Fumbled (Playbook #2)(18)

When I got pregnant with Ace, I was young, scared, and alone. And even though TK was still a kid and didn’t have the wealth and power he has now, he came from money. I’ve always been able to justify my reasoning for keeping him away by imagining TK and his family as comic book villains. Thinking that TK just moved on and was a massive, egotistical asshole who would’ve only harmed Ace made it easy.

As a mom, you’ll do anything to protect your kids, even things that everyone from the outside looking in deem as wrong. But sitting here with TK, and realizing he’s not the bad guy I had living in my head for the past nine years, has clouded my judgment.

The alcohol had been enough make me forget about my real life for a bit, but listening to him being so honest with me while I’m lying to his face makes me feel like the scum of all scum.

Ace’s face, the one he makes when he sees his friends with their dads, pops into my mind. The way he conceals the sadness behind a mask of kid joy when he gives me the Father’s Day present he made at school taunts me.

“We have mini camp this week, but when it’s over, come over.”

“I have to tell you something.” I pull my hands away from him and tangle them in the bottom of my shirt.

“Oh.” He looks confused, not understanding the sudden change in my demeanor. “What is it?” he prompts when I don’t continue.

“I have a kid.” I blurt it out before I can change my mind.

I watch him physically recoil, his back colliding with the pleather-covered seat. “Um. Wow. A kid? That’s . . . that’s really great, Poppy.”

Poppy. Not Sparks. He’s already checking out.

“Yeah,” I tell him, pushing myself to tell him everything. “He’s a really great kid, the best, actually.”

“I’m sure he is, you’re his mom.”

“Thanks.” My fingernails are digging into my palms and I focus on the biting pain and instead of the look of horror on TK’s face. “He’s nine.”

I search his face for some kind of acknowledgment. For anything that shows he knows. But instead, he doesn’t say anything and forces me to lay it all out there. “His name is Ace and he’s yours.”

There.

I did it.

Ripped off the Band-Aid and it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as I thought it would.

Or so I thought.

I blink and the look of horror is gone.

Even through his beard, I can see the deep red coloring his cheeks. His eyes are so narrowed the green has disappeared and his hands are bunched fists against the table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he whispers, the softness of his voice only accentuating his anger. When I don’t answer, he slams his fists against the table. The wrapped silverware jumps with me and the salt and pepper shakers fall over. “Are you fucking kidding me!” He stands up, leaning over the table, screaming in my face.

“Ace.” I use the nickname I’ve been avoiding calling him.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarls. “I can’t believe you’d pull this shit. I know I have to deal with accusations like this, it comes with the territory. And for six fuckin’ years I have. I let them roll off my back. I don’t let people get too close and I keep my eyes wide open. Do you know how hard it is to never open up, to never trust someone? Then I see you again and I think I can let my guard down for a night . . . one night! And then you pull this? You?” He points a shaky finger at me. “You find me and think what? That you found your meal ticket? That you can pin some kid on me?”

“What?” Now I’m the one pulling away. “Pinning a kid on you? Ace is yours. Just because I didn’t go through with the abortion you wanted doesn’t mean you get to act clueless in all of this.”

I had a lot of scenarios in my head. Most of them did not end well. But not once did I think TK wouldn’t believe Ace was his.

“Abortion? You’re so full of shit.” He’s still leaning over the table, trying to intimidate me with his size. “You work at a fuckin’ club, Poppy. It’s clear you’re not living your best life. I’m back and you see your chance.” He smiles, but there’s nothing friendly about it. “What? You get knocked up when I left for school knowing I’d find somebody better than you?”

It would’ve hurt less if he’d punched me in the face.

I blink more times than is normal and try to pick my jaw up from the table where it is no doubt resting.

I don’t even know this person in front of me. When we dated, TK was the calm, even-tempered one in our relationship. Where I would jump to conclusions and occasionally—maybe more than occasionally—lose my ever-loving mind, TK always measured his responses. Every word that passed through his lips was well thought out and calculated. And on the rare occasions when we did fight, he would walk away before he ever said anything that would hurt me. So this TK, the one who seems to let every mean, hurtful, spiteful thought fly out of his mouth, is a stranger.

“Now you’re just trying to be mean, TK. I get you’re upset I didn’t tell you I changed my mind, but you’re pissing me off. I’m not gonna sit here so you can insult me all night.”

“Then go.” He points toward the entrance we came in through. “Get out of my face with this bullshit.”