If I thought getting ready for my date with Kevin was hard, it’s got nothing on this. I mean, what do you wear to tell the man of your dreams he’s unknowingly the father of your toddler? Somehow, I don’t think there’s an outfit in existence that says I’m sorry for not telling you, please don’t hate me.

I settle on dark indigo wash skinnies with a chambray boyfriend-fit button-down. A statement necklace and pointy-toe nude heels complete the look. It’s casual and comfortable and maybe it screams I’m not a total monster…or at least I hope it does.

I’m ready with twenty minutes to spare, which is no good since Tatum is already at my parents’ house. I’m anxious and restless, like a caged lion. I’ve been pacing the short hallway for at least five minutes when I decide a glass of wine to take the edge off is exactly what I need.

Moving to the kitchen, I grab the bottle of Riesling from the fridge and a stemless glass from the cabinet, pop the stopper, and pour. I take a sip, relishing the burst of crisp fruit across my tongue.

Yes. This is just what I needed.

The temptation to pour a second glass is strong, but I recork the bottle and rinse my glass in the sink. I want to dull my nerves, not get white-girl wasted.

I resume my pacing until a knock at my door lets me know it’s showtime. Hindsight, I should have insisted on driving myself instead of letting Alden pick me up. But he used his charm like a weapon and wore me down, plus I’ve known him forever. But, it’s still a bit weird. I’m pretty sure the last guy to pick me up for a date was pot dealing Paul.

I debate simply not answering the door, but knowing Alden, he’d find a way in. I crack my back, neck, and knuckles, and head to the door.

On the other side stands Alden, dressed in a pair of Nantucket red chinos and a navy and white buffalo check button-down. Sounds like it wouldn’t work, but my God, it looks like it was made for him and him alone. He honestly looks so damn fine that my words seem to dry up and desert me.

Alden, on the other hand, not so much. “Damn girl. You look so good.” He leans in for a kiss, but I sidestep him. He chuffs out a laugh. “Okay then, Nat. We’ll play it like that.” Ever the gentleman, he opens my car door for me and helps me into my seat. His hand on the small of my back sends sparks racing through my bloodstream and to my heart.

Alden tries to start up a conversation on the drive, but I stick to one or two word answers. I can tell he’s confused by my erratic behavior, but my God, this feels more like being led to stand before a firing squad than a dinner between old friends, much less a date.

I think he’s pretty much resigned to our night being a flop by the time he parks. He’s taken me to R Bistro—a personal favorite of mine, due largely in part to their steaks being so tender you can cut them with a spoon. Not that we’ll be here long enough to order. I try to offer him a grateful smile, but it’s most likely more of a grimace.

Even with me acting like I have split personality, Alden opens my door and helps me out. Gah! He even takes my hand in his, and like the selfish bitch I am, instead of pulling away, I savor it, knowing it will probably be the last time.

Inside, Alden informs the hostess he called ahead for a table, and she takes us right back. We’re in a little alcove; it’s private and romantic and all wrong for what’s about to go down.

“What are you in the mood—”

Our server arrives, cutting him off. “Welcome to R Bistro. My name is Jamal, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Tonight, our specials are a blackened red snapper served atop a bed of wilted greens and whipped purple cauliflower puree or a pan-seared filet of beef with sweet potato mash and broccolini. But for now, may I take your drink orders?”

Alden orders a pale ale while I opt for a glass of water. My beverage choice earns me a brow quirk, but I can’t stomach the thought of anything else at the moment.

Our server heads off to retrieve our drinks, and I decide it’s now or never. “I…I have something to tell you.”

Alden nods, encouraging me to continue.

“Y-you’re not gonna like it.” I lick my lips nervously. “In fact, you probably won’t like me.”

“You’re freaking me out, Small Fry.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep from crying at the use of his nickname for me. Might as well add it to the list of shit that ends tonight…

“It’s about Tatum.”

Alden immediately looks alert. “What? What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

This. This right here is what dying must feel like. “Oh, no. She’s…she’s fine. It’s just that…” I let my words fall off, wondering how in the hell to say this.

Impatient, Alden prompts, “It’s just what, Natalie? You’re building this up to something momentous and freaking me the fuck out.”

I cringe. Ugh, I’m messing this all up. “It’s about her dad…” I lock eyes with him. “You’re her dad.”

Whatever reaction I was expecting, Alden’s laughter was not it. Only it’s not humorous laughter, it’s dry and decidedly dark. “Not funny, Natalie. Get real.” He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard on the ends. “Jesus. I thought you really had something to tell me.”

I swallow over the lump in my throat. “I’m being real. You’re her father.”

He looks almost sick to his stomach as he eyes me skeptically. “You do realize sex is required to procreate, right?”

I nod, my eyes welling with tears. “You—” My voice breaks. “You remember that night the summer before my senior year when you woke up, and I was in the guest room with you?”

