Page 165 of Small Town Firsts

“It does,” I agree, an idea sparking in my mind. “Hang on, okay? Don’t move!” I grab my phone up from the counter. “Okay, baby, give everything a good stir for Mama!” I snap a few shots of Tatum at the stove stirring our dinner and attach them to a text to Alden that readsShe may not know you as her father, but she is so much like you. Can we please talk soon?

CHAPTER 20

ALDEN

Nate droppedme off at my car after our chat. Things may be okay between us, but I can tell he’s not totally okay with all of this. Hell, I’m not even sureI’mokay with it.

I mean, it’s a lot to digest. Not only did I sleep with my best friend’s little sister, but…oh shit.She said it was her first time.I was her first.Knowing that is kind of a mindfuck. On one hand, that caveman that lives inside every red-blooded, breathing male wants to stomp and shout in victory of claiming unconquered land.

But the sane, rational part of me also knows that has to be a shitty thing for her—for me not to even remember it, and then get knocked up on her first go. Knocked up with my kid. That she kept from me. At that, I tell the sane, rational part of me to fuck right off. She didn’t have to be a single mom. All she had to do was fucking sit down and talk to me—I would have been there for her, come hell or high water.

In an attempt to clear my mind, I kill a few hours driving aimlessly. My plan backfires spectacularly, though, when I cruise past a playground and instantly picture myself pushing a chubby, red-cheeked baby in a swing. It gets worse when I pass the ice cream shop my grandparents always took me to growingup. I can’t help but wonder if Tatum likes ice cream, and if so, what’s her favorite flavor? Is she all about the classics or is she more adventurous in her flavor choices? Toppings or no?

My low fuel alert dings, breaking me from my thoughts. But, hell, even the gas station has me feeling nostalgic. As soon as we were allowed to ride our bikes out of the neighborhood, Nate and I would pedal down here to get glass bottle Cokes and peanuts. Nate got his roasted and put them in his Coke; I got mine boiled. Meanwhile, I have a daughter and don’t even know if she has a peanut allergy—or any allergies, for that matter.

It’s late in the afternoon by the time I make it back to the house. The silence inside mocks me. It tempts me to delve into my psyche—into the issues that I love to bury and pretend as if they don’t exist. Issues named Mia.

But, after last night, I’m in no frame of mind to defuse that particular bomb, so I do what I do best, and mentally stick her back in her box, sliding it back up onto the shelf. She’s an entirely different issue for an entirely different day.

I wash my hands over my face and take a deep breath, noticing for the first time that I smell like a distillery mixed with stale cigarette smoke—gross. I toss my keys onto my dresser and plug my phone into the charger before shucking off my clothes and hitting the shower.

The hot water soothes my body, but does nothing for my mind. I waffle back and forth between shock, anger, and denial.

Shock that I have a daughter.

Anger that I’m just now finding out about her.

And denial…well, this one’s a bit trickier. Because as much as I want to deny she’s mine, I can feel it in my soul. Not to mention, her features favor mine more than Natalie’s. Even still, maybe I should ask for a DNA test to be sure…even though I’m pretty damn positive of what it’s going to say. After last time, I’d be a fool not to cover all of my bases.

When the water runs cold, I step out, towel off, throw on a pair of sweats, and face plant into my bed. The urge to sleep is strong, but I roll over and snatch up my phone and power it on.

As my home screen loads, notifications ping. A total of five missed calls—all from Natalie—along with a slew of texts, though shockingly only half are from her. The rest are from Carlos.

I open his thread, not ready to deal with Nat’s bullshit.

Carlos

Tara no called, no showed her shift tonight.

Carlos

Called her. She sounded drunk. This is her 2nd time pulling this shit.

Carlos

Also, you texted me some crazy shit asking me to find someone to cover Natalie’s shift last night…wanted to let you know Jenny agreed to.

Jesus.I quickly scroll up, making sure I didn’t make a total ass of myself, and for the most part, I’m okay. You know, aside from texting my GM at ten o’clock at night asking him to alter the schedule. I text him back a thumbs up emoji and toss my phone back down, still not ready to deal with Natalie, or anything really.

I know we need to sit down and talk, calmly and rationally, but I’m finding it really fucking hard to be either of those things at the moment. Instead of reading her texts, I pad out to the kitchen and whip myself up some dinner. I keep it simple,making quick work of a bowl of creamy avocado pasta, because as much as I love being in the kitchen, cooking for one isn’t all that satisfying.

I take my dinner out onto the patio and eat it to the sounds of my quiet, sleepy street. It’s peaceful, but would certainly be better enjoyed with company. Involuntarily my mind drifts to Natalie. I picture her and Tatum out here with me; the sounds of their laughter warming my belly far more than the meal.

Suddenly my appetite is ruined. I head back inside and toss my bowl into the sink—I’ll wash it tomorrow. Back in my room, I finally decide to man up and read her texts.

Natalie

I’m so sorry. Please know that.

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