BEAU

"Why don't we just take one car?" Zoey's brows knit together, her head tilting to the side as she watches me crouch into my drivers seat.

I already have a fucking headache and can't deal with her chatter, that's why.

We were supposed to take a quick rest before heading out to follow through with her crazy plan. But the people in the motel room next to me had other ideas.

By the sounds of it, her orgasm was fake and he didn't even notice.

So they wasted my nap for mediocre sex. Rude.

Pressing my fingers into my eyes, I let out a deep sigh. "Why do you have to question everything?"

"I don't. But we would save on gas..."

Again with the money.

My eyes snap open. "If gas money is such an issue for you Zoey, then why'd you drag us all the way out here for this shit?"

Her face falls. For a second I feel almost bad.

Then it pinches in that unflattering way she has, the one that makes her look like her mother, and rolls her eyes.

Now I don't feel bad, just annoyed.

"Well if that's how you feel, that I dragged you here, then why bother coming at all?" She puts a bag into her passenger seat, slamming the door closed. "I'll just go by myself."

I lean against the top of my car, squinting at her, taking in her appearance. Disheveled blonde hair sticks in every direction around her face, pulled into a knot on top of her head. The bags under her eyes rival mine after a nasty hangover, her forehead creased with ever more present stress lines.

Her clothes aren't stained today, although they are ill-fitting.

No, there's absolutely no way I'm letting her go alone.

Something about all of this still feels... off. And by the way she looks, people are more apt to notice her hanging outside a playground. Especially if I'm not there to curb her more enthusiastic ideas.

"Get in." I snap, not waiting for an argument before I get into my car.

Strangely, there isn't one, and before I know it, she's reading me directions off her phone as I drive through the small, coastal town.

Besides her instructions, a "Turn here" or "Stay to the right" every few moments, the ride is quiet.

Zoey latches on to the opportunity, speaking whatever comes to her brain, probably.

"Are you excited to see Max?" I feel her eyes on me.

Not glancing away from the road, my voice is monotone. "Ecstatic."

"Why are you so grumpy?" She pops her gum like a high school teenager. "I would've thought you'd be more excited to meet your son."

"We're not meeting him." I turn from the road to make sure she sees how serious my face is. "We're seeing him in passing."

"I know." She slumps in her chair a little. "You keep reminding me."

"So cut the shit." I growl. "Stop making this out to be more than it is. We're checking in. We're leaving. And then you drop this whole thing, you stop calling me." I eye her down. "You let me get on with my life."

She turns to look out the window, her voice small. "It's like you don't even care."

"Honestly Zoey?" I groan, leaning my head back against the leather headrest. "I only care to know the kid's okay. After that, I've done what I've had to do. I want to focus on my girlfriend, my family-"

"Okay, I get it." Zoey's voice is rushed as she points a finger out the window. "The playground is over there. We can park in that lot and still see clearly..."

I do as she says and we're quiet for a few moments. I stare ahead at the old brick building, faded from years in the sun. An exit sign leads into a large paved area, patterned with chalk drawings and a map of the United States.

The playground is closer to us, enclosed by high chain-link fence, kept closed with a large padlock.

No kids in sight.

"You said just before three in the afternoon." I mutter.

Zoey is flattening the printed photo of Max against her thigh, running her fingers along its edges again and again.

"That's when they have snack. The school weekend-watching program has playtime at ten past."

Why does she know all of this?

"Weekend-watching program? Parents keep their kids at school on the weekends?" I wonder out loud.

"Some do." Zoey replies sadly. "They have volunteers basically babysit the kids that need it, like a babysitting carpool. His parents work weekend shifts so they use it a lot."

Again... why does she know all of this?

"So if they play at ten past, why are we here now?" I grunt.

"I didn't want to miss it."

I narrow my eyes at her, her stare glued to the exit, her fingers still working the worn edges of the photograph.

I resume staring out the window, happy for the quiet, when Zoey speaks again.

"How's Emma doing?"

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. "Fine."

"I mean, with the pregnancy?" Zoey peers at me with intense curiosity.

Suspicious of her interest, I repeat, "Fine."

"Let's hope you're more talkative with her or-"

"How about some music?" I interrupt, turning the dial up so I can't hear the rest of her sentence.

Ten minutes pass, eighties rock keeping her silent for now. Then fifteen minutes, twenty, pass.

Finally, a group of children bursts from the door, screaming and skipping, laughing and playing, followed by a couple of adult chaperones holding clipboards and whistles.

"There they are," Zoey breathes, inching forward in her seat, her palms resting on my dashboard. "Can you see him?"

