Page 8 of All the Forbidden Things

We stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, Cal’s hand raises to his jaw, and he scratches at the stubble there—something I know he does when feeling stressed—before his face dissolves into an expression of pure horror.

“No. Nah. What a bitch. What an absolute cunt of a woman. She’s yours, mate. One million per-fucking-cent, this little girl is yours.”

I let out a long breath, rake my hands through my hair, and press my fingertips into my forehead and scalp as I attempt to still the cyclone of thoughts raging inside my head.

“You know that, right? Please tell me you’ve not listened to that bitch’s poison. Just look at her, Max. Layla is all you. Fuck, I’d doubt she was Whitney’s before I’d ever doubt she was yours—and thank fuck for that. Who’d want their daughter taking after a fake, skanky, ho like her?”

My lips twitch, as I momentarily enjoy the way Cal has my back and saying exactly what I need to hear.

I turn when I hear water sloshing and the sound of broken glass clinking. Mel is obviously cleaning up my mess. I feel both grateful and ashamed at the state I’ve gotten myself in today.

Over a woman.

Over my wife.

My cheating wife.

When my gaze shifts back to Cal, he’s on his phone.

“Hey, mate. I know this is last minute, but it’s urgent. Can you get your arse to Max’s place ASAP?”

I frown, wondering who he might be talking to.

“No, nothing like that, but it’s urgent. Also, can you get your hands on a paternity testing kit and bring it with you?”

“Perfect. Good lad, see ya soon.”

He ends the call and before I can ask, he says, “Aaron. You need to find out where you stand legally with all this. I know he’s not a family lawyer, but he’ll have more of an idea than we do. We’re not fucking about on this. You need to file for divorce and get a paternity test done pronto. Then apply for full custody of this little dumpling.” He uses the unfortunate nickname he’s bestowed upon my daughter as he gazes down at her.

“What if she’s not mine?” I whisper. Genuinely scared to say it louder, hoping the quieter I am, the less chance there is of it being a possibility.

“Cut the crap. She’s yours.”

We’re both quiet for a few seconds as we watch Layla sleep. Cal lets out a deep sigh, before breaking the silence.

“Look, you know I’ve never been Whitney’s biggest fan. I accepted her because you loved her, but I trust that bitch about as much as I trust Leeds to win the Premier League this season. You need to be prepared for the worst, especially because she’s hooking up with Gardener. Is your prenup airtight?”

I nod, hoping I’m right. “Aaron dealt with all of that, so I assume so.”

My stomach churns at the mention of that name.

“Good. Gardener has zero wealth in his own right, and Daddy’s millions are gonna run out at some stage, or, what’s more likely, Daddy will cut him off. Whitney won’t like that, and that’s when she’ll try and come after you to fund the lifestyle she’s become accustomed to.”

I swallow, taking on board what he’s saying, but before I think about much of anything, he continues.

“Right, you’ve had all the words of wisdom you’re gonna get from me. You need to go take a shower. You stink. And, dude, I’ve gotta ask . . . why the fuck have you got a nappy stuck to your foot?”

Max

After a couple of hourssleep, I head back down the stairs, freshly showered and note the now spotlessly clean floor in the hallway and the aroma of garlic and oregano filling the air. Mel is making my favourite dish of hers, Nonna’s Meatballs. My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles, and I realise I don’t remember the last time I ate.

Cal and Mel are sitting at my dinner table, Mel’s feeding Layla, while Cal strums my acoustic guitar. I recognise the Carnage song immediately and smile, remembering when we were a pair of sixteen-year-olds seeing them perform live in Hyde Park. The memory causes the hairs on my arms to rise as goosebumps spread across my skin. Not for a single moment back then did we imagine that just five years later we would be selling out our own arena tour.

“She’s bathed,” Mel tells me. “Has a clean diaper,andshe’s pretty much demolished this four-ounce bottle. Dinner’s almost ready, just waiting on the garlic bread.”

Mel's eyes slide from where she stares down at Layla, up to meet mine, and they shine with tears. “Callum told me what happened.” She shakes her head, scrapes her top teeth over her bottom lip, and blinks. A tear escapes her right eye while another sits precariously on the top lashes of her left. I physically jump when it finally falls and hits her cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Max. You’re a good man and so don’t deserve this. Anything we can do to help, anything at all, we’re here for you.”