Chapter 49: Sin

April

I'm not going back to the hospital. I can't. Not like this. I'm unpredictable, unstable, unhinged. I shouldn't be around anyone right now, especially not Bree. I screech out of the church parking lot and drive toward the lake. My mind is in complete chaos. It's like I'm just realizing that all this time my soul has been nothing more than a sandcastle on a beach. One powerful wave has leveled me.

It's all an illusion. Everything's an illusion. Nothing means anything. Nothing.

There is no truth.

No love.

No good.

Only lies. Only fucking lies.

I've fallen from the very great height I had all those recurring nightmares about. Now the pieces of the person who used to be me scatter into the wind like fine grains of sand, lost forever.

It feels like I'm being punished for someone else's sin.

Does she really think I'm this fucking stupid?

Clearly, I am this fucking stupid.

I get what I deserve. For my stupidity.

I pull into the gas station, hoping that Liza will sell me something to take away the pain.

If she doesn't, I'm just gonna straight-up rob the store. I finally give zero fucks, just like my brother Joe, the bad seed.

"You're back, huh?" She's glances at me over her shoulder as she restocks the cigarettes behind the counter. She gets a good look at my face and stops smiling. "You okay?"

"No." I stuff my hands in my pockets. "What's the strongest drink you sell?"

"Gotta be Buzzballz," she says. "Seventeen percent is the highest Texas law allows in gas stations, and the liquor stores are closed on Sundays." She walks over to the rows of beer and wine in the refrigerator and points to various brightly colored orbs.

"Looks like Pooh's honeypot," I say.

She puts her arm up, placing a palm flat down the refrigerator door and leans against it with one leg crossed over the other. "Tastes like it too. But Sinner's Apple Fire ain't bad."

I try to grab twelve of them, but it's kind of like trying to hold an entire set of billiard balls, and they start slipping out of my grasp.

"Lemme get you something," she says.

As she's helping me put them in the bag, she says, "listen, these are small, but mighty. Probably don't wanna drink them all at once."

I glare at her.

"Okay, well, you're a big guy. I'm sure you can handle it."

As she's ringing me up, I ask her, "you wanna go to the lake with me?"

She tilts her head and sizes me up. "You know, I'd actually love to. But I kinda need this job, and if I leave on Easter Sunday when all the other stores are closed, Earl would definitely fire my ass."

I nod. It's probably for the best. I cannot be trusted right now.

If I go to the dock, I'll ruin all the good memories I've made there over the years. Instead, I head to Lake View Point. When I pull up, dozens of kids run on the grass hunting for Easter eggs. I watch as a tiny boy teeters on two feet, stops, and squats down to pick up an egg. He turns to his dad to show him the find. His dad claps and points to the basket, then he takes the boy's hand, and they go in search of another.

A year from now, that'll be Colt. My heart sinks a little when I imagine what it would be like to experience things for the first time through his eyes.

I can't stay here.

I head back out to State Park Road and hang a right at Red Oak Loop. The beach is deserted, so I grab my bag and my blanket and make myself comfortable.

I need to think this through before I talk to Bree. These are the possible scenarios. First, Mrs. Carson could be delusional—maybe Colt is my baby, and she's imagining the whole thing. But she did show me a picture of Cash as a newborn, and even though most newborns look alike, there is a resemblance.

I open a Forbidden Apple and suck it down. It tastes like a green Jolly Rancher.

This leads me to scenario two. Mrs. Carson suspects that Cash and Bree continued their relationship in secret after their supposed break-up. This wouldn't surprise me in the least, to be honest. But Bree's smart enough to know if that were the case, then Cash could potentially be the father. She would have made sure before she told me anything.

I toss the empty into the air and let it fall back into my hand as I pace along the shore.

Scenario number three—Bree didn't realize she was already pregnant when we started dating, and when she discovered it, she assumed that I was the father since I was the last guy she slept with. This would make it necessary to have a DNA test to determine who the father is.

I drink a Sinner's Apple Fire before I can even think about contemplating the last possibility. It reminds me of the Fireball Whiskey Bree and I drank the night of homecoming, the night she and Cash got in that huge fight in the courtyard. The puzzle pieces start to click into place. It's possible that Bree already knew she was pregnant when we had sex. She knew, and Cash knew, and that's why they were fighting. She was trying to persuade him to take ownership. And, when he didn't, she put her back-up plan into motion, getting me drunk and using that to her advantage.

I get the urge to vomit, so I open another drink and empty the contents into my mouth.

I sincerely hope, for everyone's sake, that scenario four is purely my paranoia and not the reality.

After my fifth drink, I'm physically nauseous but mentally so much better.

Mrs. Carson's delusion must be driving this ship. It's the only thing that makes sense.

I need to talk to Bree, but just thinking about confronting her twists my intestines inside-out. I lie back on the blanket and shut my eyes against the warm April sunshine.

*****

When I wake up, the sun is setting over the lake in streaks of orange and purple and pink against a dark horizon. I blink to bring the world into focus. Day drinking on an empty stomach is never a good move.

My phone tells me it's 7:45 and that I have six texts and two missed calls from Bree.

God, I hope Colt is okay.

I text her back.

Me: Everything alright?

When she doesn't respond, I call her. No answer. So I grab my stuff and jog to the truck.

*****

When I arrive, she's not in the room. I go looking for a nurse and almost smack right into Annalise. "Hey Jack," she says, smiling. "Did Bree tell you the good news?"

