Page 27 of Beyond Question

I blink, then look at Bronte. “Sorry, Bron, she’s here.”

As Paige approaches us, Bronte turns around.

And then she stiffens.

But then, even weirder… recognition widens Paige’s eyes, and it feels like time slows to a standstill while my brain tries to catch up. In slow motion, I bring my glass to my lips as I watch Paige’s brows furrow. Then her mouth pulls into a frown.

Oh no.

It’s anElsa in the hallway of GILDmoment all over again.

Can’t a guy catch a break?

“Bronte?” Paige asks as she reaches the table.

Oh Jesus.

Oh fuck.

They know each other.

Bronte laughs awkwardly. “Mom?”

I choke on my drink and the liquor burns not only my throat but the back of my nose. Bringing my hand to my mouth, I try to cover the coughing fit that ensues, butfuck me, did she just saymom?

“What are you doing here?” Paige asks, gaze flicking suspiciously between me and… her daughter.

Her daughter.

I’d laugh if this wasn’t the absolute worst-case scenario.

For fuck’s sake, Paige Matthews has a daughter.

And I’ve fucked her.

Multipletimes.

“How do you two…?” Her question trails off as understanding settles over her features.

RIP, me.

Will this horrendous last moment of my life be memorialized in print on my epitaph?

“You,” she says to me, the single syllable heavy with accusation. Then she swivels her head toward Bronte. “And my daughter.”

My stomach twists uncomfortably. I’d sell my soul for a chance to undo this. Bronte was fun, but it was nothing more than that. There was no connection, no intensity.

With a grimace, Bronte looks between Paige and me before settling on me. “You’re… here to date my mom.”

I close my eyes and down the last of my bourbon, wishing I had the bottle close by so I could just drown myself in liquid fire and disappear into oblivion.

I know getting drunk won’t fix this, but I also know that, most likely, nothing will. So getting drunk seems like an effective alternative to… whatever this is.

My fucking funeral, apparently.

We stand in an odd triangle of confusion for a few horribly long moments of silence, and then Bronte perks up, pasting on a smile as she looks at us both. “Okay, well, I think my date’s here.” She kisses her mom on the cheek, then gives me a lingering, sympathetic look, before turning on her heels and striding away from us so quickly you’d think we burned her.

Once she’s through the front door, disappearing outside, I turn to Paige.