The Rejected Wife: Chapter 14

“There; all done.” Cilla leans back from the bathroom counter where she just finished changing the kid’s diaper. She wraps up the used diaper in a disposable bag and holds it out.

When I make no move to take it from her, she frowns. “Can you bin this please?”

Pushing aside this feeling of being discombobulated, like I’ve been transferred into an alternate reality, I push away from the entrance to the bathroom where I’ve been lurking and inch in her direction. When I reach her, she waves the package at me. I catch a whiff of something unpleasant and wrinkle my nose.

“Go on,” Cilla says in an impatient voice.

I pinch the pungent package between my thumb and forefinger, head to the trash can, and drop it in. I’m not proud to say that my hands won’t stop shaking. My stomach twists, flips, churns. I can taste the panic on my tongue, bitter and metallic. There’s a baby in my house. And apparently… It’s mine?

Nope; not possible. I’ve always wrapped it up. But has there ever been a time I didn’t? I try to think back and come up with… Nothing. Nope. I’ve never been tempted to do it bareback. Not until I met… her. The woman who’s turned brisk and focused on the child since it…landed on my doorstep.

“You’ll have to get a diaper disposal bin to lock in the odors,” she throws in my direction.

What the—? I pause, then pivot to face her. “What do you mean?”

“The garbage bin you have won’t suffice to stop the smell from spreading in the bathroom,” she says slowly, as if I don’t understand what she’s saying. Which I don’t. Because I’ve never had to think about the consequences of throwing a baby’s soiled diaper in the rubbish bin.

On the other hand, my mind is reeling with trying to come to terms with the events of the past half-hour. One moment, I was sure I’d met the woman I was going to spend my life with. I was looking forward to making love to her and convincing her to never leave. The next, there’s a baby at my doorstep—and it’s, apparently, mine?

The security guard called to explain what had happened. A woman showed up carrying a baby carrier and told him she was there to see me. She sounded so confident that I was expecting her that he didn’t think to check with me. He let her in, figuring it was legitimate. Later, he realized she must have left through an emergency exit, because he never saw her leave through the main doors.

She gave a name, which I’m sure is going to turn out to be fake. He didn’t bother to check her ID—a serious lapse—nor did he check in with me first. Andhe allowed her to come up unaccompanied. It’s going to cost him his job. I don’t feel sorry about it, either. He should not have let that woman in.

I have no idea who she could be. I’ve never brought a woman to this place before. If I wanted to spend the night with a woman, I’ve always preferred it to be in a hotel. And could one of those nights have resulted in this kid?

Priscilla brought it into the living room and tried to soothe it. When it continued to cry, she held up the baby and smelled her diaper. She smelled her diaper! Jesus Christ. Then she rummaged around in the diaper bag and found additional diapers. She headed to the bathroom, and I followed her. Because really, what else was I supposed to do?

Her actions were competent, her tone soothing as she spoke to the baby while changing her nappy. I watched from the safety of the bathroom entrance for as long as I could.

I’m only putting off the inevitable. My rational mind knows that. But emotionally… Fuck. I’m unraveling. This whole thing is a minefield, and I’m walking it blindfolded. Every instinct I have is screaming—sharp and loud like sirens in my blood. My skin prickles, too tight for my body. Nothing makes sense except the one thought which keeps repeating in my head: Surely, this kid can’t be mine?

“Look at the shape of her eyes.” Priscilla stares down at the infant looking up at her. “They’re similar to yours.”

“What? No.” Once more, I sidle over to her—because I feel like any sudden movement might alarm the child. I confess, a part of me might be holding onto the hope that if I don’t get too involved with her, perhaps, I can find a way to foist the responsibility off on someone else? Because she’s not mine. Nope. But I’m curious enough to want to see what Cilla is talking about.

I reach her and peer over her shoulder. The baby trains her big brown eyes in my direction. At least they aren’t mismatched like mine. And the shape of them? Honestly, I can’t tell if they look like mine or not.

“Also, her jawline,” Cilla says softly. “Do you see the resemblance?” She traces her finger in the air over the kid’s face. “So like yours.”

“I don’t see anything,” I say irritably.

“Well, she does seem like she’s yours.” Cilla nods in a way that makes me realize she’s made up her mind.

“Hold on. Until I have a DNA test, nothing is proven.” My voice comes out harsh, and it must frighten the kid, for she scrunches up her face and begins to cry.

“Look what you did now.” My dream woman scoops up the little one and rocks her against her chest. “There, there. Did your papa scare you? Don’t worry about that. He’s not as grouchy as he comes across, I promise.”

Papa? What the fuck? I’m not ready to be a father. This is some B-grade soap opera bullshit happening here. Outwardly, I glare at Cilla. “How do you know that?”

“Because I do?” She turns to face me with the kid nestled in her arms.

“You barely know me,” I point out.

“I know enough.” Her lips turn up at the side. “You booked out a coffee shop, then a bookstore, for me. You cooked for me. You wanted to get to know me better. You brought me home because you wanted to spend the night getting to know me… And then you accepted my ‘no’ at the very last minute without a single complaint. You, Tyler Davenport, are a decent human.”