Too preoccupied analyzing her reaction, I miss the question.

"Beau, do you see him?" Her voice sounds more frantic, the photo crinkling in her fist. "Do you see Max?"

Blinking back to reality, I scan the lot, searching each individual, chubby, snack stained face. No Max.

Not if he's the boy in that photo.

Likely realizing the same thing, Zoey's face falls, her eyes round as she continues looking, her voice soft. "Beau?"

"I don't see him." I say finally, watching her expression.

"He has to be here," She shakes her head, staring back at the picture like it will magically change. "He's always here on the weekends. He-"

"He's not here, Zoey." I repeat, watching each word sink in.

"No, that can't be." Zoey chuckles humorlessly. "He has a perfect attendance record in school. He only misses the week before Christmas break, when they take him to visit his grandparents in Colorado. They always use the weekend program, always. He's always here."

"Well today he's not." I run a hand over my face, fucking tired and goddamn pissed off that I came all this way, leaving Emma alone, for nothing.

For Zoey's pipe dream.

I shake my head at her, scanning her face for some sign that she's gone totally bat shit.

"God, do you realize how you sound? How many lines you've crossed, how much you've invaded that family's lives?"

Christ, I helped her do it. It was my cash. I put my key back in the ignition, shaking my head.

"What're you doing? We can't leave." Zoey protests, turning in her seat to stare out the window.

"We can, and we are." I roll my eyes, turning down the street we came on. "This is crazy Zoey. The kid's not even here. This whole fucking trip is crazy."

"Stop saying that!" Zoey shouts suddenly. "It's not crazy, I'm not crazy for wanting to see my son."

My teeth grind together as I try to contain my frustration. At Zoey, at this whole situation. At myself for going along with it.

Stupid, fucking stupid is what it was.

"I'm going back tomorrow. Maybe he'll be there-"

"Are you kidding me?" I slam on my brakes at the stoplight. "You're basically stalking them, Zoey, this needs to stop. I'm serious."

"You can't tell me what to do, Beau." Zoey relaxes into the seat, content with the solution she's created. "I'm going."

Hands tightening around the wheel, I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste iron.

I'm not getting through to her, I have to try another strategy.

"Look," I deliberately soften my tone. "We're tired, we're emotional. We both wanted to see Max." I look at her to gauge how she's receiving my words. Already, she appears calmer. "Why don't we take a break and talk about this later tonight?"

After just a second, Zoey nods. "Okay. Over dinner."

My head snaps in her direction. Forcing a neutral expression, I nod once. "Sure, over dinner."

***

Freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes, I grab my phone and wallet and leave my room to find Zoey's.

If dinner is what I have to do to get Zoey off this wild goose chase, I'll do it. Especially since I called Emma for her opinion and she agreed.

Now that I'm one hundred percent in the clear, all that's left to do is endure the damn meal itself.

Double checking her text, I find Zoey's number on the long row of doors, raising my fist to knock.

I stop, overhearing her voice through the paper-thin walls of the motel room. I lean in, pressing my ear to the door carefully.

"Well, I want my money back." She snaps. "Because I didn't get what I asked for!"

I close my eyes, straining to catch every word, suspicion creeping up my spine.

"The information was bad."

A long pause.

"If your paperwork said he'd be someplace, but I went to that exact location and he wasn't there, what does that make it?" A beat. "Bad in-for-ma-tion."

My brows furrow. The words aren't exactly suspect, but her anger at the situation is.

Too impatient to piece the puzzle together from a one-sided phone call, I slam my knuckles against the door, rattling it on its hinges.

"I've got to go." Zoey says quickly. Too quickly, too overly quietly. "We'll be in touch."

"Coming!" Her voice is louder now.

My fists clench as the all too familiar feeling of realized I've been played sneaks up on me.

Zoey opens the door, a smile too bright for her earlier attitude plastered on her tired face.

"Beau! I hadn't realized the time," She stands awkwardly in the doorway. "I'm running a little late, can you wait for me?"

"No." I shake my head, stuffing my hands into my pockets. "Who were you on the phone with just now?"

"Really Beau?" She raises a brow. "Were you spying on me?"

She has the nerve to appear offended.

"Sure." I shrug. "Who were you talking to?"

Rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, Zoey lies through her teeth.

"My fiancé. Is that alright with you?"

I nod, my wariness welling inside me.

"So Beck gave you bad information on Max?"

"What?" Zoey blinks rapidly, trying to compose herself too late. "I don't know-"

"You do know." I talk over her. "And now I want to know. Considering it was my money that paid the guy, I deserve to know if I got what I paid for."

