Page 94 of Who's Your Daddy?

18. Peter

My hand is clutchingthe steering wheel so tight I think I’ve cut off all blood circulation to my fingers. They feel numb. I feel numb. My whole body feels like it’s been pumped with lead. It’s heavy, and all its weight has settled in my chest, making it impossible to breathe.

I’ve been driving in circles for almost two hours. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where I’m going. All I know is that I needed to get out of that house. I couldn’t look at her for one more second. The face that I once found so beautiful was marred with betrayal and deceit. How could she do me like that?

I trusted her, and yet she was lying to me from the beginning about...pretty much everything. Her parents. Her ex. Her fucking age. Who lies about their age? It makes me wonder what else she lied about. How much of our relationship was fake? When I look at it, all of it was just cheap manipulation tactics. That’s the reason she always withdrew from the conversation any time I asked her about certain personal things. She purposely hid her past from me so I wouldn’t question the most important thing.

The paternity of the baby. Why didn’t I ever question it? She told me about her ex. Why did I just assume that he’d been out of the picture for a while before we met? The fact that she was atGritto get him back should’ve raised some concerns that the breakup was more recent than I suspected, but I was so into this chick that I blinded myself to all the red flags, all the warnings from Scott.

How could I have been so stupid? I’ve spent my life avoiding women exactly like her. I should’ve been more aware, and yet I ignorantly invited this fucking succubus into my home without questioning anything. I slam my hand against the steering wheel, forcing myself to keep my anger right there on the surface. I want that to be front and center. I want that to be the only thing I feel, the only thing I focus on.

Because the second I allow myself to think about my baby...

Don’t.

Just don’t.

He’s not your baby.

And with that thought, everything crumbles around me. I pull over on the side and drop my forehead against the steering wheel. I don’t even know what it is I’m feeling. If it’s grief or heartache, but the force of it is devastating. I think about the ultrasound pictures on the fridge, and the collection of fruit we were using to track him. I was watching him grow every week, and now I’ll never get to meet him. The loss is immeasurable, consuming me from within. It’s like I’m being engulfed by a black hole, spinning at terminal velocity. Yet no matter how much I try to stabilize myself, I just slip deeper. I can’t escape its grasp.

I feel like I’ve just been hit by a freight train. My airways are clogged. The crushing weight on my chest stops it from expanding enough to take in another breath. I sit there, choking on my own anguish.

How could she do this? I trusted her, and she played me for a fool every step of the way. She’s been lying to me for months. She’s thirty-two weeks pregnant, and—

That thought slaps the shit out of me, sobering me instantly.

She’s thirty-two weeks pregnant, and I just told her to pack up and leave.

Fuck!

I shift my car into gear, and my tires squeal as I slam my foot on the accelerator. My heart pounds wildly as I zip through the traffic, and with every streetlight I pass, I realize how dark it is.

“She wouldn’t have left,” I tell myself in my most reassuring voice.

It’s dark. She’s pregnant. She’d do what’s best for the baby, even if that means having another argument with me once I got home, right?

And we’ll have the argument. She can’t stay with me anymore, but I’ll call Carl and ask him which one of my apartment buildings has a vacant unit. She can live there for a month or two. After she gives birth, she can find her own place and then I never want to see her again.

Rubber screeches as I slam brakes, bringing my car to a dead stop in the driveway. I hop out and race back into the house.

“Lia,” I call out as soon as I open the door. No response. “Lia.”

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