Page 83 of Crashing the Altar
“Yes . . .” I drew the word out slowly. “And you are?”
From behind his back, he brought forth a manilla envelope, thrusting it into my hand and declaring, “You’ve been served.”
He’d already turned on his heel and begun walking away by the time it sank in what had just happened.
“Hey!” I shouted to his back, but he didn’t spare a backward glance as he hopped into a car parked down the street and drove away.
My eyes dipped to the envelope clenched in my fist so tightly that creases lined the oncesmooth paper.
What the hell?
Popping the tab at the top, I pulled the printed document out. Immediately, my gaze was drawn to the words in big, bold letters that read:Paternity Test Order.
My breath caught in my throat as my lungs seized.
Scanning further down the page only confirmed my worst fears. Jake had filed with the family court back home, and within the next thirty days, I was ordered to complete the testing to determine whether he was the father of my baby.
The text blurred as tears filled my eyes, but I managed to sift through the paperwork to the page that explained the two types of testing that would be acceptable, given my current gestation. If performed before the end of the thirteenth week, it would be a simple cheek swab, but if we missed that mark, the procedure would become more invasive, requiring a needle placed through my abdomen to take a tissue sample from my placenta. There, in black and white, it outlined the risks to my baby if that was the testing route we took—miscarriage, infection, potential damage to my baby’s red blood cells if any of their blood happened to enter my bloodstream.
I couldn’t bear the thought of putting my baby in danger, and for what? To satisfy Jake’s curiosity that, on the slim chance, one of the condoms we’d used hadn’t done its job? What kind of parent would agree to put their child in harm’s way to bolster their ego?
With my body trembling violently, a weak whimper left my lips before my knees buckled, and I crumpled to the ground.
“Miss? Are you all right?” A high-pitched voice was barely audible through my haze of panic. “Miss!”
I couldn’t do this alone.
With my throat closing up, I croaked out a single word.
“Tripp.”
Chapter 22
Tripp
Myphonebuzzedinmy back pocket, and I pulled it out to discover an incoming call from my favorite person. Swiping my finger across the screen, I brought it to my ear and teased, “Lucky, you’re late.”
“Lucky, is that her name?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when the male voice spoke on the other end of the line.
“Who is this, and why do you have my wife’s phone?”
There was a beat of silence. “Um . . .”
Alarm bells went off in my head. Something was wrong. “Tell me what happened. Now.”
“I was just passing by when I saw her fall and—”
“She fell?!” Fear cast a shadow over my heart, terrified not only for my wife but the baby she carried.
“More like collapsed,” he clarified. “She didn’t trip or anything.”
Collapsed. Jesus, it got worse every time this guy opened his mouth.
“Is sheconscious?”
“Yes, sir. She’s shaking like a leaf. Won’t lift her head, but I’m pretty sure she’s cryin’.”