"No ma'am, just got back."

"Oh, they're releasing her tomorrow. The doctor thinks she's well enough to recuperate at home."

I nod. "Do you know where she is?"

"I think she's in the NICU with Colt. You wanna go see them?"

"Yeah, I think I do," I say.

When I enter the room, Bree is rocking Colt in the low light from the machines with her eyes closed. I lean over to look at his little face—his eyes are wide and track my movements. "Hey, Bud," I whisper.

Bree's eyelids flutter open. "Oh, I think I fell asleep," she says and yawns.

"This hospital is wearing us both out," I reply.

"Where were you? I thought you were going to bring back lunch."

"I was. I meant to," I say softly. "But I was detained."

"What...detained you?"

"Mrs. Carson."

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, nodding. "What did she want?"

"Bree," I whisper, "how come you didn't tell me that she asked you to have a paternity test done?"

"Because I don't need a paternity test. I know who the father is."

"And who is that?" I swallow.

Her mouth tightens, turning down at the corners. "The man who's stood by my side. The man who rushed me to the ER and saved my life, saved our baby's life. The man who sits and rocks him every day, who sings him songs and cares about his welfare. That's who his father is."

I nod. Part of me is relieved, but the other part doesn't trust her. There's so much she hasn't told me that I know about. I can't even imagine all the shit I have no idea about.

"Okay, well, could you agree to the DNA test so we can put this all to rest?"

She shakes her head. "No," she whispers.

"Why not?"

"Because, I know who I want the father to be."

What the fuck?

"There's a very big difference between knowing and wishing, Bree." I'm trying to keep my voice to a whisper, but now I'm beginning to panic. "If you refuse the test, they'll take the case to court, and the law will order you to have the test done. Is that what you want?"

"I just want my baby to have a father. A loving father who will dote on him. And I know that you will because you're such a good person with so much kindness in your heart."

I shake my head. More riddles. "I can't do this here," I say. "Not near Colt. I don't want him to be stressed out by my energy. Cuz, I can tell you, despite my calm voice, I'm hella stressed, Bree."

I get up, give Colt a kiss on his soft little head, and stalk back into her room.

When she finally returns, she situates herself under the covers and folds her hands over her lap. Then she levels her gaze at me.

"Bree, I'm going to ask you a simple question. And I want you to answer based on facts, not wishes."

She nods.

"Is it possible that Cash Carson is the biological father?"

She averts her gaze out the window and inclines her head in such a small motion that it can't be called a nod.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," she whispers.

"Then we need to have the test done, to rule out that possibility."

She shakes her head. "No, we don't." The expression in her eyes is not panic. It's not desperation. It is only frank honesty.

There's only one reason I can see that she would refuse this test. It's because she knows, with a hundred percent certainty, that Colt is Cash's baby. The only way she would know that, is if she already knew she was pregnant when we had sex.

I'm in so much shock that I can't even speak. I sit there in a daze staring out at the night sky.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she whispers. "It's been a disaster. The stress of it all, knowing what I was doing to you. And the worst part, being well-aware you were in love with someone else the whole time." Her voice breaks on that part. She's crying now, playing the victim. "It's awful. Part of me is relieved it's out in the open, so I don't have to keep pretending."

"Oh, well, I'm so sorry that this has been stressful—for you." I shake my head in disgust. "I fucking thought that boy was my child, Bree! I loved him. I still love him. And now, what? Nothing? I'm nothing to him? He's nothing to me?"

"No, Chap. No, you can still be his father. It's your choice."

"Are you saying you want me to stay with you and raise him given everything that's happened?"

She shakes her head. "I'm saying you could, if you wanted to. But the last thing I want is to marry you and have you resent me for the rest of our lives. You deserve better. We both deserve better."

"No, not you. You don't deserve better."

"Maybe I don't. But I didn't do it out of malice. I was desperate. When I told Cash we were having a baby, he said I should abort it. He even offered to drive me to New Mexico. He claimed he told his parents, and they didn't want a baby to fuck up his future. They didn't want him to waste his life on trash like me. He told me his parents agreed I should have an abortion. When I refused, he said, 'well, that's on you, and I'm not going to be held responsible for your decisions. You figure it out.'"

"And this was your solution?"

"No! I didn't plan it. I told you...I tried to give the baby up for adoption. But I couldn't do it. And when I thought about who I wanted to raise my child, it was you."

"You lied to me, Bree."

She shakes her head. "I told you I was pregnant. You assumed the rest."

"Fucking-A, Bree!" I'm about to lose it. "You let me assume the rest! What am I supposed to do? How can I stay with you knowing what you're capable of? The dishonesty. The manipulation. I can never trust you again."

She has tears streaming down her cheeks. "I was just trying to protect my baby. To give him the best possible life. But I understand if you don't want to be his father anymore. It's your choice."

"But it's not my choice. Colt is Cash's son. I can't just choose to ignore that."

She looks at me with such despair in her eyes that it rips me up inside.

Guilt, rage, humiliation, course through me like a cocktail of poison straight to my heart.

"I can't stay here anymore, Bree. I'm calling Gram, tonight, and telling her everything. You will go home with her tomorrow, and she will care for you. I'll see to it. Do you understand?"

"You're not coming back?"

"I'll be back," I say gazing at the floor. I shake my head. I'm so exhausted that I just want to cry. "But only to say goodbye to the child I thought was mine."