Page 34 of Clear Shot (Lauderdale Knights #9)

Aiden

It’s been years since I had a bout of depression this bad, but I’m drowning.

Coach gave me mandatory leave due to a “family emergency,” and I haven’t gotten out of bed other than to piss and bring in my order from the liquor store in three days.

I can’t remember the last time I ate anything other than a stale bag of Cheetos, and the bottles of whiskey I’ve burned through are almost gone.

My stomach is sour, but I don’t give a shit, and I gulp down what’s left in the last bottle. There should be another order arriving shortly, and I drag myself down the stairs to check. But instead of a liquor store order, there’s a man standing there holding a big envelope.

He waves when he sees me.

Great. The evangelicals are here with pamphlets.

Well, fuck that.

“Mr. Barbeau! I have communication from your attorney!” The guy yells through the door.

Fuck.

Now what?

I pad over to the door, oblivious to the fact that I’m not wearing anything but my boxers.

“Aiden Barbeau?” the man asks.

I nod. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been served.” He hands me the envelope and turns away.

What fresh hell is this? If that fucker from the Elbo Room is suing me he’s got another think coming. I’ll fuck him over just because I can afford to fight him in court. At this point, I don’t care about my reputation or anything else.

I just want the world and everyone in it to leave me the hell alone.

I tear open the envelope and freeze, skimming the words.

Divorce.

Paternity.

Termination of rights?

What the hell is this?

I try to focus but it’s hard to understand the legalese.

Hana has filed for divorce, that much I know.

I don’t understand this paternity stuff.

What is she talking about? Of course it’s not my kid.

I had a vasectomy.

It can’t be my kid.

Is this some kind of ruse for more money?

But from what I’m reading, despite the fuzziness in my brain, it doesn’t appear that she wants anything other than her wedding ring. She’s returning the engagement ring but not the wedding ring. What the fuck?

I’m still staring at the papers in front of me when my liquor store order arrives.

I sign the bill and give the guy a nice tip, then lug it into the kitchen.

I’ve just pulled out the first bottle when I hear banging on the door.

What the hell is this, Grand Central Station?

I throw the papers on the counter and stalk back out to the front, wondering if the delivery guy forgot something.

Nope.

Shit.

It’s Jordan.

And Anders.

And Decker.

And fucking Johan.

This isn’t good.

I’m in no condition to have a conversation like this, and frankly, there’s nothing to say.

“Let’s not do this,” I say, opening the door a few inches. “Not now.”

“We are doing it.” Johan pushes past me, striding into my house like he owns it.

“Look, I’ve got my agent working on a trade,” I say. “We don’t need to make this ugly. I’ll hopefully be gone in a few days and?—”

“You know who’s going to be gone in a few days?” Johan asks, whirling to face me. “ Hana . She’s leaving for Slovakia.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” I say, though for some reason my stomach drops.

She cheated.

Every time I have a visceral reaction to something to do with Hana, I remind myself of that.

“Maybe not, but what about your child?” he asks.

“Not my kid,” I say quietly.

He explodes in a torrent of what I assume is Slovak, his face turning red as he glares at me.

“What my friend here is trying to say,” Anders interjects smoothly, “is that she insists it is. So until you agree to a cheek swab for the paternity test, you should reserve judgment.”

“Paternity test?” I’m confused. “You can do a DNA test while she’s pregnant?”

“It’s a blood test and cheek swabs and stuff,” Anders says. “So yes, you can.”

I feel a moment of hope and then?—

She cheated.

I can’t have gotten her pregnant.

Can I?

Would she be pushing for a paternity test this early in her pregnancy if she was sure of that?

The first wave of doubt nibbles at the edge of my subconscious.

“You do understand that when the paternity test comes back showing that the child is yours, it doesn’t matter where you get traded to,” Johan says, his eyes blazing with intensity.

“Calgary or Russia or the fucking arctic circle, you will have a responsibility to the child. And I will chase you to the ends of the earth to make sure you pay, even if you don’t want to be part of his or her life. ”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I yell. “It can’t be my kid. I had a motherfucking vasectomy years ago!”

