No Chance Read online

  I would’ve loved to take that trip with her, but I had school and I’d just started my job at the bar a few nights before the concert, so I was in the window where it wasn’t okay to ask for time off.

  I still don’t ask for time off, and I won’t tonight, either. The baby will be okay in the stock room. There aren’t any deliveries coming in tonight, and he’ll sleep in his little car carrier. If he wakes, I can take a break. Mina’s one of the servers tonight, and she’s awesome with the baby. Pete won’t care, and Jazz will help pick up the slack, too.

  I guess they’re my family now.

  Except Hank. He’s not going to like this at all. Hopefully he won’t be in tonight, but his opinion is really the only one that matters since he owns the bar where I work.

  Life goes on.

  She’s right...except this time, I’m left to pick up the pieces.

  I haven’t told anybody yet except for my neighbor, Dottie, and that was only because I was desperate to find someone to watch the baby while I went to class. I knock gingerly on her door when I get back early, and she takes a long time before she answers it.

  She’s eighty-seven. Everything takes a long time.

  She reminds me quite a bit of Aunt Bethany from National Lampoons Christmas Vacation. She’s elderly, slowly losing her mind, and a little on the senile side.

  “You’re early, dear,” she says when she opens the door. “He’s in the playpen.” She nods into her small apartment that matches mine, and I see him in front of the television where Sesame Street plays a few decibels louder than necessary.

  “Thanks so much for watching him.” I rush past her and grab him up in my arms, planting a big kiss on his cheek.

  She pats my shoulder. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. I wish I could do more.” She moves toward the kitchen.

  I think about asking her to take the baby tonight, but I’m quite sure she’s not physically capable of caring for a nine-month-old rambunctious boy all night.

  “I made you a tuna casserole.” She returns with a casserole dish that smells like rotten fish with something green and runny in it. “Just heat it at three-fifty for an hour.”

  “That was so sweet of you, Dottie,” I say. It really was kind even though there’s no way in hell I’m putting that in my mouth.

  “He had a bottle about an hour ago,” she says.

  “Thanks for watching him.” I hug him tightly to me as we say our goodbyes.

  “Any time from eight until three,” she says. She pats my shoulder again. “But not for more than a few hours at a time. That boy is full of energy and it’s a lot for an old lady. I’m going to go lie down.”

  I give her a courtesy smile then head back to my place, and as the door closes behind me, I blow out a breath. I hug the baby closer to me. I hold tightly onto him until he squeaks in protest. I bask in his baby smell anyway.

  I don’t know how many more of these sweet moments I’m going to get with him.

  CHAPTER 5: BRETT

  “What do you think?” I turn toward Tyler. Of the three men I’m having this conversation with, he’s the only one who has been in somewhat of a similar situation.

  “Stop at a pharmacy and bring a DNA test with you,” Tyler says.

  “Did you get one?” I’m being petulant. I get that. But he didn’t—I know he didn’t, and I’m trying to make a point here.

  He shakes his head. “When I saw eyes that matched mine, I knew. It was this weird paternal feeling. But go prepared just in case. You don’t need to do it at a hospital since it’s just for your own information. You can have results as early as tomorrow if you take it to the right place.”

  I blow out a breath. “Fine,” I mutter. Then I yell, “Karl!”

  Our manager appears a minute later. “Yeah?”

  “I need a pharmacy DNA test in the next hour and I need someone to find a lab that can turn results around ASAP,” I say.

  Karl nods once and takes off, and Jesus, what the fuck would we do without that guy? I guess it’s his job to take care of our needs on tour, but he’s damn good at his job.

  “You want someone to come with you?” Tyler offers.

  My brows push together as I shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, man, but I’m a grown man. I can take care of this.”

  Tommy laughs. “Can you, though?”

  “Fuck off,” I mutter. I realize I don’t really know what I’m getting into here, but I still have a lot of questions.

  Tommy shrugs off my insult. He turns serious as he points a finger in my direction. “Whatever happens, your ass better be back in time for sound check.”

  I salute. “Sir yes sir.”

  “Dude, you don’t know what you’re going into,” Tommy says. “It’s ballsy to go alone.”

  “You of all people know how big my balls are,” I deadpan, but my joke falls flat. “Tough crowd,” I mutter.

  An hour later, the car Karl arranged for me pulls up in front of a dodgy old apartment building. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness washes over me. That mousy chick from last night lives here?

  She’s just...I don’t know.

  I don’t know her well enough to finish that thought.

  But she deserves more than this. And the baby—my baby?—lives here, too?

  “Wait here,” I say to the driver. I don’t know how long this is going to take, but I can’t waste too much time. I need to be back at the tour bus by four-thirty, and it’s already two. My chest feels uncomfortable as my heart pounds. I have a sudden feeling like I have no idea what the fuck I’m walking into, and I don’t like it.

  I walk through the front doors of the complex. There’s no security here, no lock to keep out strangers. I climb the stairs to the third floor and find the one marked 304.

