Page 17 of Unrivaled

“Huh?”

“Tiffany,” he repeats, sounding pissy at having to repeat himself so many times. “She has a kid. Little boy, three years old. Looks a lot like you in those pictures your mom has up in her living room. When did you say that party was?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hands. “Hold up just a second. What are you saying?”

He stares at me, his mouth flat. “When was the party? What month?”

“I dunno,” I mumble. “It was just before the state championship, so like November?”

Ducking his head, he counts something on his fingers. “Nine months after that is August. A kid born in August the year you graduated would be three now.”

“Dude,” I say, feeling all the blood draining from my face, my lips going numb. “What are you saying?”

He levels me with a hard stare. “I’m saying that I think you got Tiffany pregnant that night.”

“But I used a condom,” I protest weakly.

“Didn’t you take health class? Only abstinence has a one hundred percent pregnancy prevention rate.”

Swallowing thickly, I shake my head. “No. That’s … that can’t be possible.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow and doesn’t say anything.

Heat floods through me, taking the place of the cold numbness. “Fuck you, man. What the hell? It’s not. I used a condom. It’s probably her high school boyfriend’s. I’d … I’d know. Right? If I got some chick pregnant? I-I’d know. Somehow.”

Hands on his hips, Jackson waits patiently for me to finish verbally flailing. But wouldn’t I know?

“How?” he asks, giving voice to the question I don’t want to acknowledge. “How would you know? You weren’t the one pregnant. Nothing about your body would’ve changed. If she didn’t tell you, how would you know?”

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” If Jackson’s right, then why not find me? I told her to give me her number before she left, and she never did. But still, she found me once. She could’ve found me again. If I got her pregnant, why wouldn’t she find me and tell me?

Jackson shrugs. “Dunno, man. She didn’t say anything about that. She just said the dad wasn’t in the picture. To me it sounded like he didn’t want anything to do with them. Like maybeyoudidn’t want anything to do with them. You really didn’t know?”

Shaking my head, my feet start taking me toward the locker room before I even realize I’m moving. “I gotta go.” I don’t bother to shower, I just grab my bag and keys, not even bothering to change out of my lifting shoes or put on a sweatshirt. I just have to get out of here, get away from Jackson, away from the accusation—revelation—idea—that I might have a kid out in the world that I don’t know about. That I’ve never met.

That looks like me.

I get in the car and start driving, intending to go back to my apartment, but when I actually become aware of my surroundings, I realize I’m almost to my parents’ house. Slowing, I pull into the driveway and put the car in park, sitting and staring at the house for a long time.

Eventually I turn off the car and climb out, noticing the chill in the air as I head up the steps and try the handle. It’s locked, so both my parents must be out, which is a relief. I don’t know what I’d tell my mom if she asked what was wrong right now.

I think I might have a kid?

Jackson says his friend has a kid who looks just like me. She’s the daughter of the Edgewood High football coach. And she used me for revenge sex when we were teenagers.

Yeah, definitely not that last one. I do not need to discuss my teenaged sex life with my mother.

Letting myself in with my key, I push the door closed behind me, then go stare at the wall of photos in the living room that caught Jackson’s attention when we were here last, staring at the picture of me he was most focused on.

But … how is it possible? How could I have a kid and not know? Why wouldn’t she tell me?

Maybe it’s not yours, whispers the voice of denial in my head. She had that boyfriend. The one she wanted revenge on. Though he didn’t look anything like me with his dirty blond hair. And Tiffany’s blond, so she wouldn’t have a kid with dark hair and eyes like me unless the dad had my coloring.

But if she were mad enough at her ex-boyfriend to have revenge sex with me, there’s no telling how many other parties she went to and hooked up at during that time. There are a million guys with brown hair and brown eyes. And little kids all have the same round, cherubic faces. I remember my high school art teacher talking about how drawing kids was more difficult than adults because they don’t sit still but also because their bones aren’t fully formed yet, so their faces lack the definition of adults or something like that.

I never tried drawing kids, and those comments never made me want to try.

But I don’t think Jackson would say something to me if he weren’t convinced.

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