Sucker Punched (8 page)

It’s late as fuck by the time we leave the hospital, and I need another cigarette like I need my left nut. This shit is too fucking stressful. Now I know why some people only see their families on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I pull out a smoke and put it between my lips. There are no smoking signs all over the exterior of the building, but since each step puts us farther and farther away from the exit, I ignore them. 

Plus, I’m not technically smoking yet, so I’m not breaking any rules. I’m just brushing up against them.

“That wasn’t so bad, huh?” I mumble around the cigarette.

Bringing the lighter up, I flick the wheel and cup the flame, sucking deep.
Now
I’m breaking the rules. 

“At least you guys didn’t kill each other or anything,” I say on a long exhale. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Declan’s tone makes me pause, and when I meet his eyes, it registers. 

Shit. He knows.

Declan always thought our dad abandoned us, but things weren’t so cut and dry. I’ve tried explaining that to him fifty different times, but he never wanted to hear it. 

I guess he has now.

Damn, I really thought once he knew the whole story he’d be. . .happy. Well, happ
ier
. It’s still no fucking fairy tale.

Any way you look at it, lives were ruined.

I shake my head and put away my lighter. “Look, man, he didn’t want it to come from me.”

“So?” His voice takes on a tone I don’t appreciate as he steps forward. “God, I cannot
believe
you. Do you have any idea how much time we lost because of some bullshit lie? I’m never gonna get that time back, and you—
of all fucking people
—should’ve told me.”

Savannah moves between us and puts her hands on his chest. “Let’s take this to the parking lot before they call security, okay?”

Ignoring her, I take another drag. 

He can’t believe
me
? I can’t fucking believe
him
.
 

“Don’t try to put this all on me, asshole. I’ve been trying to get you to talk to him for almost two goddamn years, but your stubborn ass wouldn’t listen. It’s
your
fault you missed out on that time with him, not mine.” I try to walk around him, but he grabs my arm. 

He better watch himself. I’m not above laying him out in front of his girl. 

“You should’ve fucking told me.”

I shrug him off. “What good would it’ve done? You never would’ve believed me.”

Instead of saying that’s bullshit—because he can’t—he says what he always does when he doesn’t want to admit that I’m right and he’s wrong: “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, fuck you, too.” I walk around him, flicking away the butt of my cigarette as I head toward the parking lot.

I hear Savannah ask him what the hell that was all about, and his resounding, “My dad didn’t walk out on us. He left to go to rehab, and Blake’s lying ass fucking knew it,” follows me all the way to my car.

“Blake.”

“Hmm?”

“Blake, wake up.”

Goddamn it, I
know
this motherfucker’s not trying to wake me up right now. It’s still dark outside, for Christ’s sake. “Fuck off,” I groan into my pillow.

Blinding white light fills the room and I groan again, pulling the covers over my head. “What the tits!”

Declan yanks my blanket away, the fuckin’ asshole.
Why
I haven’t taken his key away yet remains a goddamn mystery. Bastard hasn’t lived here in over a year. I squint against the brightness, glaring up at him as he stands beside my bed.

What’s with the giant-ass book he’s holding?

“Get up, I need your help. We need to make an entire Thanksgiving dinner.”

I must still be half asleep. There’s no way I heard him right. “The fuck did you just say?” I roll from my stomach onto my back. My retinas still burn from the abrupt change in light, and I dig my palms into my eye sockets to try and dull the pain.

Jesus, how long have I been out—five, six hours? Either way, it’s too fucking early for him to be making ridiculous demands.

“Savannah’s sick and she can’t cook.” It sounds like
he’s
growing irritated with
me
, which is fucking hilarious. “Plus it makes more sense to have it here. Your kitchen’s bigger.”

“So?” I sit up and grab my blanket, pulling it back over me. “Since when do you give a shit about Thanksgiving?”

“Look, this is our first holiday together and it means a lot to her. She wants everything to be perfect today, so you’re gonna wake your ass up and help me make it happen.” 

I chuck a pillow at him. “Fuck you. You can’t just barge into my house at the ass crack of dawn and start making demands.
Especially
not after the tantrum you threw last week.”

Declan huffs out a frustrated breath. “Savannah—”

“Is not my girlfriend.” I enunciate each word, making sure he gets the full effect of how little I care. “So I ain’t gotta do shit.”

I roll over, facing away from him. I have every intention of going back to sleep, even though Declan looks about ready to bash my skull in with that book he’s holding.

“This is probably Dad’s last Thanksgiving and you’re just gonna bail? What are you going to tell him, Blake? ‘I know we haven’t had a family holiday together in twelve years, and you’re probably not going to be around next year, but sorry, Dad, I’d rather be an asshole and skip Thanksgiving because Declan said something I didn’t like.’”

I can’t fucking believe he’s using dad-guilt on me. I
invented
that.

“I didn’t say I was gonna bail, asshole. I said I wasn’t gonna help you cook.”