  I stand in front of it for a beat and study the door. It’s a dull and dirty silver metal, and the bottom has scuff marks like whoever lives here has kicked it open countless times. Or at least someone has kicked it. I raise my hand to knock softly, and then I draw in a deep breath to brace myself. My kid might be on the other side of that door. A kid I knew nothing about twenty-four hours ago.

  It’s a little surreal.

  The door opens, and a beautiful woman answers. Long brunette hair cascades down her shoulders in pretty waves, and brown eyes rimmed in dark liner and shadowed with gold make her look a bit like an angel. She’s at once sexy and demure in a black shirt fitted to her petite frame and jeans that make her legs look miles long.

  Shit.

  After all that heart pounding anxiety of knocking on the damn door, I have the wrong apartment.

  And if I wasn’t here on a mission, I’d definitely take the time to befriend this lovely lady.

  The woman’s full lips twist into a pucker. She opens the door a little wider to allow for me to enter without saying anything.

  I stand rooted to my spot. “I’m, uh...I think I have the wrong place. I’m looking for Hannah?”

  Her brows dip and her head tilts, and as our eyes meet again, I’m struck with a bit of familiarity. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  My eyes widen as her voice strikes a familiar chord. “Hannah? But you look so...so...” I grapple for the word and eventually settle on, “Different.”

  She sighs and moves her hand up and down to indicate herself. “I get better tips when I do all this.”

  “Tips?”

  “At the bar. I’m a bartender, and I have a shift tonight, and I didn’t know how long you’d stay so I got ready early.”

  “But you...you’re...when we met...”

  She sets a hand on her hip. “Yeah, if I looked like this, you might’ve given me the time of day? Noted. So the baby’s napping, but he should be up any minute, and I figured we could talk while we wait. Is that okay?”

  I stare dumbly at this woman as I try to reconcile her with the girl I put in my phone as Mousy Chick. This woman here is one hundred and ten percent Brett’s bed material. I never would’ve thought that about Mo
usy Chick.

  Not that it matters, I guess. At least not with the way those angel eyes fall on me with disgust.

  “It’s fine.”

  “What’s in the bag?” she asks, nodding toward the plastic bag I’m holding.

  “Oh yeah,” I say, holding it up. I pull out the box Karl purchased under an hour ago. “At home DNA kit. My manager will drop it at a lab and we’ll have results by tomorrow.”

  She narrows her eyes as her tone turns accusatory. “You think I’m lying?”

  I smack my lips together a beat, trying to keep myself even-keel since she’s already worked up at just the sight of my kit. “Let me assure you that this isn’t the first paternity claim I’ve had. In my line of work, it’s actually more common than you’d think.”

  “You mean in the line of work where you sleep around? Or your little band?”

  The first line is a jab, and that’s fine. It’s not untrue. I do sleep around, and apparently her sister was one of my conquests.

  But the way she calls Capital Kingsmen my little band makes my blood boil. Is she fucking kidding me? Three Grammys, all the platinum records, sold out arenas...we’re not little.

  I grit my teeth. “Look, you’re the one who got in touch with me. What do you want?”

  Her eyes soften as she glances toward a hallway where I assume the baby sleeps. “I want the baby to know his father. He deserves a parent that shares his blood.”

  “You share blood with him,” I point out.

  “I can’t,” she says softly, her eyes turning down, and then her gaze lifts to meet mine. She spreads her arms out to indicate her apartment, and I glance around. The kitchen and family room together are big enough for a small kitchen table for two, a couch with three cushions, a small coffee table, and a television stand with a single bookshelf beside it. Everything looks old, though it’s neat and clean. It looks like two bedrooms and a bathroom are down the hallway, but it’s definitely not the luxury types of spaces I’ve become accustomed to.

  “I don’t have much,” she continues. “I’m in school. I work at night. I don’t have care for him and I can’t afford it anyway. But family, parents who share the same blood with the child...those things were really important to my sister, and they are to me, too.”

  So she wants to pawn this kid off on me?

  I don’t think so.

  “I can’t take him,” I say, holding up both hands. “I’m just starting a tour, I’ve got three months on the road...” I trail off. It’s not just that. Yeah, I’m busy and I have a job.

  I’m not in any position to take care of a child. I know literally nothing about kids except how to conceive one. I have no desire to have a family or pitter-patters of feet or toys strewn about. I have no inclination to bring a kid into this fucked up world or navigate a way to raise him to be a decent human.

  It’s just not me.

  It’s never been me, and some chick claiming I have a kid doesn’t change any of that.

  I finally finish my thought. “Look, the DNA test is simply a way to find out for sure if he’s mine. If I need to pay child support or make arrangements for him or whatever. It’s not so that I can walk away from this with a baby in my arms.”

  She sighs.

  I wander over to that small bookshelf beside a tiny television. Only one shelf actually has books on it, and they appear to be textbooks. The rest of the shelves are overwhelmed with photos. I focus in on one and study it. Standing beside Hannah is the woman who must be Brie.

  I remember her. It’s a vague, distant memory of the past, but I’ve definitely seen her before. I’ve felt those lips wrapped around my cock. I palmed the breasts hidden beneath a sweater in this photo.

  A dart of anguish zips down my spine.

  She’s gone.

