Page 10 of Vow to Protect
“Right then, that settles it. Are you with me on this, Kai?” I glare at him, silently pleading for his help.
Malakai laughs darkly. “You really want to do this?” His hands slide into snug trouser pockets, and his legs part a fraction wider. “This isn’t Syrah. People who stick their nose in Blaine’s business get maimed or hung up by the toes in the abattoir. Is that a risk you’re willing to take for a stranger?”
I shrug. The impulse to drain my waiting glass of whiskey grows within me tenfold. “I can’t ignore this. If the woman is in danger, then I should do the right thing and help. Otherwise, she might tell him about Tilly to save her own skin.”
He holds me with a contemplative glare, then sighs. “Whatever shit you're planning, don’t blow my cover.”
“Natalie, are you okay?”I look at her obvious sway, and the waft of alcohol fumes hits me. The tiny baby in her arms is so dainty and fragile. “Is that yours?” Natalie seems worn out, or ill, with sunken cheeks and shadows under dull eyes.
“She’s ours, Brett.”
“Mine?” I used a condom, didn’t I?
“Yeah, yours.”
“We used protection, Natalie. You can’t show up at my door out of the blue with a kid and claim it’s mine.”
“You don’t remember fucking me?” Her words slur with a nasty snarl. It’s not like her. She was sweet, not nasty.
“Seriously, how much have you had to drink?” I peer down at the bundle of blankets swaddling youthful rosy skin.
Natalie laughs uncontrolled. “That’s rich coming from you, Brett. You obviously drank so much that night you don’t even remember screwing me.”
My scoff isn’t missed by the woman with an unreadable look in her watery eyes. I remember. We’d got to know each other a little before hooking up. She caught my eye with her long legs and cheeky smile. Now she looks pitiful and withered. “Do you really think you’re above impregnating a woman because you have a wealthy dick?” Her arms shake.
“Come inside. I’ll call out the doctor to check you both over.” I reach for her arm, but she shrugs me off.
“Don’t you believe me? This is your baby.” She stops her lower lip quivering by sucking it into her mouth. “I need you to look after our daughter.”
Our daughter—my daughter. “What the hell, Natalie?”
The flash of anger darkening her features makes me fear for the baby stirring with a whimper. “Don’t tell me you're going to deny her a better future than I can give her? We both know she’ll have a life worth living in your care, with your million-pound apartment, snooty friends and swanky lifestyle. I’ve got nothing to offer her.”
“Have you started shooting up?” I don’t mean to sound angry, but this is fucked up. “You can’t give up your baby.”
“I’ll visit as often as I can. I’ve started a new job. The money is better, but the hours are long.”
“Natalie, come on, bring the baby inside. We’ll talk this over. Let me give you money. I’ll help you. If she really is mine, we can work something out...”
“She is yours!” she yells. “Your money can’t solve everything, Brett. I’ve already accepted the job. There’s no going back now.”
“You always have a choice. Tell them you don't want the position anymore. Where is it? I’ll talk to them.”
“It’s not that simple.” Natalie’s voice breaks. “This is my choice. Take the fucking baby.” She stares at the small face framed with wisps of dark curls and clenches her jaw. “Take her, Brett.” A floral blanket and wide, searching eyes lands in my arms. “She’s better off with you.”
Delicate pink skin, a small button nose and perfect little lips form the face of a child who I instinctively know is mine. “She’s not my kid, Natalie.” I test for the last time, but because of the state Natalie’s in right now, the baby is better off with me until she sleeps off the booze.
“She’s yours all right.” Tears pool in her bloodshot eyes, glossing the torment of leaving her child with a man who she hardly knows. No wonder she’s drowned her emotions in Dutch courage. Just as quickly as she lets her guard down, her throat clears, and she sucks in. “Get a test. Either you take her now, or you’ll never know your own blood.” I have no idea what the fuck is happening, but the soft gurgle of youth warms my heart.
“Look, stay here tonight.” I’m arguing with a drunk. “Tomorrow morning I’ll buy an apartment for you both to live in. I’ll look out for you and the kid.”
“Right,” she scoffs with a vague look in her eyes. “You can’t save me, but you can protect her. She’s called Tilly. I’ll visit as soon as I can.”
Memories haunt me. I sit at the bar, cradling a lime and soda, tricking my mind into the idea that it's liquor. The sweet bitterness doesn’t coat my throat with warmth or sooth my demons.
Bottles line the wall behind the bar, looming down at me with a coaxing trickle every time the bar man serves another customer. When I glimpse at my reflection in the gin branded mirror, I wonder if the world can see my struggle. Thick onyx hair has its own casual position with choppy lengths and short sides. A coarse skim of unshaven hair coats my jaw, wrapping around my mouth and stopping under my nose. The same nose my daughter pokes with her tiny fingers. It’s the crescents reaching my cheekbones that give away the restless long nights and coal coloured eyes hiding my emptiness.
Syrah never belonged to me. I only borrowed her for a while until her past and future imploded. Over time, I’ve accepted that fact—she didn’t belong to anyone.
