Page 20 of Depraved Favors

“Hi, you might not remember me from that one summer when the girls were young. I’m Marla, Peyton’s mom,” a thin woman says, holding her hand out.

I blink, my attention moving to her, and I smile. “Kind of. Peyton told me a little about you. It’s nice to meet you.” She looks great for someone fighting cancer, and I hope in the months since I’ve spoken to Peyton that’s a sign her mom has finally been given the all clear.

Shaking her hand, I glance at the surly man watching us with crossed arms. Peyton’s mom rolls her eyes, smacking his bicep playfully. “Introduce yourself, Phil.”

“Dad if you’re not going to be nice, then can you wait for me in the car?”

He huffs away without another word. After giving Peyton a comforting squeeze on her shoulder, Marla follows behind him.

I glance at her pregnant belly again and swallow down the anger that brims on the surface. “Were you going to tell me?”

Her eyebrows twitch toward the center of her face. “I—what? Why would I tell you?”

“Because it’s my baby.”

“How do you know that?”

I tap a curled fist in the center of my chest. “I just feel it, Peyton. That’s mine, I just know it is.”

She bites her lip, looking away with a trembling chin. I move closer to her, reaching out to pull her into my arms, but hesitate. It wouldn’t be the smartest to do this in public, but I’m also not sure if she wants me to touch her. Peyton wraps her arms around me as much as her belly allows and takes a deep breath. I hold her around her shoulders, resting my cheek on the top of her head.

“It’s yours,” she confirms what I already know with certainty.

“Were you going to tell me?” My heart aches at the thought of a child I may have never known. It would have been an even worse situation than Brit.

She steps away from me, and shrugs. “I don’t know. Time kind of just flew by, and I was trying to take it one day at a time.”

I nod. “Can we go somewhere to talk about this?”

Peyton’s nose scrunches. “Don’t you want to spend time with Brit?”

Grimacing, I hate that she’s reminding me of that because of how shitty it makes me feel that I want to say no. Elise was a nightmare to deal with and as soon as Brit was old enough to decide where she wanted to be, she stopped visiting me in the summer. It only took two trips out here when she was a teenager to accept the fact that my daughter wants nothing to do with me. And maybe I’m a piece of shit for not putting more effort in, but I’m tired. Tired of feeling like a nuisance, tired of the rejection of trying to plan days, and tired of the dejection I would spiral into for weeks after I returned home.

I glance over my shoulders, trying to find them through the crowd at the spot I left them. When I come up empty, I’m certain they left without finding me. I shake my head, looking back at Peyton. “No, I’ll check in with her later. I would rather talk about this.”

She smiles, rubbing at her stomach. “Want to give me a ride home?”

Her smile hits me in the gut, I wasn’t prepared for seeing it again. My heart picks up for a second, sending flutters into my chest. “I’ll take you wherever you want.”

Chapter Eleven

Peyton

He follows me into my room, and I take off the graduation gown, tossing it towards my closet and waddling my way to the rocking chair my dad got me. Owen watches me with a soft smile before sitting on the corner of my bed nearest to me. His eyes roam over the pile of baby gifts spilling from my closet.

“My mom is ridiculously excited. She wants to clear out the guest room to turn it into a nursery, even though it’s closer to them than me,” I say with a small laugh. I wince, rubbing at my side where he kicked.

My cheeks flood with heat, embarrassed at the additional thing I’m about to admit. “Do you want to know what we’re having?”

Owen’s tongue rolls over his bottom lip before he blows out a breath. “Sure.”

“It’s a boy.”

He chuckles, his shoulders slumping with relief. “Oh, thank god. I don’t know if I could handle another teenage daughter.”

His eyes lift to my face, and his smile drops when he sees my expression. I don’t like the reminder of our age difference, or how he literally has a child the same age as me. I glance down at my belly, running my hand over the curve.

“Do you think he’ll be made fun of for having a sister the same age as his mom?” I ask, thoughtfully. The past few months had me thinking about his social life a lot. How vicious kids can be, how cruel they could be for no reason other than their own sick pleasure to inflict pain.

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