
“Our first time was without protection,” I push on and ignore my mom’s shocked gasp. “We were young, we were dumb, we were impulsive, and we were in love. So we made grown-up choices.”
“Jamie! Just stop it already.”
“Did you take my baby?”
“Oh god.” Mom pushes away from our group and walks laps into the tile floor. “Oh god. Oh god.”
“Cam?” I turn away and close my eyes. “Did you pee on a stick and get a positive? Did you run away and never tell me?”
“That’s why you wanted to contact me?” she spits out. “You’re worried I took your baby and kept a secret from you? Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Yes, I’m–”
“Here I was, thinking you were in love with me. Unable to get over me. Yearning for me, mourning my loss. But noooo,” she drags the word out. “God forbid there be a Kincaid baby out in the wild without you standing over it and raising it to be a famous brat, just like you.”
“Did you take my fucking baby?”
“Add in the fact that my brother can fight. He’s damn good at it too. So then you have double the fighter potential there. Name our baby James Kincaid the third, cash in on some endorsement deals, shove him into the octagon when he’s four. Which, I guess would be this year, right? Just in time for baby classes and lucrative commercials.”
“We had a son?” I whisper past the grief in my throat. “Are you saying we had a son, Cam?”
“Oh god!” my mom cries. “Oh no.”
“Only you would be arrogant enough to assume this. And then to assume you have some kind of right to blast us all over the television to get your own way.”
“Did we have a fucking son?” I roar. “Answer me, Quinn!”
“No!” she screams right back. “We did not have a child. I have never in my life had a positive pee test. I did not hide an heir from you, nor would I, you self-serving, arrogant douchebag. I’ve been sitting here in my apartment for four fucking years trying my damned best to stop loving a boy that stole my heart, but you’re over there worried that I lied about a child.”
She pauses for a moment, as though to catch her