“Um,” she said as she swallowed. “My name is Bethany Rosen. I’m a social worker from children’s services. This is—”
A stroller? Oh, hell no. He no longer wanted any part of this woman. Behind him, his siblings gasped and murmured amongst themselves.
“Whoa,” he said, as he raised his hands and took a step back like the stroller was full of buzzing bees instead of someone’s child. Same difference, really. “Maybe someone else should help you out here, Miss Rosen. I’m allergic to anything baby. Jag, you wanna tap in?”
He turned toward his uber-responsible and serious big brother. Jagger rose from the table, unsmiling.
“JP,” he said in a disapproving tone. “I think she’s trying to tell you something important.”
Ugh, older brothers were the worst. He should know. He had four. Having a shit father figure meant the older brothers felt the need to step in and fill that role. Even now that he was in his fucking thirties.
Don’t you want a real job, JP?
Aren’t you tired of being with a different woman every night, JP?
Why can’t you ever act like an adult, JP?
Of course, he knew he was a fucking adult. That didn’t mean he had to settle for some boring-ass nine-to-five desk job, get a pinched look to his face, and become a lemming.
“Sorry,” he said to the woman who was once again abusing her poor lip. She seemed more nervous than a virgin on her wedding night. What the hell was she so worked up about? “So, what’s going on?”
She cleared her throat. “As I said, I work with social services. We’ve been trying to contact you.”
“Yeah, sorry. Don’t answer numbers I don’t recognize.” Did anyone anymore? He wasn’t big on checking voicemail either, but wasn’t that what text messages were invented for?
“Right, well, this is your daughter. Her name is Kayla.” She spoke fast as though afraid she’d never get it out otherwise.
“Oh, my God,” Mickie whispered from the table. Keith swore under his breath.
Jesus, this bunch was a fucking trip. “Okay, guys, very funny.” He turned toward his siblings. This had to be payback for putting salt in the sugar bowl last weekend. His sister, Ronnie, had been pissed in a way only an uncaffeinated, non-morning person could be.
He’d learned his lesson quickly. Don’t mess with a woman’s ability to caffeinate properly. His shoulder still smarted from where she’d punched him. They didn’t need to put on this elaborate little ruse, but he appreciated the revenge effort.
“You got me.” He rolled his eyes. “Who is this? Mickie, a friend of yours? Someone you met at work, Jag?”
No one spoke. Wide-eyed, Mickie shook her head. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
As he stared at what appeared to be genuine shock on his siblings’ faces, his stomach twisted. None of them, except Mickie, could act for shit. If this was a joke, Jagger would have been snorting behind his hand like he always did. The guy spoiled every damn prank or surprise he participated in.
“This is not a joke, sir,” the woman said.
He faced her with a brick in his stomach.
“She’s your daughter. Her mother, Mary Anne, met you at a concert about a year and a half ago. I’m aware you didn’t have a relationship, but Mary Anne was very explicit about wanting you to have full custody of Kayla when she passed.”
He heard the words as though he stood at the end of a very long tunnel. They swirled in his head, not taking root. Except for one part. “Passed?” he asked with a thick throat. “What?”
Miss Rosen cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m sorry to tell you, Mary Anne died recently.” She paused, then reached out and squeezed his arm. “There’s a letter for you in the diaper bag. Along with quite a bit of legal paperwork to review.”
Shaking his head, he took a step back. This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. For Christ’s sake, he never fucked without a condom. Never. Not one single slip up. For this very damn reason.
No.
He wasn’t ready.
He didn’t want this.
He couldn’t accept it.
His skin prickled as though wearing a wool sweater with nothing underneath. An invisible hand wrapped around his throat, constricting his airway. He grew ice cold and started to sweat in some strange paradox.
“This can’t be right. I can’t…I’ve never even held…” He lifted his hands and shook his head as words failed him.
Mickie stood from the table. “We’ll help you, JP. We’re all here to help you with your daughter.”
A loud clanging made him jump so hard, his teeth clacked.
“Holy shit!” Everyone turned to find Ronnie standing near the table. She’d dropped the platter with the strawberry shortcake on the floor. “JP has a kid?” she asked in the most incredulous tone he’d heard from her.
Damn, he’d been looking forward to dessert.
“No! No, I don’t.” He took a few more steps back as the woman frowned, and panic entered her gaze. “I don’t want it. It can’t be mine. You’re lying.”