  This woman claims she is, anyway. And there’s nothing to keep me from believing her except the lies of women in my past...none of which is this girl’s fault.

  I blow out a breath. “If he’s mine, I’ll pay for his childcare, okay? And if you don’t want him or can’t keep him or whatever, no judgement here, then I guess he goes to the courts.”

  “No!” she cries, and her adamant tone startles me.

  I turn to look at her, and she’s swiping tears away. “He’s all I have left in the entire world. You can’t send him to the courts. I’ll never see him again.”

  I can’t help the urge in me to comfort her.

  I don’t have the words. I don’t even have a plan. I just need to know for sure if he’s mine.

  I close the gap between us and pull her into my arms. She trembles beneath me as she cries. I wish I knew what to do.

  She lets me hold her for a single, solitary moment before she seems to realize what’s happening. She sets her hands on my chest and pushes me lightly away.

  She clears her throat and wipes her tears. “It’s just important that you decide his fate, not the courts.”

  “Why’s it important?” I ask. If she can’t care for him...what exactly does she want?

  She glances out the window. “Brie and I were products of the courts. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” She gives me a pointed look, like she considers me among that crowd. I’m her worst enemy? Really?

  I’m about to jab with something of that nature when she continues.

  “Our parents passed suddenly when I was four and she was ten. They didn’t leave a plan behind, so we were separated in foster care. It wasn’t until years later that we were reunited. Brie didn’t want him to have the life we had, so as soon as she gave birth, she wrote up a will just in case. She didn’t file it officially, but she named you as the custodian, and she wanted to ensure I’d still be a part of his life.”

  “She doesn’t just get to decide that,” I mutter, and I don’t know if I’m talking about the custodian thing or the ensuring Hannah is part of his life thing. Both, maybe.

  “Well she did,” she snaps, and before I get a chance to respond, a soft cry sounds from down the hallway.

  I blow out a breath. The soft cry gains in intensity fairly quickly.

  “So what do I do?” I ask, ignoring the crying. “What the hell do you expect me to do? I’m on fucking tour. I leave for Salt Lake City the day after tomorrow.” I leave out the intentions I had on this tour, the dream of a fucking party bus with Tommy.

  She stares at me for a few seconds then brushes past me without answering my question. She walks down the hallway, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow her or not. She opens a door.

  My feet seem to move of their own accord as I walk down the hallway, the crying getting marginally louder as I move, and then it’s silenced.

  I peek into the room Hannah entered. It’s small, room enough for a twin bed, a small dresser, and a crib.

  This must be Brie’s room. Or, it must have been.

  My eyes fall onto Hannah as she bounces softly with a baby in her arms. He wears pajamas with those footie things, and I have a pair of those that I wore to a Halloween party a few years back. It’s dim in here, the miniblinds closed for naptime, I suppose, but I spot the mass of dark hair topping his head as his tears dry and his eyes train curiously onto me.

  My eyes are trained curiously onto him, too. Is it true? Is this little creature part me and part a woman who died last night?

  God.

  A woman died last night.

  This Hannah girl is really holding her shit together better than I would be if the circumstances were reversed. Hell, I’m not doing very well on my own end of things as I grapple with whether this is all actual real life and I’m not just coming down from some wicked bender.

  If he is mine...

  Then what?

  I take him in my arms and carry him off to my tour bus and live happily ever after with my son?

  My son.

  Jesus.

  It’s only then I realize I still don’t know his name.

  This Hannah chick isn’t very forthcoming with names, apparently.

&nb
sp; “What’s his name?” I grunt into the room, emotion bizarrely clogging my throat.

  She glances at me. “This is Chance. Chance, meet Brett.”

  Thank God she said Brett and not your father, though I don’t know how much a nine-month-old understands. Does he realize his mother is gone? Does he miss her? Can babies that small feel those feelings?

  I take a step closer. “Chance?” I ask.

  Hannah shrugs. “It was by chance she got pregnant on a chance encounter with her favorite drummer from her favorite band, so she ran with the name.”

  “Oh,” I say stupidly. I stare at him as I try to figure out what I’m feeling. I think I’m just one of those guys who doesn’t feel things as deeply as others. It’s probably all the weed over the years dulling my sensibilities, but maybe not. Maybe it’s just absolute and total confusion.

  Because I never wanted kids, and I still don’t.

  But something tells me the truth as soon as Hannah flicks on the light and bright blue eyes that match mine shine up at me.

  He’s mine. Just like Tyler said he knew...I know, too.

  And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.

  CHAPTER 6: HANNAH

  He never held the baby—never even touched him. In fact, he made me run the little swab inside Chance’s cheek to get the sample. He left with the swab and promised to be in touch when he got the results, but I don’t trust that guy.

  He left when I told him I needed to get to work. He never mentioned it, but I know he has a concert tonight. It seems like it’s all the local rock radio station has talked about for months.

  And still, he came here. He seemed sincere enough, but the fact that he could so easily hump my sister and just walk away makes him...gross.

  I know what my sister wanted.

  I’ve read the paperwork she left behind. She never filed it, so it’s not technically legal...but it’s still her wishes and her child.