His stare is blank, almost as if he’s somewhere else. “Yeah, Nat, I do.”

“Wh-what else do you remember from that night?”

My jaw ticks. What the fuck kind of game is Natalie playing right now? Whatever it is, I’m not interested. After everything Mia put me through, I vowed no more bullshit, and this conversation reeks of it.

“Honestly, not a whole lot. It was a long time ago, and I had been drinking.”

Natalie sucks in a deep breath, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “We slept together that night. I came onto you, and you seemed into it. Into me. I-I didn’t realize just how m-much you’d had to drink. It was my first time and yeah…”

Her first time? What the…is that why she had on my shirt and was in the guest room with me? No. No way. Thinking back, I realize the timing is spot on, but still…this can’t be real, can it? Hell, I was so drunk that night, I couldn’t tell my ass from my face. Could I really be Nat’s baby daddy? And if what she’s saying is true, what gave her the right to deny me a spot in my daughter’s life?

My heart stops. Time stops. The fucking world stops.

“Holy shit. You…you’re serious, aren’t you?” My gut and her eyes say she’s telling the truth—that we did sleep together. But that sure as shit doesn’t make me her baby daddy. Hell, for all I know she sees me as an easy target. Lord knows Mia did.

She nods, her tears finally falling, running down her cheeks and dripping from her chin.

I drop my head into my hands, massaging my temples...how is this even real? “I…I have a daughter,” I murmur to myself, testing out how it feels. My initial instinct is to call her on a bullshit and leave, but something keeps me from doing so.

“I have a daughter.” My shock quickly gives way to anger. “How could you not fucking tell me? What right do you have to keep something like this from me?” Jesus, do I know how to pick ’em or what? My ex was the single most conniving woman on this earth, and Natalie, well, I’m not sure yet, but she could be a close fucking second. Because even if this shit is true, she kept it from me for four fucking years.

“It’s n-not l-like that,” Natalie hiccups out. “I-I never—”

I scoff, hardly able to even look at her, sitting there sniffling like she’s the wronged party…like she’s some delicate little flower that got trampled on. When in reality, she’s nothing more than a liar and a thief of my time. “You never what? Thought this day would come? You never thought you’d have to come clean?”

“No!” she shakes her head rapidly. “No, that’s not it, I swear.”

I cross my arms over my chest and sit back farther into my seat to create more distance—emotionally and physically—between us. “You might want to explain what it is like, really fucking fast, Natalie.”

She blinks through her tears and glances around the alcove like the answers she’s looking for will magically appear. Too bad, sweetheart, ain’t gonna happen.

“I…I was so young and sc-scared, and I know I made the wrong choice. I know I should have t-told you.”

I pound my fist onto the table, causing our glasses and such to rattle. “You’re damn right you should have!”

My hard, angry tone makes her jump back in her chair. I’d feel bad if I wasn’t so damn furious. And hurt. This sense of betrayal and loss is so potent it’s almost choking me.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“Save your apologies, Natalie. They don’t mean shit to me. There’s nothing you can say that will fix this. You robbed me of three years of my daughter’s life. All those firsts you got to cherish? I. Missed.” I grit my teeth together. She continues to cry and apologize, but I ignore her. My head is spinning, but I know if I don’t get the fuck away from her, this is going to get ugly. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I tap the Uber app on my home screen and order her a car.

With that done, I push back from the table and grab my wallet, throwing down a twenty-dollar bill.

“Wh-where are you g-going?” she asks through her sobs.

“Away from here…from you. I can’t stand the sight of you right now.”

“Wha—”

I speak over her, not interested in anything else she has to say. “I ordered you a car. Don’t come into work on Monday.” I push past her and stalk out the bistro, ignoring the curious stares from other patrons. To say this is not how I saw the night going might just be the understatement of the year. I feel blindsided and deceived and so fucking angry.

Who does shit like this?

Natalie fucking Reynolds—that’s who.

Once in the privacy of my car, I break.

Shock like I’ve only ever felt once before flows through my veins, igniting and bubbling to the surface. I slam my fist into my steering wheel, desperate to dull the emotional ache. When that doesn’t work, I do it again and again until my knuckles are red and raw.

How could she do this? How could she be so deceitful? And why? Why keep my daughter from me? I mean, Jesus, the only people she’s hurting are Tatum and me. Surely, she isn’t that selfish…then again, it seems like she is. It’s Mia 2.0, and I truly don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this shit.

The real kicker is this: the one person I want to talk to about this is her fucking brother. I can only imagine that conversation will go over about as well as a bowling ball to the head.

All of my feelings still bubbling just below the surface, I know I need to find a way to cull them. I need to numb them. To silence them. Luckily, I know just the place.

Destination in mind, I crank the ignition and head toward Bennet’s, where I know my old friend Jack Daniels will be waiting.