Bad Boy Rich

This woman—an accessory to my over-indulging lifestyle—is the wake-up call I desperately needed. A snippet of my life, what it had become and who I had become. The more she breathed in my space, the more I am revolted by the person that I allowed myself to be. This is exactly what Milana envisioned. Why would she want me? A man that depended on pills, drugs, and anything that would erase the fucked-up life I built for myself.

I don’t know what came over me, this protective beast that wanted to unleash on Felicity. With a deliberate slow breath, my teeth clench upon saying, “Leave.”

Chuckling at what she thinks is a joke, “You want me to leave?”

“GET. THE. FUCK. OUT,” I bellow, almost lashing out. “Take your fucking dirty ass out of my house…NOW.”

Crossing her arms to cover her fake tits, she huffs at my request.

“You wouldn’t dare do this.”

This time, I laugh, foolishly. “Try me. Now get the fuck out.”

I remove my attention from her and back onto the baby. She stirs, again—no doubt from our raised voices. I didn’t have the nerve to remove her from the carrier but knew that I would need to, eventually.

Felicity shouts profanities into the room, dressed and with a bag in hand. I ignore her spiteful comments, welcoming the silence after she slams the door.

Then—the panic sets in.

I’m alone…with a baby that needed attention. As if she could read my thoughts, she begins to wail, only adding to my anxiety about having to lift her. The panic grips my throat, and with a mad rush, I run upstairs to grab my cell and call Em.

I’m talking, fast and incoherent. Trying to explain it all but not believing the words spilling out of my mouth.

“Slow down, you have what there?”

I take deep breaths, trying to calm the nervous energy and explain it again, slower.

“Wesley, I can’t believe it.” She sighs, loudly.

“Just get here, please, the kid is crying, I don’t know what to do.”

“Pick the baby up, watch its head and I’ll be there soon.”

She hangs up. What does she mean watch its head? Was it going to fall off? Fuck, this is stressing me out. I take more deep breaths, pushing aside the sickness settling in my stomach. I had seen this in movies, and I recall holding a baby once, maybe, years ago.

It takes me five minutes to get the goddamn seat belt off. After it finally unclasps, I try to figure out how to get my large hands under the baby and pull her out without her head falling off. Fuck—why is this so hard?

Sliding one hand under her head, and the other under her bottom, I pull her out, gently and slowly, holding her in the air because I didn’t know how to bring her close to me without moving one hand. What if I fucking dropped her? Shit, don’t fucking drop her.

After many failed attempts, and my poor judgment almost dropping her—I ease her into my chest which seems to calm her down until Em arrives.

“Did you know about this?” I question her, my voice low shielding the baby from the noise.

Emerson remains silent, sitting beside me on the sofa. I could tell she rushed over here; hair barely brushed, tied up and out of her face. She’s wearing baggy sweats, almost too baggy that I suspected they didn’t belong to her.

“You fucking knew and you didn’t tell me?”

She rolls her eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh at the same time.

“I didn’t know, okay. But I suspected something was wrong. It was unlike her to have zero contact. Her brother never breathed a word. Honestly, I thought she just went back to Liam and maybe they got hitched.”

It hadn’t crossed my mind. He hadn’t crossed my mind.

“What if it’s his?” I mumble, staring at the baby’s face.

She had no features to indicate she was mine. There was an Asian look about her, and that would be from Milana’s heritage.

“Wait…the timing is off,” Em says, counting numbers out loud that make no sense to me. “I don’t think Flynn would have brought her here if he didn’t believe you were her father.”