Page 8 of Almost Paradise

“You think this is funny?” His voice is a mere whisper.

“I do because I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” He takes a step closer, and I straighten up. “Don’t come any closer. You don’t intimidate me. You didn’t back then, and you don’t now.” He’s very intimidating, and I could barely look at him that first day. His eyes followed me the entire time. He’s tall and can be authoritative, but I know a side of him that few others know. I shove that aside, though.

“So, you’re going to deny having a child?Mychild?”

I manage to go around him and examine the laptop he threw across the room. It’s ruined. The screen is shattered. I toss it back on the floor and cross my arms.

“Why would I deny my son? He’s the greatest accomplishment of my life.” Once I accepted the fact that I was pregnant, I embraced it. I embraced it as much as I possibly could when I was facing the life of single motherhood. Being a single mother was never one of my life’s goals. I want a relationship like the one my parents have. And I’m still going to have that, only not with the father of my son.

“You don’t deny he’s mine?”

“Why would I? He looks just like you. He has half your DNA. Denying his existence is your area of expertise, not mine, sperm donor.”

He takes a step back at my words. He looks at me as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to put together. Whatever he was expecting to hear, it wasn’t what I said.

“Deny him? You think I would deny my son?”

Now it’s my turn to be shocked by his words. I look around the house and wish I had something to hit him with. I can’t stand the sight of him or the sound of his voice.

“Do I think you would deny your son, Paradise? Really? Did you really just ask me that question? I know for a fact that you would. That’s exactly what you’ve been doing since I told you I was pregnant.” I look at the mess he made on the floor and try to leave my office to get a broom. He grabs my elbow before I can reach the door. “Hands off me,” I warn.

“What kind of game are you playing at?” He adds pressure to my elbow, and I slowly look into his eyes. I see something I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen him stressed. I’ve seen him sad. I’ve seen him resigned, and I’ve seen him passionate, but never angry. This is beyond anger. I try to pull my arm away, but he easily controls me. “What the hell are you playing at, Nia?”

“Get your damn hand off me.”

“Or what?” We stare at each other. He looks down at my heaving chest and licks his lips. “Or what?” he repeats.

“Or this.” I lift my other hand to slap him across his face, but he grabs my wrist. We’re both immobile now.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” he warns.

“I think you need to get the hell out of here.”

“I’m not leaving until I get access to my son.” At that, I manage to pull free from his hold. Until he uttered those words, I was only irritated by his presence, but now it’s like he lit a match on a pool of gasoline.

“What the hell did you just have the audacity to say to me?” I hiss.

“Are you hard of hearing? I. Want. Access. To.My. Son.”

I can feel something start to bubble inside of me, only it’s not laughter this time. It’s the beginnings of something that I won’t be able to control once it erupts. That’s another thing about Drake Paradise. No one else on earth has ever been able to fuck with my emotions like him. Time and distance have not changed that.

An old fear creeps back up to the forefront of my mind. For months after Carter was born, I worried that Drake and his snake of a father would try and take him from me. Not that I would ever let that happen.

“You want that, do you? More than three years later, you think you can march intomyhouse and make any kind of demands aboutmyson? Stop wasting my time and get the fuck out of here.”

“I always hated it when you curse.” Those words stun me and take me back to a posh hotel room.

“The only time I want to hear the F word come out of that perfect mouth is when I’m inside of you,”he whispers as he slides in.

I blink the memory away.

“I want to see my son. Today.” He speaks like a man used to giving orders. He’s been doing just that since he was born, but I don’t take orders from Drake Paradise. I never have and never will.

“Have you had a traumatic brain injury, Paradise? Maybe a lobotomy? Or is this your grief talking? Whatever it is you’re not making any sense. And you will seemyson over my dead body. I can guarantee you that. I’m the only parent he knows and the only one he needs.”

“I—”

“You nothing!” I scream, stunning him. “You nothing! Shut up!” I yell again. “I told you I was pregnant, and you told me you wanted nothing to do with me or the kid. Rememberthat? You don’t get to walk back in years later and act like I didn’t tell you, but of course this is what you would do. This has Paradise written all over it. What was it you used to tell me? ‘A Paradise can do whatever they want.’ Well, not this time. Not with me and not with my child. Get thefuckout of here. I’m not going to say it again.”

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