I wake groggy and disoriented, and I’m pretty damn sure an entire group of death metal bands has taken up residence inside my head. Hell, maybe my stomach, too, judging by the way it roils when I move.

Slowly I open my eyes, only to immediately close them—so bright! I’m in rough shape, but the question is…oh shit. The events of last night come rushing back.

Dinner with Nat.

Learning that I’m a dad…Tatum’s dad.

Shots. Lots of shots.

Nate dragging me out of the bar.

No, no, no. This is not good. Especially if I am where I think I am. I force my eyes open, and sure enough, I’m on my most likely former best friend’s couch. I’m half tempted to sneak out, but I’m not that chicken shit.

I move to sit up, and the room spins a bit. Coffee. I need coffee. Dragging ass, I stumble into the kitchen, where I start a pot. Hopefully after a cup or two, I’ll feel slightly more human. While it brews, I help myself to the guest bathroom, splashing water on my face and gargling some mouthwash. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.

Back in the hall, I hear Nate moving around in the kitchen. Looks like it is time to face the music.

“Morning,” I greet, testing the waters.

Instead of replying, he grabs an insulated tumbler down from one of the upper cabinets and proceeds to pour damn near the entire pot of coffee into it. Guess that answers how this is going to go.

“Take a seat,” he says, using what I like to call his bad cop voice.

My fight or flight is whispering don’t do it; but like I said, I’m no chicken shit. So, I sling back a chair and sit. Nate, however, remains standing. No doubt to intimidate me.

Not gonna lie, it’s working. Dude could probably kill me and get away with it; his police buddies would definitely help him dispose of my body.

“Talk,” he clips out, sticking with one-word commands.

“Any chance I can get some coffee first?” I ask, halfway serious, halfway stalling. Nate narrows his eyes in reply. “Yeah, okay, fine. Honestly, I don’t know where to start and probably have as many questions as you do.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

I prop my elbows on the table and hold my head in my hands. “It means…I only learned of my apparent dad status last night. Hell. I didn’t even know we—” I let my words fall off, not quite wanting to discuss that part of things with Nate.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding as uncomfortable as I feel. “That’s what Nat said too, but I figured she was lying to save you from me kicking your ass.”

“Nope. Not lying.”

“This is some fucked-up shit,” Nate mutters, pacing the length of the kitchen. I nod my agreement, watching him wear a path in the tile. “So, what are you gonna do? Swear to God, you better do right by them. You wanna be mad at Nat, go for it, but you will not take your feelings out on Tatum.”

“Jesus, Nate. Of course not.” I let out a humorless laugh. “And to answer your question, I guess I’m going to do my best to get to know my…daughter. Shit, that feels weird to say.”

A few silent minutes tick by—Nate sipping his coffee, and me wishing I had some—before I speak again. “I just wish I knew why she did this? Why she kept this from me? I don’t get it.”

Nate shakes his head at me. “I tried talking to her last night after I dropped your drunk ass onto the couch. She was crying something fierce and kept telling me she had good intentions, but wouldn’t say much else. No matter how much I begged her to explain it, she wouldn’t.”

I mull over his words as he starts another pot of coffee. Looks like we’re good after all. Two minutes later, the weird gurgling sound that signifies the end of brewing fills the kitchen, and Nate pours me a mug.

The first sip scalds my tongue, but I don’t care. I take two more and then ask, “How did you know where to find me, anyway?”

Nate darts his eyes to the ceiling. “Natalie saw your Facebook post and begged me to check on you.”

The idea that even after what went down she sent her brother to check on me has my heart swooping low in my gut. But I shut it down, because either way, she’s still a goddamn liar.