I walk away from the window because seeing her, seeing that hand raised for me is too much to handle.
Pacing doesn’t help.
Questioning my next steps doesn’t bring any answers.
I’ve seen a lot of things, been through more before I graduated high school than most kids will experience in a lifetime. When my mother died, I felt guilty for the possibility of a different life. Lawson found his in Delilah and I was able to have everything I never knew I could ask for when I moved to the East Coast with my Aunt Kathy and Uncle Pete. I had a home, a loving family, food and shelter, all things I needed but never fully had as a small child.
But before I lived with them, I saw death and destruction. I witnessed what many boys without a father did, saw their choices, the way their hands were forced. I stood to the side while crimes were committed, while young boys hurt others because they weren’t taught that life was valuable.
By the time I left New Mexico, after only spending a short time here with Lawson’s family, I knew I wanted to be a cop. I wanted to make a difference. I needed to be a light in the darkness for those that couldn’t see a way out. I chose the New Mexico State Police because it brought me closer to my brother, the man who despite his own upbringing became a man who garnered respect, a man who could hold his head proud and know that he makes a difference in the world.
And less than a year on the job brings me to now, a murderer heading to prison.
I guess getting out of the old neighborhood, graduating with good grades from a nice school on the East Coast means nothing. The degree I earned through fast tracking before the police academy means nothing. I’ll never work as a cop. I’ll never be able to put my education to use. I’ll never be able to look back and know I’ve helped even a single person do better in life. I didn’t have time to make a difference. I acted without thought and ended up right where I was always meant to be. There is no escape, no reprieve from my past.
I jolt with the knock on my door, but it’s not surprising that Lawson isn’t going to let me sit up here and wallow in my choices. He’s the good brother, the one actually capable of helping. But when I tug the bedroom door open to tell him I’m a lost cause, it’s not him.
Izzy blinks up at me, her hazel eyes greener today than amber colored.
“I umm…”
My heart pounds in my chest. The need to pull her against me, to once again make sure she’s real is a struggle.
Keeping my gaze on her face is impossible, and I eventually look at her swollen stomach.
“I’m not really in the mood for company.”
She frowns, but doesn’t get the hint to turn around and leave.
Her fingers caress her belly, and mine itch to do the same. It only serves to make me even angrier, even more confused and simultaneously, I take a step back and bite my tongue to keep from spewing all the hateful words I feel like I’m deserved.
“The baby is yours,” she says, stepping inside my room and closing the door.
There goes the hopes I had last night that this was another man’s situation to deal with.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“No.” She blinks as if she’s trying to keep tears at bay. “I never expected to see you again.”
“That’s pretty fucked up, don’t you think?” I move further away, sitting down roughly on the edge of the bed when my legs hit the mattress.
I anticipated her answer, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with at the moment.
“The same night we met, I let you make lo… we fucked on the hood of my car.”
I cringe at her choice of words. I knew then she deserved better than what I did, and it’s not easier to stomach it now.
“I didn’t figure you’d be interested in having a baby with a woman charmed so easily.”
Is she calling herself a whore? I know what she gave me that night, and not once since have I thought about her in a negative way. I can’t tell her any of that, though. I don’t know where we stand, but I know what my future looks like. Offering any type of hope—not that she’s interested in what I can or can’t offer—would be pointless. She could be here to tell me she doesn’t want me around, that raising our baby with a felon dad involved isn’t going to happen. Can I really blame her if that’s the case?
“I never wanted to be a father.” The words are true. I grew up disappointed, and I didn’t want the same for my own children.
“You don’t have to be one now.” Her tone is flat, unemotional, and although we’re talking about serious, life-altering things, I don’t get the impression that she’s saying it to induce guilt.
“Does your dad know?”
I got out of the clubhouse so fast last night that I didn’t speak to another person but Lawson, but my behavior when I saw her doesn’t leave much room for question.
“He does,” she confirms.
“So you’re forcing my hand?”
“No one is telling you to step up. If you don’t want to be a dad, then don’t.”
“That’s not—”
“I’d rather you stay away than sticking around just to save face. Your son deserves better than that.”
There are no tears on her face when she turns around and leaves. There was no anger or malice in her voice—plain, simple truth, resignation is all that registers. She doesn’t even slam the front door when she leaves.
I think that hits me harder than I could’ve ever imagined. She literally doesn’t care if I’m around or not.
I drop my head into my hands, my shoulders burdened under the weight of the decisions I have to make.
***
“I grabbed strawberry jam at the store,” Lawson says as he places a couple of loaded down reusable grocery bags on the center island. “Delilah only eats grape.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, refusing to tell him that I haven’t been able to stomach peanut butter and jelly sandwiches since we left Texas years ago after our mom died.
Choices were slim as far as food was concerned growing up, and when I was able to make my own selections, I left many of the things we ate back then in the dust. If I never set my eyes on a pack of ramen noodles again in my life, it would be too soon.
“We’re going to grill out tonight, but anything in the fridge or pantry is up for grabs.”
“I just came to get some water.”
“You need to eat.”
My jaw flexes, the urge to tell him to get off my ass strong, but I know he’d act this way even if he hadn’t just picked me up outside of the jail with my meager belongings in a clear trash bag.
“Like steaks and burgers?” I ask, offering him an olive branch.
I don’t have to make his life miserable or insult his generosity just because I’m an asshole going through a ton of shit.
“Jinx would call them best burgers. Kincaid will do the steaks. Delilah is already across the street helping to get things ready.” He has his back to me as he’s putting away groceries. “You’re coming, right?”
I don’t miss the insistence in his voice. I’m not supposed to be left alone, and although the judge didn’t have an issue with me staying at Lawson’s house while he’s at work, it’s Saturday and the shop is closed.