My heart constricts. Warmth pools in my chest. I stare into her melting brown eyes and see tenderness. And something close to love? Nah. It can’t be love. Not when we just met. And now, she’s found out that I might possibly have a child. A baby. Shit.

She continues to sway the baby in a calming rhythm. And when her gaze roams my face, she must see the conflicting emotions. “It’s a lot to take in. You must be feeling confused.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I shift my weight from foot to foot.

“Would you like to hold her?” She holds the now silent infant out to me.

I glance at the kid, and my gut churns. I can taste panic on my tongue, bitter and metallic. If I hold her…I might not be able to let her go.

There’s an innocence about the child, a helplessness that calls out to the protector in me. If I take her in my arms, it means…I won’t be able to part with her. And I’m not sure I’m ready to make that decision yet.

When I make no move to take the kid, disappointment flickers across Cilla’s features. She begins to pace the floor of my bedroom, holding the kid against her shoulder. The child yawns. Cilla croons a tune under her breath. Something that sounds like a nursery rhyme, though I can’t quite hear the words. Watching her with the kid, causes funny sensations in my chest. Maybe it’s heartburn? Yeah, that’s what it is. It’s definitely not my heart stuttering with something suspiciously like tenderness at seeing this woman taking care of this child so competently.

“She’s almost asleep.” Cilla looks down at the child, her expression gentle. Then she steps past me and heads out of the room.

In the living room, she places the child carefully in the carrier. She sits down in the armchair next to it, keeping a hand on the carrier in a protective gesture.

I’m grateful she knows how to change a diaper. Of course, she does. She’s a nanny. A natural caregiver. If she were in my life… And if—and that’s a big if—the child turns out to be mine, would Cilla want to play a role in the kid’s life? Hold on. That’s a big leap to make. Especially since I only just met her. Besides, the child can’t possibly mine… Can she?

“Tyler, are you okay?” Her forehead furrows. “You look troubled.”

That’s the understatement of the century. I’m completely wrecked—spinning, drowning, with no idea how to make sense of any of this. What the hell is going on? Is this some cruel joke one of my brothers cooked up, or have I lost my mind? Nah, springing a kid on me isn’t their style. I shake my head to clear it.

Calm down. You successfully lead tours of duty and walked away alive. You can do this.

I stalk over and drop into the couch opposite her. “I need to make some calls and figure out what to do about her.” I nod in the direction of the child.

She glances at the now sleeping baby, and her features turn gentle. “She’s so beautiful.” Cilla reaches inside the carrier and touches a finger to the kid’s cheek. “So soft.”

I stare at the child’s face, a knot of troubled emotions forming in my chest. I can’t remember feeling this conflicted ever before. But then, I haven’t been dealt with two emotional blows in one night, and so close to each other either. I shift my gaze to Cilla’s gorgeous features. Not even seeing my brothers-in-arms killed has affected me this deeply. They didn’t necessitate the kind of upheavals to my life that this woman and this child may precipitate.

She must sense my perusal for she raises her gaze to mine. Whatever she sees there makes her knit her eyebrows.

“What are you going to do?”

“Call my lawyer and have him call social services to understand what the next steps are with the child. Then, I’ll get a private investigator to track down the person who left her here. I’ll bet they’ve been captured on at least one of the security cameras in the building. And then, I need to arrange for a DNA test—” The weight of the decisions I must make pushes down on my shoulders. I feel exhausted. When I pinch the bridge of my nose, Cilla makes a noise of sympathy.

She crosses over to sink down on the couch next to me. “It’s a lot of change. A lot of responsibility. There’s much to process.”

She slips her arm about my shoulders and leans her head against mine. For a few seconds, I allow myself to absorb her comfort, her softness. To revel in her curves against mine.

Whatever I decide to do with this child, my life is going to change irrevocably. I’m going to need time to process it. To understand what led to a woman dropping off a baby at my doorstep—to figure out what to do with the kid, whatever the results of the DNA test turn out to be. That’s my responsibility. And I won’t shirk from it… Even if it turns out the kid isn’t mine. And there’s a strong chance she isn’t. I hope…

And Cilla—? Would I want to saddle her with the responsibility of taking care of a tiny tot? It’s different when you have a job and can go home or take time off and forget about it. This wouldn’t be that way. And she’s still young. She has her entire life ahead of her.

Sure, I’ve always assumed that one day, I’d want to have children with a woman… And earlier tonight, I thought it would be this woman. But not right away.

And I care for Cilla too much already to want to burden her. I’ve already formed an attachment to Cilla. I care for her, and I want what’s best for her. As for the baby?

I’m not sure how to feel about her.

I’ve spent all my adult life on my own. And now, to suddenly find I have both the woman of my dreams and an unexpected kid who might not even be mine? My head spins.

Between the two… Right now, Serene has to be my priority. And it doesn’t seem fair to ask Priscilla to tie herself to me when… My immediate future feels like it’s going to be a shit show while I figure out the story behind this child and what to do with her.

It’s not fair to weigh down Cilla with all the complications headed my way—whether the child is mine or not.

Maybe once I’ve figured things out with the kid, once I’ve tracked down her mother and returned the kid, or arranged for social services to take her…I’ll have the time and space to give Cilla my full attention. She deserves nothing less.

I pull away from Priscilla gently and put some distance between us.

She tips up her chin, a quizzical expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”