Page 36 of Unrivaled

The other thing I want is support from people who care about me. And as much as I’m not looking forward to telling my parents, I don’t think I can put it off any longer.

* * *

“Hello?” I call as I open my parents’ door and let myself in. I grew up here, so it still feels like home, but I also feel strange just barging in since I don’t actually live here anymore.

Mom pokes her head out of the kitchen, then emerges fully, smiling as she wipes her hands on a towel. “Gray. This is a surprise.” She gives me a quick hug. “Are you here for dinner? We’re just finishing up, but there’s plenty if you want to sit down. I can make you a plate.”

“No, I ate already.” I clear my throat, which makes Mom stop on her way back into the kitchen, turning to examine me closely.

“Is everything alright?”

Ducking my head in a quick nod, I run my hand through my hair, unable to control the nerves and adrenaline racing through my system. I’m no stranger to a racing heartbeat and pounding blood, but I usually have some outlet for it. Somewhere to direct all this energy. But now? It’s just … stuck. In my body.

With my hand in my pocket, I jiggle my keys, which only makes my mom stare at me longer.

“Is Dad home?” I ask, forcing the words through my tight throat.

She steps back and nods. “Yes. He’s in the kitchen.”

God, how are they going to react?

I’ve never really been on the receiving end of their anger or disappointment before.

Sure, I got reprimanded occasionally as a kid, but it was just normal kid stuff likebe nice to your sisterandclean your room. I did get a bit of secondhand censure whenever Piper got herself into trouble, because it was my job to look out for her when Mom and Dad weren’t around, but they also know that Piper’s as stubborn as they come and no one can really control her, them included.

But this? Telling them I just found out I have a kid? This is something else altogether.

And whatever else Piper’s done, she doesn’t have a secret baby, so this is all new territory for all of us, and I have no idea what to expect.

It’s the not knowing that’s killing me, to be honest.

Mom leads the way into the kitchen, where Dad sits at the table looking at something on his tablet.

He lifts his head when I enter the room, glancing between Mom and me, his gaze sharpening as he takes us in.

“Gray? Everything alright?”

“I asked him that,” Mom answers for me, “but all he did was ask if you were here. So here we are.” She sits in her usual seat, and I take the one opposite, reaching out and rolling up the corner of the brocade placemat at my seat.

Mom and Dad wait patiently while I roll and unroll the corner of the placemat a few times, but after a moment, Dad clears his throat. “Did something happen?”

I tilt my head to the side, because while yes, something did happen, the thing that happened was four years ago, so …

Blowing out a breath, I sit back in my chair, my hands scrubbing my thighs. “Um, I got some news.”

Mom reaches for Dad’s hand, and he wraps his fingers around hers, both of them bracing themselves. “What kind of news?” Mom asks, her voice more subdued than normal.

“Um, so, uh …” Unable to sit still, I stand and start pacing behind my chair, running both hands through my hair.

“Gray? Are you … are you … sick?” Mom asks, almost choking on the words.

I shake my head. “No. No, it’s not that.”

“Is it football?” Dad asks, both of them seeming less tense since I’ve successfully reassured them I’m not dying. God, I’m fucking this up. I can’t even talk to my parents. How am I going to talk to a kid and say the right things? What if I fuck him up too?

But I shake my head again. “No, it’s not football. It’s … shit,” I mutter, not even caring that I’m cursing in front of my parents. I stop pacing, closing my eyes as I turn to face them, but open them to deliver the news. “Um, well, I, uh, I have a kid.”

I’ve been wracking my brain for some way to lead up to it, but ultimately I can’t come up with anything, so there it is, stammering, but summed up in just four tiny words. All single syllables too.

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