Page 74 of Christmas with the Baby Daddy

“Oh, my?—”

I gasped, dropping the white item on the floor. It bounced, then rolled further out of my reach, but I saw the result. A second look wasn’t necessary. The words wouldn’t change.

Pregnant.

I was pregnant with Zach’s child.

I blinked and tried to catch my breath at the punch of shock that reverberated within me.

“Again?”

30

ZACH

George was my son.

It didn’t bowl me over. If I hadn’t already considered it as a possibility, I would’ve been zoned out, stuck in shock and unable to move. But I had wondered, and as I moved out into the hallway so no one would watch me and wonder why I was acting off in here, I realized that my guess prepared me and had me bracing for this very reality. I’d planned to ask Blake, but I didn’t want to stress her out.

And no sense of urgency had filled me to ask her. I’d come to terms with being here anyway and knowing I could ask her about George’s father when the time felt right. Leaving Vernford ceased being a goal when I first called her my sweetheart. Because she was. And I wanted her to keep that title.

When the thought that George could be my son first took root in my mind, it did so with the corresponding need to ask Blake. I had imagined hearing the truth from her, hopefully with an explanation of why she’d kept this truth from me.

What I hadn’t counted on was hearing it from Reagan, of all people. Or that she’d be gossiping about George or Blake like this. I was livid at the replay of her words in my mind, that her fucking cousin hadstolena sample from George for a DNA test. That was all kinds of wrong. It was illegal, unethical, and so messed up, I wouldn’t settle for only telling the cops about it. I’d make him answer to me, too.

I never thought I’d learn the depth of rage like this. Women could claimmama bearaggression to defend their young. And I was diving headfirst into experiencing what it could mean to be a papa bear. How dare that asshole invade on my son’s health information? How fucking dare they take George’s water bottle for the deceptive and intrusive plan to get his spit for a sample!

But what did it match to?

Before I could derail any further with this bombshell, I wondered how Rory could’ve gotten a match.

I grabbed my phone and walked further down the hallway, away from the noisy classrooms where kids were getting ready to go to lunch, have parties, or prepare for holiday programs to put on for family and friends.

Amanda was off for break already since high schoolers finished their semester exams yesterday. I video called her and furrowed my brow as I waited for her to pick up.

“Hey,” she answered, all smiles. Until she saw my expression. “Uh-oh.”

“Have you ever done one of those DNA kits?” I asked.

“No.” She shrugged. “But I think Grandma Jenny gifted one to her sister who lives in San Diego. Why?”

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Because Rory Francis wanted to know who George’s dad was before he tried to marry Blake and step in as his dad.”

Her eyes opened wide. “No. What! No, she’d never marry him.”

“That’s beside the point,” I snapped. “Reagan had Brent steal George’s water bottle?—”

“The one with the T-rex sticker on it? We’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

I glowered at her. “Not. The. Point.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

“Brent stole George’s water bottle so Rory could run a DNA kit on his spit, and it matched with West family results from the Vernford area—meaningI’mGeorge’s father. Reagan was talking about it, and I overheard just now. She fessed up.”

She clamped her lips shut and cleared her throat. “Oh.Wow. That’s… crazy.”

I frowned. “You—” I blinked, leaning back against the wall, stunned more about the fact that she knew. “You knew? And kept this from me?”

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