Chapter 23

Carter

The metal peephole in the door scrapes open after I deliver the obligatory secret knock: one long, two short, two long.

“Password?” The bouncer’s husky voice is muffled from behind the door.

“Blitzkrieg,” I say tiredly. I’m actually still a bit in disbelief—but I think June might have actually worn me out, the insatiable little minx.

June. I should be there with her right now, ordering us something healthy for dinner, or kissing her stomach, or rubbing her feet, or just showing her how incredible she is and how much she means to me.

Just there fucking taking care of her, making sure every single want and need of hers is covered.

Truth be told, I don’t know what exactly a pregnant woman needs at this point, apart from love and support. But the new life that I’ve planted within her has me feeling like a new man—a better man.

Protective. Primal.

But first, I need to deal with my asshole of a brother, get him to rehab, and then get back home to my wife.

Um, girlfriend, I mean…or whatever June is to me at this point.

The point is, this is the last place in the world I want to be.

The things I do out of brotherly love.

It takes my eyes a while to adjust to the dim lighting. I can’t believe I used to frequent this place. Boy, it seems so long ago.

An entire lifetime, in fact.

Is this another facet of approaching fatherhood? Sudden insights into life?

I’m not sure how I feel about that—so much instant wisdom could be difficult to process.

Perhaps I need to really fucking study this pregnancy shit like I never have before.

With the career I’ve had, I’ve gotten to know a few things, but I’m realizing just how few those things are.

A redhead appears next to me. She starts getting really close.

“Well, hello there, Adonis. You look a bit lonely,” she purrs into my ear.

This place was bad enough before this woman started whispering and seemingly trying to blind me with a thick cloud of cheap perfume.

She’s wearing a little black dress so short, not much is left to the imagination. There are strategic holes in the material, and upon closer inspection, I think she’s barely covered in anything at all.

“Not tonight,” I shift my bar stool away from her.

She sticks to me like she’s made out of goddamn rubber cement.

“Look, lady,” I turn to her, trying to keep as much distance as possible between us. “I’m not here to put my cock into some pussy. I’ve got...”

Fuck it, I can’t go on.

For starters, I don’t want to blab about June’s pregnancy, and second, in that very moment, I spot Lawrence.

He’s sitting by the bar—but he’s not alone.

My heart drops down to my feet.

It can’t be her.

Can it?

I mean, why would she be here?

I barely notice the redhead leave. As though I’m in a trance, I make my way over to Lawrence and his companion.

She’s wearing a tight, cherry red dress. When I say tight, I mean it looks about two sizes too small. It’s also so short you can just about see her slip.

Being strapless, her tits are almost completely hanging out as well. All in all, the entire picture is cheap and nasty.

But as I draw closer, it looks like her face is desperately trying to transmit superiority, and class.

“Ah, there you are, brother dear,” Lawrence slurs his words ever so slightly.

The five o’clock shadow look on his face has turned into the ten o’clock look. Even in this light, I can tell his eyes are bloodshot.

My hands are by my side. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. This shit’s putting me on edge even more than I fucking am already.

“I believe you’ve met my companion before.”

Dramatically, he points to the woman beside him.

At the sight of her so close, my whole body tenses. All my muscles contract, ready to pounce into action. But the only action I’d feel somewhat okay about doing right now is sprinting away from this fucking hellhole.

“Chantal,” I mumble and make sure my hands stay buried deep within my pockets.

“How good to see you, Carter,” she smiles brightly at me.

I don’t return the smile. I glower at both of them.

Her blonde hair does not look as well styled as it has in the past. In fact, it looks as if she’s not washed it in a few days. It looks kind of frizzy, which could be the way she meant to style it, or because she hasn’t brushed it in a couple of days.

By now, I’m kicking myself for having agreed to come here. It’s obvious Lawrence set me up. Calling me on a pretense to come here and rescue him, only to find him here with my ex-girlfriend.

Had she even been my girlfriend?

Emotions swirl through me like a fucking tornado.

June. Think of June, I remind myself. Think of June and of your unborn son or daughter.

The thoughts give me a little comfort.

“I wanted you to be the first to share in my new—sorry, our news.” Lawrence interrupts my thoughts.

Sediment settles in the pit of my stomach. It forms into a pebble, a stone, a rock, then a fucking mountain.

“What news?” I ask despite myself.

I really didn’t want to know, and yet I’m doing this shit again. I’m like the onlooker at an accident, the person turning up the news just to hear the bad.

I’m fucking doing it when I shouldn’t. I should learn, make an effort to turn away from bad news.

Instead of listening to whatever crap they’re going to tell me now, I should turn around and walk out.

Easier said than fucking done.

My brain and my legs don’t seem to be connected right now. The signal isn’t getting through. Someone’s standing on the line.

The train is approaching at breakneck speed, and there are no breaks. I’m standing here, watching the inevitable crash, unable to get myself the fuck away from it.

“Chantal and I are going to be married.”

The impact. Is there a lot of fucking pain? Or just no feeling at all?

Or something in between?

I’m not sure.

“And Chantal is pregnant.”

What the fuck? Am I hearing things?

I knew I didn’t want to know and probably should’ve fucking left before hearing this shit; but the fact of the matter is that when I saw them together, I already fucking knew everything.

But I still should’ve just fucking left.

Lawrence hands me a glass. I feel dazed and barely notice what he’s handed me.

“A toast, brother dear, to us. To me and Chantal and our baby,” he lifts his glass up high, and, in the process, spills half of its contents.

Chantal giggles.

My insides turn inside out.

I look at them through a fog.

Is Chantal drinking alcohol?

It would seem fucking so, wouldn’t it?

With disbelief, I shake my head. How can she be pregnant?

Okay, I don’t need a fucking biology lesson. I know how she got pregnant. But why would she keep his baby over mine?

It doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

I stare into Lawrence’s sick-looking face. His smile seems both sinister and fucking fake at the same time.

Without a word, I throw the contents of my glass into my brother’s face.

It’s time to do what I should’ve done before this fiasco had a chance to get started.

I walk with fucking purpose to the exit and out the door. My brother’s sick laughter haunts me all the way to the car.

He thinks he’s won.

First, he tries to fuck my girlfriend, and now he has the nerve to introduce Chantal as his wife-to-be and the mother of his child.

I slide into my car and floor it.

Aimlessly, I drive through the streets. I turn left, right, and left again. I go straight ahead and onto a bridge out of town.

I just drive. I needed to keep driving.

Why am I taking this so badly? A few hours ago, I’d been happily fucking June, telling her I loved her, that I loved her like I’ve never loved anyone.

And it’s true. Even here in the car, alone, I know I love her.

Why, then, am I so rattled? Why should I even fucking care what my brother does?

Fuck it. It’s time to let it all go.

Breathe in and out, in and out.

I drum the fingers of my hand on the steering wheel. My eyes are fixed on the road. By now, I’ve managed to leave the city traffic behind, and I’m rolling on an empty highway in the suburbs.

My car zooms at a hundred miles an hour, and I press on the accelerator to go even faster.

Huge raindrops start to assault my windshield. The rain only takes about a second to get fucking heavy as shit.

I need to take it easy. I mean, I’m going to be a father.

I need to be more responsible.

I’m going to be a father.

Father.

I mull over the word.

I didn’t want to be a father like my father.

And yet what am I doing right now?

Fucking running away.

What if I’m already like my father?

What if it’s too late to do anything about it?

That thought frightens me to my core.

I need to make sense of my feelings. I need to take charge.

I need to see June.