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I understand her concerns. I have worries about being a dad. Shit, when I first found out I was fucking livid because I never thought I’deverwant to be a father. Not after the piece of shit dad I have—never. But my entire outlook turned the moment I saw the tiny bump on her belly. I couldn’t stop the rapid pace my heart was beating at or the shakiness in my hands when I felt the human growing inside of her. I was in awe.
I look down at her sleeping form and wish I could stay, but I can’t. I came back because I knew what happened earlier was wrong, but I need to take a step back from her because I’ve been feeling…somethingwhen it comes to Cara. More than the usual lust I’ve been feeling around her. The bad thing is that when I look at her, sometimes I see the grief of Logan in her eyes. Don’t get me wrong, it might be there forever, and I’d be okay with that.
But I can never compete with him. I can never compete with the good guy who doubles up as one of mybest friends. And I don’t want to.
Don’t forget about the hesitancy that the baby she’s carrying also belongs to my best friend.Fuck, I would really be gutted.
With one last glance at her, I turn on my heels and slip out of her house, making sure it’s locked from the inside.
Walking home, I run my hands through my hair as I think about the upcoming trip to California. It’s supposed to be pretty easy and when me and Easton spoke with Aziel the other day, he made it seem like we’re just there to oversee the deal. We’ve had some issues with the Mexicans, and not because they’ve done anything or we have, it’s just they’re super shady when it comes to the business and we don’t want any unnecessary blood spilt between us.
He’s excited to have us there, though. Easton’s been out to his place, but I never have and I’m excited to see what it’s all about.
When I get to my house, I open the door and sigh at the sight. My mom sits there, sitting up with her head slumped to the side. I walk up to her to feel for a pulse, and when I see her breathing, I step back and watch her. She’s still got a rubber band tied around her arm from shooting up. On the table in front of her sits needles and so many drugs it would make a fucking crackhead uncomfortable.
She wears a nightgown that’s nearly translucent and sits bunched up to the tops of her thighs. Bruises litter the insides of her legs and I know without a doubt that’s my father’s doing. He’s a sick bastard. Whenever he hurts her, she goes in a downward spiral for about a week, so heavily doped up that she can’t stay awake for more than an hour.
I go and grab the trash bin to clean up the garbage on the table and the used needles. Untying the rubber band from around her arm, I watch as the blood rushes back through her veins, turning her arm from the ghastly white back to its normal pale yellow.
“Mom.” I give her a shake, just to make sure she’s okay. When she doesn’t respond, I push her over so she’s laying down instead of sitting up. Grabbing the blanket on the back of the couch, I drape it over her naked legs to give her a dash of modesty.
I stand up and walk towards my room. I can’t stand to watch her gray form. In the last seven years that we’ve been here, I’ve watched my mom shrink and wither away into a shell of a human. Full of bones and thin skin and not at all the woman she used to be. Not that she was ever great, but she was pretty, full of life. She barely acknowledges anyone now days. Sits on her couch to get fucked up, that’s literally the extent of her lifestyle now.
As I’m about to enter my room, I hear her mumble.
I take a step towards her. “Mom? Did you say something?” I take another step towards her, embarrassingly eager to talk to the woman who don’t think I’ve spoken to in nearly a year.
“Mom.” I say again. A little louder. A little harsher.
She mumbles incoherently and as I walk up to her, I freeze.
“Wren.” She says, and the blood drains from my face.
She’s still dreaming of her daughter who she barely knew, when she hasn’t paid any attention to the son who has been standing in front of her for nearly nineteen years.
“Wren.” She cries.
I turn around, walking to my room and slamming my door shut behind me.
I walk up to my nightstand and rip open the door, grabbing my bowl and lighter. I take the biggest hit possible, feeling the burn tear up my lungs and coughing my fucking ass off.
Maybe Cara is right. Maybe she shouldn’t keep the kid. I’m going to be painted as a murderer for the rest of my life.
Why would anyone want me to be the father to their child?
I know I wouldn’t.
13
Cara
Five months pregnant
"Are you on yourway?" I ask as I bite my thumb nail when Rose picks up the phone. A disgusting new habit that I can't seem to break.
"I'm literally pulling up in front of your house right now."
"Okay. See you in a second." I hang up my phone and drop my head back against my couch. We're leaving for California tomorrow and I seriously have nothing to wear. I don't even have a decent enough swimsuit. Are we even going swimming?
