A Lie for a Lie (All In) - Helena Hunting Page 0,60

six weeks with Lainey, screwing on every available surface. We’d used protection. Well, except that once. And it was only for a stroke—one delicious, amazingly memorable stroke. But she got her period the next day, so everything was fine. And it lasted all of three days, so it didn’t slow us down much, if at all. I’m so shocked, and frankly really freaked out, that the first words out of my mouth are “You’re fucking with me, right?”

A little kid runs by, followed by his mother, who shoots me a dirty look. I mutter, “Sorry,” and turn back to Lainey, lowering my voice. “Is this your idea of a joke? If that Walter guy is actually your boyfriend—or, worse, your damn husband—then the last place you should be is with me.” She’s not wearing a ring, and if that baby is four months old, then she—what, moved right the hell on the day I left?

Lainey looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Kody is yours.”

“How is that even possible? We used condoms every single damn time.” I have to fight to keep my voice down.

“Yes.” She nods in agreement. “Except—”

I railroad right over her. “So how the fuck can it be mine, unless you fished a used condom out of a wastebasket and turkey basted yourself?”

She raises a hand right in my face. “Okay, that is just . . . absolutely disgusting and appalling. It’s also disturbing that you could come up with something so ludicrous without even having to think about it.”

She has a point. Also, it’s something I could see Sissy doing, because she was a certifiable lunatic. And now the woman I thought might be my soul mate is clearly one as well. I should take a vow of celibacy. “What other explanation do you have? Unless I magically inseminated you from across the country,” I snap.

Lainey’s lips thin into a line, and she pins me with a look that makes me feel about two feet tall—which is pretty impressive, considering my mother is the only person who has the power to do that.

“Because we used protection every time except the last time.”

I shake my head. “That’s not—” I filter through the foggy memories from that morning. The phone call that came at 3:00 a.m., my brother’s panic, setting up my flight to LA, and throwing all my stuff in my duffel and starting the truck.

Only when I was ready to leave did I go back upstairs and do the thing I desperately didn’t want to: say goodbye to Lainey. I remember how frantic we were when we realized we’d reached the end sooner than we’d meant to, how intense the sex had been, how it ended far too soon . . . because I hadn’t even thought about a condom.

“But it was only that one time.” I scrub a hand over my face.

“That’s really all it takes. I was fertile, and you’re apparently virile.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, but her voice shakes with anger. “I tried to contact you as soon as I realized. I called every alpaca farm in New York but couldn’t track you down. I even called the cabin, but of course no one ever answered. I had no other way to get in touch with you. Well, I guess if I’d bothered watching anything other than Netflix and documentaries, I might have figured it out.” Lainey grips her phone tightly in her hands, lips pursed as if she’s waiting for another accusation.

If I hadn’t been in such a rush that morning, I would have given her my cell number. Hell, I would’ve given her the whole truth if I’d had the chance. I look at her, really look at her. She’s scared and sad and angry and guarded. My stomach twists and drops. “I have a son?”

She nods, and her chin trembles as she asks, “Would you like to see a picture of him?”

“Yeah. Yes. Please.”

With shaking hands, she punches a code into her phone again. It’s old—a smartphone, but it’s been around for a while. She scrolls through some pictures until she finds one she likes and holds it out so I can see. “Go ahead, take it.” She wraps my hands around the device and slides a little closer, her cheek brushing my arm. “He’s so beautiful.”

I stare at the two-dimensional little face in the screen, looking for . . . I don’t know. Something that reminds me of myself? He’s laughing at the camera, the end of Lainey’s