Zoey's gaze drops to her feet before she steps aside, inviting me into her room.

Scanning the room and finding nothing, no remnants of her lies, anywhere, I remove my keys and phone from my back pocket, taking a seat at the shabby desk provided.

"I called to complain. Using his information, we went to see our son and he wasn't there. I don't think he held up his end of the bargain." Zoey leans forward into the mirror above the dresser-coffee table hybrid, applying deep red lipstick to her mouth.

What the fuck?

"Seems like a fair mistake." I continue my interrogation undisturbed.

"Not for the money we paid." She meets my eyes in the mirror. "You paid."

"But what's the big deal?" I lean forward, narrowing my eyes at her. "We don't live too far, you were more than happy to come here once. Why not again? What's the rush?"

Zoey quickly looks away, busying herself with stuffing her purse.

"Why the pressure on this weekend, Zoey?"

She shrugs, trying for nonchalant. "You don't have much patience with me, is all. I wanted to get it done."

"Bull shit."

She's lying.

Maybe if I didn't know her before, I wouldn't be able to tell.

But I did know her and I know that she chews her bottom lip when she lies, her voice getting slightly higher as she tries to avoid questioning.

Why is she lying to me?

"Tell me the truth, Zo. Right now." I glare at her, keeping my frustration in check but only barely.

"I am, I swear-"

I lunge for her phone, holding it to my ear and re-dialing her last call before she's even to her feet.

"Is that what our friend the P.I. will tell me?" I hold the phone between us, unable to crush my suspicion, as the man picks up, speaking into the air.

"Hello?" He says. "Hello?"

I raise a brow to Zoey.

She shakes her head, eyes brimming with tears.

"Stop, Beau, please, you don't understand."

She's right, I fucking don't. But I'm about to.

She reaches for the cell but I hold my hand higher. She whimpers, finally admitting defeat.

"Okay, Beau, hang up the phone." She sits on the mattress, eyes fixed on her feet. "I'll tell you."

I end the call, the rambling mess on the other end still muttering into oblivion for a reply.

"How much do you want to know?" Her voice is barely a squeak.

"The short version." I spit.

My tone startles her and when she meets my eyes, it's like she's afraid.

Not a good sign. Not a good fucking sign at all.

Taking an exaggerated gulp, Zoey closes her eyes.

"The investigator I hired didn't find our son."

I blink, my mind not processing the sentence.

"What?"

Zoey knots her fingers in her lap, opening her eyes slowly as she tells me the truth.

"He found someone who could be our son."

I cock my head to the side, like Zeus when he doesn't understand one of my commands. My mind blurs, my thoughts incoherent as red rage clouds my vision.

"Elaborate." I seethe. "Now."

And she does. "All the information matches up, it would make sense if Max was ours based on birth date, birth place..."

I see her lips moving, I faintly hear words coming from them, but I understand none of it.

"So Max is not our son?" I ask slowly, deliberately. "Answer me honestly."

"No." Her eyes are round, cloudy with tears.

The next question is harder, to comprehend, to ask, to hear the answer to.

"Do we even have a son?" I meet her eyes, feeling scorching anger burning the back of my throat in preparation for the truth.

Zoey's tears fall.

The seconds tick by, feeling heavy and full as I wait.

Zoey's head hangs as she answers me.

"No."

The next one is obvious, and I know it, but I need to hear her say it. To squash the notion that somewhere out there, there is some part of me that I don't know about.

"Did you lie about not going to the clinic?"

Zoey's face crumbles, her hand clamped over her mouth as my name comes out in a quiet sob.

"Beau, please, I can explain..."

I hold up a hand. "Did you lie?"

Breaking down completely, Zoey finally nods her head, her words barely understandable.

"Yes." She whimpers. "I lied."

And that's all I need. The flames lick the back of my throat with ravishing hunger, the anger and resentment I feel swallowing me whole.

"Beau, wait!" Zoey calls after me but I don't stop walking. Not until I'm out of her room, out of the motel and in my car.

She fucking lied. She never had my baby.

Fuck her for making me think she did. Fuck her for almost messing things up with Emma.

Fuck her for coming into my life and nearly fucking everything up.

I slam my palm against my steering wheel. Too many feelings course through me and my foot presses the gas pedal harder.

Fuck Zoey. Fuck Beck.

My throat burns for a drink, my old temptation calling for me to simply make all of this go away.

I glance down at the speedometer, gritting my teeth together as I push the pedal all the way to the floor.

O.M.G.
shish just got real.
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