Page 44 of Beautiful When He Breaks

My own pulse roars in my ears. I can’t see clearly through the windows anymore because all my focus has narrowed down to the phone in my hand, the little speaker at my ear, and the fact that I’ve just dropped a bomb in the middle of my own life.

Then my mother says, very faintly, “What?”

“I have a daughter,” I repeat. My mouth is dry, but my voice comes out steadier now that I’ve crossed the worst threshold.

“What are you talking about?” My father says before my mother can.

He sounds less shocked now than offended; as if the statement itself is an insult to order.

I shut my eyes briefly. “A few days ago, Celeste left a month old baby on our doorstep with legal papers. A DNA test confirmed she’s mine.”

That silence again, but this one is different—it’s filling up with something uglier.

“Celeste was pregnant?” My mother finds her voice first.

“Yes, she was and I didn’t know.”

“How could you not know?” my father asks immediately, and there it is, the first crack of exactly what I feared.

“Because she left Blackthorne months ago without telling me she was pregnant,” I say again, bracing myself for what I’m about to say next. “And I didn’t know because I don’t know when… I don’t know when it happened. We never—” I stop and force air into my lungs before continuing. “I think Celeste drugged me because we’ve never—I never slept with her, Dad. I’ve spoken to a lawyer. There are questions about whether I was assaulted.”

I hear my own words as I say them, hear how impossible they sound even now, and shame hits hard enough that I nearly stop talking altogether.

My father does not let me. He gives this hard, disgusted exhale through his nose. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

I drag in a stuttered breath at the coldness in his tone. “I’m not being ridiculous.”

“Eli,” my mother says, and somehow her voice is worse because it’s soft in that strained way people get when they’ve already decided the truth but want credit for saying it kindly. “You need to be careful with accusations like that.”

“I’m not accusing her for fun,” I say, my throat starting to close. “I’m telling you I didn’t know what was happening. I was exhausted around her all the time, out of it, and I don’t remember—”

“Enough,” my father cuts in. “You are a man. You are not a victim of some girl you were dating.”

The words hit me so hard I actually flinch.

“You asked me what happened,” I say, and now I can hear the crack in my own voice, hear the desperation I hate. “I’m telling you that I didn’t know. I did not know she was pregnant, and I did not knowingly—”

“Then you should have been more careful,” my father says. “You should have acted like a man with sense instead of a boy who thinks consequences are for other people.”

“Why would she do this if the two of you were together?” My mother asks as my heart splinters, her voice quieter, but not better.

“Because I kept telling her I was waiting for marriage?” I laugh once, and the sound is awful. “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know why she did any of it.”

“Were you sleeping with her or not?” my father demands.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is exactly that simple.”

“No, it fucking isn’t!” I say, louder now, the curse slipping out because I’m too raw to catch it in time. There’s a sharp intake of breath from my mother at that, but I can’t even feel sorry about it.

“You don’t get to sit there and make this simple because it’s more comfortable for you. I’m telling you I don’t remember consenting. I’m telling you I think she drugged me or used me when I was out of it, and you’re acting like I’m making it up because it doesn’t fit whatever version of manhood you’ve got in your head.”

“Watch your tone.” My father’s voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it.

I can feel my own breathing starting to go ragged. The car suddenly feels too small, and my skin is too tight. Through the windows, the world in the house looks unbearably warm and far away.

“Even if all of that were true—”