Chapter 1
Orlando
The loud pounding on the shop’s door downstairs woke Orlando and had him sitting up in his bed. He waited for a moment because he thought maybe he’d been dreaming. The sun was just beginning to rise, so it was still fairly dark out. It was nowhere near time to open up the shop. That couldn’t be a customer knocking. When he didn’t hear anything else for too long, he lay back down with a groan.
Once awake, there was no way he’d be falling asleep again, damn it. Still, he closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep in just a little longer. It wasn’t until a few moments later as he lay there in vain, trying to catch some more Z’s, that he heard it. A tiny whimper. He opened one eye and listened intently for a few moments longer. Nothing.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, bringing his pillow over his face.
It was the only thing he hated about his place. His apartment sat directly above the auto shop he and his two best friends owned. While it had everything he needed and was in close proximity to several bars he frequented, it was in the middle of a commercial district, not in a residential area. So, when it wasn’t delivery trucks or street-repair crews making noises early in the morning, it was people from store-top apartments like his own nearby, walking their dogs.
He heard the whimpering again of what he assumed was someone’s annoying little dog tied up while they went into the coffee shop across the street or something. With a grunt, Orlando swung his legs off the side of his bed and sat there for a moment, yawning. He was seriously going to have to consider what his friends had begun to suggest: that he invest in a real home, especially now that business was taking off. He’d need the write-off, and bringing women back here was beginning to feel like he was sneaking them into his place of work. Technically, it was his place of work, but he was a grown-ass man who was part owner of the shop, not some horny kid using the upstairs living area at his job to get laid.
The whimpering started up again, only this time it sounded different—closer. He almost ignored it as he got up on his way to take a leak when something clinked loudly at his window, making him flinch. “What the . . .?”
He turned to the window, walking toward it. Remembering the pigeons that sometimes made themselves at home just outside his window sill, he frowned, ready to shoo them off, until he saw an actual rock this time hit his window and bounce off. Rushing to the window now, he pulled the blinds all the way up and caught a glimpse of someone hiding just around the corner of the building across the street.
Whoever it was. ducked out of sight quickly when Orlando pulled the window open. He hadn’t been able to make out whether it was a girl or a guy. They’d worn a hoodie that covered most of their face.
“Hey!” he yelled out, after glancing down at the good-sized pebble that had landed on the awning just below his window.
It was then that he heard the whimpering again, and it was closer than he’d thought. It sounded like it was coming from directly below the awning, but he couldn’t see because of it. “Someone down there?”
The whimpering turned into crying—a baby crying. Confused, Orlando glanced around, up and down the street, but saw nothing. It was early, too early for even the coffee shop across the street to be open, so it wasn’t coming from there.
He peered out at the corner where someone peeked around again but ducked back out of sight when they saw him look up. “Hey!” he yelled out again. “You throwing shit at my window?”
There was no response, but then he saw it. Whoever had hidden just around the corner of that building was still there. The tip of a shoe stuck out at the bottom of the building’s corner.
Rushing around his room, Orlando slipped on his jeans and his running shoes without socks, nearly falling in the process. He grabbed the bat he kept by his bedroom door and started out but then remembered. He darted back to his nightstand and grabbed his beanie, put it on, then rushed out of his room and down the stairs on a mission.
“Little fuckers,” he hissed as he made it to the bottom.
Since they’d bought this place a little over a year ago, they’d had some issues with the punks in the area tagging up the walls. He thought they’d taken care of the issue, but apparently, the punks were still up to no good.
Flinging the front door of the shop open, he’d been ready to sprint down the street, but came to a screeching halt when he saw the bundle at his front door. That baby he’d heard crying was a lot closer than he thought. The crying was now coming from under the blanket covering what looked like a baby car seat. An overstuffed baby bag sat next to the seat.
“The fuck?” he said, stepping out cautiously, still wielding the bat.
There was no one in sight, and that foot he’d seen from upstairs was gone. Walking around the baby seat, Orlando jogged over to the side of the building the person had ducked behind, but there was no one in sight.
“Anyone there?” he called out anyway.
Turning full circle in the middle of the street, he looked around everywhere, even up on the roofs of the buildings as if maybe someone was filming this. Maybe someone was punking his ass. Could there really be a kid in that thing?
He rushed back to it, kneeling down slowly, almost afraid to lift the blanket. Cautiously, he lifted it, and sure enough, the pouting baby let out a cry and lifted its little arms the moment it saw Orlando.
“Holy shit,” Orlando gasped, nearly falling back on his ass, but managed to keep his balance and glanced around again. “Who . . .?”
He shook his head, afraid to even touch the kid much less take him inside. He’d just begun to consider his options. Calling the cops was definitely at the top of the list. Then he saw it. He’d been in such shock, when his eyes had met the baby’s, he’d completely missed the piece of paper sticking out from under the other blanket he was snuggled in.
Lifting the paper carefully with his fingertips so as not to mess with any evidence of a possible kidnapping, he opened it slowly and read it.
His name is Orlando, like his daddy. He’ll be four months old on the 8th. Aside from his heart murmur, he’s in perfect health. No allergies that I know of and up-to-date on his immunizations. You’ll need to get him on your insurance ASAP so they can monitor his heart. I can’t take care of him anymore, so it’s time for you to step up. Everything you need for now is in the bag. He just ate, but he’ll probably need to be changed soon.
He’s yours, Orlando. Have him tested if you want, but PLEASE don’t give him up! He needs his daddy.
For a moment, Orlando thought he might faint. He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing until he gasped in a much-needed deep breath and touched his hand to his clammy forehead.
“No fucking way,” he whispered, staring at the piece of paper, then glanced back down at a pouting little boy.
As dazed and shaken as he felt, his expression eased up when the baby reached out and grabbed his finger. His little grip was a strong one, and once latched on, he didn’t appear to be letting go. His other little hand reached out for him, opening and closing.
“Orlando?” he heard himself whisper.
The pouting ceased at the sound of his voice, and then there it was: a perfect little toothless smile that inevitably had Orlando smiling too.
“This is fucking insane,” Nine said, staring at the baby. “Can you really just keep him?”