Bad Boy Rich

“Can’t I get that shit tested? I mean, fuck—what do I do now?”

“You be a daddy. Man the fuck up. We can start by ridding this place of the shit you’ve been snorting all night.”

Em disappears, and with the baby still quiet in my hands, I follow closely. Inside my room, Em looks around, recoiling with a disgusted expression, ripping my sheets off the bed and grabbing the small plastic bag that sat on my nightstand, flushing it down the toilet.

“Emerson, fuck!”

“Don’t even try to justify it.” She points her finger at me, her face turning red as her eyes widen with anger. “You are it, you are her dad. Until Milana is found, you are all she has. You need to get help, you understand me? For good. Or you’ll fuck her up too and she doesn’t deserve this.”

Speechless, and with my mouth slightly open, Em’s words begin to resonate. I can’t fuck up this kid’s life. I went through hell growing up and look how I turned out. Everyone’s Bad Boy. The guy that just can’t get his shit together and loses everyone he loves.

I needed help.

I knew this much.

“Stay, please,” I beg, desperately. “Just show me what I need to do with her.”

She removes the baby from my arms; the sudden loss of contact satisfying yet odd at the same time. Watching her smile and coo at the baby, like a natural-born mother, made me think about us. What we once had, what we could have been.

And although the thought brought me happiness, it didn’t erase what my heart completely craved.

I just needed to find her.

“I’ll show you how to feed her, change her, and bathe her. But then, it’s all you. You understand?”

I nod my head, grateful that Em still cared enough to help me during my lowest time. And hopefully, care enough to help me find the woman I love.

Flynn never returned liked he promised.

Time was lost on me. Minutes dragging on while I sat here in my own personal hell.

My thoughts became a broken record. Replaying the last eight, nine—or whatever the fuck it was—months in my head, trying to pinpoint exactly how I got here.

In the dead-silent room, I can hear her breathing.

Soft, almost like a flutter—and eerily harmonious.

It’s dark, night has fallen, and the silence disappears as my cell vibrates against the glass coffee table. It’s Flynn.

“I can’t get out of here.” The noise is loud; people and music blaring through the speaker making it difficult to understand him. “Hold on, let me move somewhere quieter.”

Impatiently, I wait for him to talk, sitting on the sofa with the baby beside me. We had done this for most of the day, sitting, sleeping—drinking the formula that Em helped me prepare, three dumps, and repeat.

Oh, and one violent burp that resulted in puke all over my shirt.

I stunk—and was utterly exhausted. I hadn’t had a single bite to eat. Each time I left the room, it’s almost like she sensed it, crying loudly until I cradled and rocked her back to sleep. I managed to down several bottles of water, dehydrated and barely managing to stay still. The surge of adrenalin followed by withdrawals, made it difficult to think straight.

“Okay, I’m back. Look, I’m sorry, they want me here for the rest of the night.”

“Just tell me where she is,” I demand, curling my fist into a ball to curb my anger towards him. “I need to find her.”

“Wes, I seriously don’t know. In the letter, she just told me she couldn’t raise the baby. She thought the baby needed love and she couldn’t give it. She apologized and said she needed to be on her own for a while.”

With a bated breath, I release, “She wouldn’t, you know, do anything, would she?”

I had been there. Standing on the ledge ready to end my life. I could almost see the fucker; his dark cloak draping over his face, luring me into his sweet hell.

The first night with Milana, when I took her to the cemetery, I wanted her to see the dark abyss I had found myself trapped in. She had to fucking save me from myself. So I knew, first hand, how easily we fall into a dark place.