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Her guarded expression liquefies into a smile, instantly satisfied. “She’syourkid, isn’t she?”
I know she sees the anger clouding my face. “Sometimes I think you insert yourself into my business because you’re bored with him.” She knows I’m referring to Shade, and it’s far from the truth. I cock my head sideways, arching a brow toward the other side of the house where he’s probably working out. “Mind your own goddamn business.”
Scarlet shoves me again. “You’re a jerk.”
I push past her to the fridge, reaching for a beer. Taking my beer and a bag of chips into the living room, I take a seat on the couch.
“Who was that?” Camden asks, curiously watching my reaction when I sit next to him on the couch. I steal the game controller from his hands.
Not him too. This house has no privacy. Pushing my hand through my hair, I drop my head back against the leather cushion and crack open the beer. I want a joint, a cigarette, something to make this all go away. My anxious heart pounds. “Nobody. What are you doing here? Isn’t it like a Monday? Shouldn’t you be in school or at daycare?”
Camden frowns. “For one, Tiller, it’s summer. And two, it’s Tuesday.”
“I knew that.” I didn’t.
He laughs, taking the controller back. “Sure you did. Now who was the kid? Is she yours?”
What the fuck is with everyone today? They usually never care what I do during the day.
“What do you think?”
Do you notice the grin? He knows.
Are you surprised I have a kid? I mean, you saw that one coming, didn’t you? Or maybe you didn’t.
I didn’t do it purposely. Ava was just one of the girls in the room that night. I wouldn’t say I was consumed by drugs, but I wasn’t sober, that’s for sure.
That night, after the event at Mammoth, I did cocaine and spent a lot of time hanging out with Amberly who brought her sister Ava. The only one I could stand. I hate her sister Alexandra. But then, and I’m not entirely sure how this happened, I was alone with Ava.
I asked her, “Do you know what you’re doing?” when she reached inside my riding pants to palm my dick. She was on my lap, grinding against me, a half-empty bottle of Fireball in her hand.
She leaned in, whispering, “I know you’re never going to admit it, but you’re in love with my sister, so. . . how about the next best thing?”
I ignored her, for a moment, knowing she was offering herself up as a replacement for the one girl I would never have. I know I pointed out, “You’re married,” because regardless of what most think of me, I do value the bond made between and man and woman.
“I want this. I do.”
I let it go, and maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did, and we had sex. I didn’t use anything. I remember that much. Do I regret it?
That’s a hard question to answer. I don’t regret doing it, but I’ll admit I wished it would have been Amberly.
Three years later, about four months back, I saw Ava for the first time at a restaurant, in Malibu of all places. She’d been having lunch with some friends and the kid. We exchanged hellos. I noticed she was still wearing a wedding ring and then I took a closer look at the kid.
By the apprehension on Ava’s face, something struck me as odd, and I did the math in my head and knew by looking at her eyes that kid was mine.
We didn’t acknowledge it.
Ava saw the way I watched her, then smiled, brushing the girl’s hair behind her ears. “I’ll see you around.”
I nodded, unable to do anything else. “Okay.”
I left and tried to leave my thoughts of the girl there too. I can’t say I never think about her, because she’s better off not knowing me, but I couldn’t help the sense of possessiveness that tugged on my chest when the kid looked at me. Did I want to be a part of the kid’s life?
I. . . didn’t have an answer then, and I still don’t. I knew I didn’t want the girl to be like me. The less exposure she had to me, the better. I gave it thought. It wasn’t like I thought—no way—I don’t want this. And while I didn’t, instinctively, I was looking out for her.
I contemplate every single thing I do in my life because that’s me. I overanalyze and weigh the options until my mind explodes and I eventually make impulsive decisions. It’s countless hours of no sleep and even less escape. That’s my anxiety. I shouldn’t have to defend that decision to anyone but myself. Or should I?
“Hey, dickhead.” Scarlet nails me in the back of the head with her bag. “We have a meeting with Honda this afternoon and then you, Shade, and Roan have a photoshoot to model the new line of jerseys.”