Page 59 of This Wild Heart

That was what he said, right? Nap first. Talk later.

I could only imagine what he’d say.This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have. It was great, but…

My insides coiled dangerously because I couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to face him while he said anything of the sort. Not that the alternative was any better. Vida made it sound so easy—but it was anything but, and I didn’t really have the bandwidth to process a better alternative with a visit to his family on the horizon.

Shove it down. Think about it later.

A dinging sound came from a small screen in the kitchen, and I dropped my hands. It was an alert from the camera system that faced into the fenced-in area at the front of the house. There was a knock on the door, and I walked to the camera to see if it was a delivery. The paparazzi had backed off today, but it was hard to say what they’d do now that we were apparently “eye-fucking for the whole world to see.”

The gate was slightly open, and just before I was going to call for Parker, I saw a young woman walk out of the frame, then hesitate, looking back at the door for a few seconds. She wasn’t wearing a uniform signaling her as a delivery person, but a large sweatshirt swamping her frame and some jeans ripped at the knees.

Curiosity sank its claws into me, and I jogged to the door, pulling it open with a friendly smile on my face. “Hi. Can I help you?”

She froze, her eyes wide. “No. I … Are you … are you Anya?”

“I am. Did you need to deliver something?”

Her bottom lip trembled, and I noticed for the first time that she really didn’t look great. There were bags under her eyes, so much bigger, so much darker than Parker’s. And she was thin. Lank hair and a lost look in her eyes. “You seem like a really nice person,” she whispered. “It’s better this way. He has you, and this … this is better for everyone.”

My brow furrowed, and I took a step outside the door, chest tight with worry. Maybe I should’ve gotten Parker, but she didn’t look like she was going to hurt me. “Are you okay? Can I help you with something?”

A tear slid down her cheek. “You already are.”

Before I could say anything else, she turned and fled. “Wait,” I called out. But she was gone. I rubbed the back of my neck and let out a deep sigh. “Huh. That was weird.”

Past the fence was the sound of a car door, then an engine cranking up as she drove away.

Spike meowed from behind me, and I turned to give him a look. “What do you think, Spike? Did I just survive my first stalker run-in?”

He ignored me, though, winding past my leg to sniff by a potted plant just next to the door, nose up in the air as he smelled something. I called his name again, and he refused to turn in my direction. There was a sidewalk leading from the front door into the large enclosed space, two big planters on either side holding white flowers and bright green vines. The cat’s tail twitched as he sniffed just on the other side of one of the planters.

“Spike, comeon.”

A small cry let out, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted. It wasn’t Spike.

It wasn’t an animal at all.

Just beyond the large black pot was a car seat. And in the car seat, wearing a striped hat and covered in a light green blanket, was a baby.

A baby. In the front yard.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. Heart hammering, I bolted back to the door.“Parker,” I yelled. “Parker, get out here.”

I crouched in front of the car seat and checked the temperature of the baby’s cheek. He had big eyes and a little button nose, and he couldn't have been more than two months old.

“Parker,” I yelled again, louder this time, and when I heard the sound of his feet pounding down the steps, I breathed a sigh of relief. A diaper bag sat next to the car seat with an envelope with Parker’s name scrawled on the front.

I’d just tugged the note out of the envelope and skimmed the first couple of lines when the door shoved open.

I felt Parker behind me, and I stood slowly, my stomach knotted with the enormity of what just happened.

“What the fuck is that?” he breathed. He’d pulled on joggers, but his chest was bare. His face was pale as he looked down at the car seat.

We both looked down at the baby, and with numb hands, I handed him the letter. “I-I think it’s your son.”

Chapter 15

Anya

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