Bad Cruz(7)

I grinned to myself, shaking my head as I gathered our ice cream bowls and empty iced tea glasses, making my way to the kitchen. The doorbell chimed just as I began to rinse the dishes clean.

With a soft sigh, I turned off the faucet, wiped my hands dry, and made my way to the front door.

The doorbell rang again before I could reach it.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Sheesh.”

Was it my mother, passing by on one of her nightly walks in a bid to lose weight to tell me she’d decided to buy Bear his video game after all? Or maybe my sister, wanting me to look over a last-minute change to the flower arrangements or the wedding menu?

I flung the screen door open, and all the air left my lungs in one shocked whoosh.

On my front porch stood Rob Gussman, my high school sweetheart and Bear’s no-show Dad.

Thirteen years after leaving me pregnant at sixteen.

“Messy Nessy.” He smiled. “All grown up and lookin’ good.”





I slammed the screen door in his face.

I could see through the glass that Rob loitered on my porch, his big athletic body shifting as he tried to figure out his next move. He stepped aside and stared at me through a side window, channeling his inner Ted Bundy.

“Okay. I admit it sounded way better in my head as an opening line. Sorry. Sorry. My bad. Can you open the door, please?”

I knew a few things about Rob, mostly from whispers overheard around town, seeing as he’d used his two working brain cells not to return to Fairhope, after leaving me high and dry in high school.

He knew my dad, who’d served as the town’s sheriff for twenty years, would hunt him down with a rifle and I would finish him off myself, with my bare hands.

I knew he’d taken a scholarship when I was sixteen and fled to Arizona, hoping to eventually get drafted into the NFL.

Knew he never did get his shot to go pro, and he spent the last decade playing for amateur leagues and coaching on the side to make ends meet.

I knew he’d been married—twice—and gotten divorced, but he had no other children.

But the most important thing I knew about him was what a deadbeat he was. He’d never met his son.

Never sent a postcard, a birthday present, a note, not to mention a darn check. Never asked a goddarn question about the best thing in my life.

It was his complete rejection of Bear that was inexcusable to me.

Rob didn’t have to stay with me. But walking away from what he referred to as my mistake?

Yeah, fat chance getting off my fist list (people I wanted to punch) in this century, pal.

“C’mon, Nessy.”

Rob pressed his hand against the window, mustering just enough sadness to look pathetic. On second glance, he didn’t look like the old Rob at all. The one chock-full of ambition and dimples and opportunity.

He looked as worn-out, tired, and empty as I felt.

Good.

“Please,” he said softly. “I’ve been mustering the courage to come here for a week now. Give me five minutes.”

I pulled the door open again. I wasn’t curious at all as to why he was here. The number of dangs I gave about his reasons were currently minus fifteen and counting.

But if he truly was in a bad state, I didn’t want to be the person to shove him over the edge into the arms of suicide. Despite all of my internal wishes for people to die, I wasn’t so big on the concept in actuality.

Plus, he was still the father of my child, even if he’d never acted it.

Rob wore a North Face windbreaker, an expensive haircut, and a cast on his right leg. Something hot and full of shame swirled in the pit of my stomach when I thought about what he saw when he looked at me.

I was no longer the fresh-faced, beautiful girl he’d left behind, with the sun-spun hair, a dusting of blonde freckles, and knockout legs. I was twenty-nine now. Heavy makeup, a few extra pounds, and not enough sleep.

“You look…great,” he whimpered.

His voice was different, too. Resigned, somehow.

“You look out of place,” I answered dryly, leaning against my doorjamb. “What on earth are you doing in Fairhope, Rob? And why didn’t you think to call before dropping on my porch unannounced and about as welcome as a bag of flaming dog poop?”

Truth of the matter was, I would welcome dog poop with open arms if given the option between it and Rob. At least stomping profusely on an enflamed poop bag would make the problem go away.

He motioned to his right leg with his hand, choking on the revelation. “I broke my femur.”

You broke my heart.

“So I see.” I maintained my businesslike tone. “Still doesn’t answer my question.”

“I can’t play football anymore. Can’t really coach, either,” he choked out.

“My heart bleeds for you.”

“Seriously.” His brows knitted. “I’ll never get back on that field, Nessy.”

“Well, you are thirty-one and never made it to a pro league, so I’m pretty sure the world will survive the loss.”

Were we really talking about his amateur football career right now?

“But that’s not why I came back to Fairhope.” He shook his head, like he was trying to remember his lines. He made an attempt to catch my gaze.

I focused on his receding hairline, not ready to see what was in his eyes. My heart beat a thousand times a minute. I simultaneously couldn’t believe he was here and prayed Bear wouldn’t wake up for a glass of water.