“Then something went wrong!” he yells back.

We glare at each other.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Jordan says quietly. “Why don’t we take this to the living room or something?”

“There’s no furniture,” I mutter.

“The kitchen then.” Anders tugs me in that direction, and I let him because I don’t know what else to do.

“Jesus, you reek,” Anders mutters under his breath. “When was the last time you had a shower?”

“When was the last time you ate?” Jordan interjects, staring at the whiskey bottles on the island.

“I’m fine!” I snap. “I’m just waiting for news about the trade. Then I’ll be out of everybody’s hair.”

“That’s not how family works,” Johan says, coming to stand directly in front of me.

“We’re not…family,” I say.

“No?” He points to the divorce papers on the counter. “Until those are signed, sealed, and delivered, we are. And even when you sign them, you’re my niece or nephew’s father, so we’ll always be family, whether you like it or not.”

I roll my eyes. “How many times do I have to say it? I got?—”

“—a vasectomy.” Johan gives me a little shove. “My sister isn’t a liar. If she did cheat, she would tell me because she knows I would get to the bottom of it and forgive her, even if you didn’t. So if she says she didn’t, then something went wrong. Have you been to a doctor?”

“No.” I stare back at him in annoyance. “I don’t need to see a doctor.”

“But you’re going to. And I will physically drag you there if I have to.”

“I dare you to try,” I growl, standing up straighter.

“We’re not doing this,” says Anders, as he, Jordan, and Decker separate us.

I guess that’s why they’re here.

“What can it hurt?” Jordan asks.

Since when is Jordan the fucking voice of reason? What alternate reality is this?

“You do the paternity test and go get your little swimmers checked—once that’s done there can’t be any more accusations or he said/she said.

There will be facts and we can put this to bed, one way or another.

You don’t have to be with Hana, but you do have to do the right thing on the off chance the baby is yours. ”

His choice of words gives me pause because it’s obvious this was all discussed ahead of time. Otherwise, Johan would have knocked him out for insinuating Hana is lying. Instead, they’re being cautious—handling me carefully.

And that just pisses me off.

“You guys are wasting your time,” I growl, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and twisting the cap.

“You don’t need any more of that,” Jordan says, plucking it from my hands.

I lunge for it, but I’m half-drunk, sleep-deprived, and running on empty so I’m woefully inept and he dances out of reach.

“You need a shower, and then we’re going to do the paternity test,” Johan says. “So go upstairs and clean up. And I will drag you there. Don’t test me.”

“Fuck you. This isn’t your business.” I do my best to stand up to him but my stomach is about to revolt and the room is starting to spin.

Fuck.

“Come on, buddy. It’s shower time.” Jordan puts an arm around my waist. I try to move but wind up stumbling and almost falling.

“Dude.” Anders shakes his head. “Why are you fighting this? What’s the worst thing that can happen? You find out that this was a huge misunderstanding and maybe you get your wife back?”

I don’t respond because that isn’t even close to the worst thing that could happen.

“Talk to us,” Jordan cajoles. “We’re your friends. Jesus, we’ve been through everything together.

“You don’t understand.” I can barely choke out the words.

“Then explain .” Johan is still giving me a death glare.

Normally, I’m not afraid of him but I’ve never seen him so intense—or so hurt. And that’s the part that makes this hard.

“I… can’t.” My voice is barely discernible, but they hear me.

“You can . You just won’t.” Johan looks disgusted. “But regardless of what you want, you will take the test, you will go to the doctor, and you will support your child.” Johan is definitely not fucking around.

I guess I can’t blame him.

They just don’t understand.

They don’t know where I came from or understand the depth of the ugliness running through my veins.

I’m absolutely terrified that I might be wrong.

Not because I don’t love Hana.

Not because I truly believe she cheated on me.

Not because I wouldn’t give anything to have her back.

But because it would mean the baby she’s carrying is mine—and passing down my genes to an innocent child is without a doubt the worst possible thing that could happen.