Be My Hero (Forbidden Men #3)(26)

Damn, it was weird thinking of Tinker Bell as anything other than Tinker Bell. But her face finally had a name. A true, legitimate name.

Stunned I had not just one but several names to work with, I blew out a breath. Eva Mercer, Alec Worthington, Madeline and Shaw Mercer, Reese and Mason Lowe. I had filed each one into my head when I'd heard them tonight. I certainly hadn't meant to, but I'd turned into a sponge the moment I'd seen her, needing to soak up every detail.

When I spotted Tristy's closed laptop sitting on the arm of the sofa within reaching distance, I snagged it and situated it onto my lap.

Finished eating, Julian twisted his attention to see what I was doing, so I turned him around and sat him upright, propping his back to my chest so he could watch the screen with me.

"Better?" I asked.

He didn't answer except to reach his chubby fingers toward the keyboard when I flipped up the lid.

I chuckled. "Oh, yeah. You must be thinking exactly what I'm thinking. Let the typing begin."

I wiggled my fingers for a moment, acclimating myself to Tristy's home screen before clicking onto an internet search. The first hit for Eva Mercer was a Facebook page. I clicked into it and realized Tristy had never logged off, so I came in on her account. But it wasn't the Eva Mercer I was looking for.

Damn, I hated the disappointment that sucked the joy right out of me.

Using the Facebook search engine, I typed in her name again and scrolled through a page full of Eva Mercers before I spotted Tinker Bell about fifteen profiles down. My fingers shook as I hovered the pointer over her picture. God, did I want to do this?

Torturing myself by finding out more about her was stupid.

Nothing could ever happen between us. Being as pregnant as she was, she obviously already had someone in her life—Alec, the Prick, Worthington—and I was f*cking married.

A derisive laugh choked from my throat when I remembered it'd only been earlier today that Tris and I had gone to the courthouse. Fate hated me. It figured I'd finally meet my soul mate on my wedding day.

"Fuck it," I muttered under my breath and clicked into her page. I'd dreamed about this girl for the past one hundred and twenty-five months, and I didn't know a single thing about her. I deserved some dirt. Anything.

Her profile picture was a selfie of her wearing shades and an electric blue string bikini on a beach, or at least somewhere sunny and outside. She had taken the snapshot from above and was looking up so the camera aimed straight into her generous cleavage. And my, what fine cleavage she had. Damn. Not a single tan line marred her perfect golden skin while the wind blew a few tendrils of sunbaked blonde hair into her face. She was so flawlessly gorgeous she took my breath away.

The cover banner showed a line of hot, plastic-looking girls with their arms draped over each other's shoulders as they all tipped their heads back to take what looked like JELL-O shots. Tinker Bell—er, Eva—was right in the middle of them. Her face was flushed as if she were already drunk off her ass.

Defeat ran like acid through my veins. This wasn't the kind of girl I'd imagined she'd be. My Tink had always been sweet, loving, family-oriented, untouched by rape.

Fighter must've found my fingers around his chest holding him upright interesting because he began to play with them. I let him wrap his hand around one and draw it into his mouth. As slobbery gums clamped onto my knuckle, I pointed to the picture of her.

"See that woman right there, kiddo? That was supposed to be your mom."

Pain shot through my gut as soon as I said the words. This wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair at all. Unable to keep looking at her picture, but unable to leave her page, I scrolled down, learning as much as I could about her. But all I saw was this self-absorbed, rich party girl. She was either drinking it up at some immaculately lavish home with a bunch of carbon copies just like her or she was snapping pictures of new purchases she'd made at the mall. All her status updates were bashing someone she didn't like, talking about her latest shopping spree, or figuring out where she wanted to get drunk next.

Though her page hadn't been updated in five months, probably around the time she'd learned she was going to have a baby, there were no pictures of any family members, no talk of anything good she'd done, and—shit.

When I came across a seven-month old picture of her hanging all over some clean-cut, dark-haired prick in Dockers and a collared Polo shirt, I stopped and stared, unable to shed the jealousy that gnawed at my gut.

Was this him, then? When I shifted my finger to run the cursor over the frame, the name Alec Worthington appeared. My jaw popped. I wondered if the cougar had just been talking out her ass when she'd said Eva had tried to trap him into marriage by getting herself pregnant, or if it was true. But I seriously doubted he'd been the one to rape her. She wouldn't have let a picture of him stay on her page if he had been. Would she?

Either way, I still hated him. I hated everything he represented. But most of all, I hated what he meant to her. He was obviously the type she preferred: rich, pampered, entitled. He was everything I wasn't.

White-hot envy burned deep in my gut. I just couldn't believe she was already taken or that she was the kind of person I usually resented.

None of this made sense. If fate had really labeled Eva Mercer as my soul mate, then why did we come from worlds so far apart it was frankly a miracle we'd ever crossed paths? Which made me wonder how a girl from the yacht club kind of life had ended up at the Forbidden Nightclub at two in the morning on a Thursday night, six or seven months pregnant. Mason's girl was obviously her cousin but . . . f*ck, it didn't matter. I'd never see her again.