Dad’s actually getting released from the hospital today, which is a miracle. With the state of his liver and the effort he puts into slowly killing himself each day, I honestly thought the only way he’d leave that hospital was in a body bag. So no, I’m not going to bail on what is probably our last Thanksgiving together. 

Even I’m not that much of a heartless bastard.

“You owe me.” Declan’s voice lowers. “After all the times I had your back and settled your debts, you fucking owe me.”

Why does he have to go and throw that back in my face? I know I’m a fuck-up and a shitty brother and a horrible son. He doesn’t have to point it out every goddamn chance he gets. 

Rolling over, I sit up and rub my face. “I have no clue how to cook a twenty-pound bird, all right? Unless you want this meal to be pancakes and spaghetti, I’m not gonna be much help.”

He tosses the thick book onto my bed. It’s a fucking cookbook. “You can read, can’t you?”

If I say no, what are the odds that he’ll actually leave?

Throwing my legs over the edge of the bed, I grab my jeans from the floor and start putting them on. “If she’s so sick, then why aren’t you taking her to the hospital? Why are you running around like a chicken with its head cut off, worrying about some goddamn dinner?”

Declan sighs. “She’s pregnant. It’s just morning sickness.”

Holy shit. “For real?” I kinda thought I’d be the one to knock up some girl first. Not that I’m complaining or anything. Better him than me.

“Yeah, we found out the night of her fight. That’s why it was called off.” 

I frown. “Oh.”

Declan had handed me an envelope full of money that night and asked me to put it all on Savannah. But when I got to the booth to place the bet, the lady behind the counter wouldn’t take it. Said Savannah’s fight had been cancelled and that’s all she knew. 

When I took the money back to Declan, I found him and Savannah in one of the doctor’s offices. They looked like someone died. I wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but that just seemed rude. So instead of asking if she’d been diagnosed with some kind of terminal illness, I handed him the money and left.

Glad to hear she’s not dying.

“How, uh. . . How do you feel about it?”

Biting his lip, he shrugs. “Scared. Nervous. Excited.”

“So you’re
happy
about it?” He’s been dating this chick for how long? Two, three months? And he’s
happy
that she’s pregnant?

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Declan scowls at me. “The woman I love is giving me a child. What’s not to be happy about?”

“How about the part where you’re stuck with a kid?” I meant to say it under my breath, but it came out a little loud.

He picks up my pillow and flings it at me. “I’m stuck with
you
, aren’t I? What’s one more kid?” I flip him off as he picks up the cookbook he tossed on my bed. “Hurry up. Macy will be here soon.”

My head jerks up. “Macy’s coming?”

“Yeah. . .” Declan’s eyes narrow at my sudden interest. “I asked her to help.”

“Cool.” I aim for indifference, but I have no fucking clue if that’s how it comes off. “Let me take a shower and I’ll be down in five.”

Macy’s coming. If I play my cards right, she won’t be the only one.

Declan’s house is in a working-class neighborhood in Southie. Cars line the crowded street, but I find an open spot in front of his house and park. It’s still pretty dark out as I open the chain-link fence and make my way up to the blue two-story house.

The porch light’s on as I ring the doorbell, my breath fogging in the early morning air. It’s so cold out here my nipples could cut glass right now.

A second later, the door swings open and Blake,
not
Declan, is standing in the doorway. Shocked, I inhale a mouthful of frigid air. It burns my lungs as I stupidly stand here, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “Hi.”

Blake leans against the doorframe, looking entirely unsurprised to see me. “Duchess.”

My stomach feels like it’s trying to crawl up my esophagus. I swallow it down while simultaneously cursing myself.
Of all the mornings to not wear makeup. . .
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Well, it’s my house, so. . .”

“Oh.”
Oh?
That’s all I’ve got, is “oh?”

Stepping outside, he closes the door behind him. “It’s actually a good thing you showed up today, ’cause I need to tell you something.” His voice lowers as he glances around. “I went to the doctor the other day and got some pretty shocking news. I thought you had a right to know, and I didn’t really want to get Savannah involved by asking for your number because, you know, the less people who know about this right now, the better.”

Oh my god, if he’s about to tell me he has some kind of venereal disease, I’m going to flip my shit. 

I feel dizzy. I think I may puke. And my heart is racing so fast I’m sure it’s about to go into cardiac arrest.

“What is it?” I ask, bracing myself for the worst.

Blake stares me in the eye, his face solemn. “I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.”

I blink, his words sinking in.

Holy shit, he really had me going. I should be mad at him, but I’m so relieved he was yanking my chain that I just break into laughter.

The corners of his mouth lift. “Should we talk about child support now, or. . .?”

“Let’s see what the maternity test says first, and then we can talk.”

He places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “What are you implying? That I’m some kind of slut who doesn’t know who mothered his child?”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing again and shrug. “If the condom fits.”

Blake smiles—a full, megawatt smile that has my stomach fluttering like the butterflies in there are fucking drunk. Seriously, those bitches are bumping into each other and knocking over tables and shit.

He nods over his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s go shove some bread up a turkey’s ass.”