Songbird (10 page)

Callie’s pregnant.

“You’re right. I’m an asshole.”

My brother listens as I try to piece together the past two days. After Callie slapped the shit out of me and told me to get the hell out of her life, I found myself at a seedy bar on the outskirts of town. I remember a redhead, and I recall really wanting to sleep with her in hopes it’d purge my head of any and all thoughts of the girl I’d been missing for the past six weeks. But this girl was all wrong. She didn’t have long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

Bright blue eyes that I brought to tears.

So, I took a cab home, where I apparently drank myself into a stupor and passed out for two days.

My brother, always finding humor in the worst situations, begins to chuckle.

“Nothing about this is funny, Owen.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. I find it hilarious. Callie has ruined you for other women.”

“It’s not that I
can’t
. I just don’t . . . want to. It’s complicated.”

“It sure is.”

I bury my head in my hands. “Callie’s pregnant.”

“Yep.”

“I’m the father.”

“It would seem so, yes.”

I rub my face. “Look, I know I handled this badly. But what did she expect? I don’t know this girl at all. I’m just supposed to assume this kid is mine because she says so? It was a gut reaction.”

“I know, but you also shouldn’t have accused her of being a tramp, which is basically what you did. It’s no wonder she slapped the shit out of you.”

“And how do you know about that?”

“Girls talk.”

Lorie.

“That’s your problem, Dev. You’re a brilliant attorney who can convince a jury to acquit a stone-cold killer if you turn on the charm, but outside the courtroom, you don’t think before you speak. Did you shut up long enough to even consider the possibility that this woman could be the mother of your child?”

No, I hadn’t considered it. Not for a second. Because that would mean I’d be forced to accept it.

“I can’t be a father, Owen.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you get a choice. Besides, Lorie says that Callie’s not one to sleep around. If she says you’re the father, then it’s probably the truth. Especially since she hasn’t dated anyone since the wedding.”

“But what about before the wedding?” I ask, hanging on to my last thread of hope. Not that I really want to imagine another man’s hands on her, but at this point, I’m desperate.

Owen shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The doctor says she’s about six weeks along.”

With a groan, I cover my face with my arm. “What the hell am I gonna do?”

“You’re going to be a man. You’re going to get out of that nasty-ass tuxedo, take a shower, get dressed, and go over to Callie’s and knock on her door.”

I chuckle darkly. “Not happening.”

“Oh, yes. And if she doesn’t shoot you on sight—which I admit is definitely possible—then you’re going to get down on your hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. You’re going to tell her that she can count on you for whatever she needs. Callie’s scared to death, man.”

Of course she’s scared. It’s not like either of us planned this. She’d been so brave in telling me, and what had I done? Insulted her and left her in tears. I’d hurt this beautiful girl who’d occupied my every waking moment for the past six weeks . . . this amazing woman who’d made it impossible for me to be even remotely attracted to anybody else. Because they weren’t her.

Can I fix the mess I’ve made?

Will she let me?

Do I even know how?

My stomach clenches with terror when I think about it. What do I know about raising a kid? I don’t even like kids. They’re loud and messy and annoying. I’m selfish and arrogant, and there’s no doubt I’ll completely screw it up. What do I know about being a father?

“What if I don’t want to?”

Owen frowns. “Don’t want to what?”

“Be a dad.”

“Dude, didn’t you hear me? You don’t get a choice. It’s not like you can say
not my problem
and walk away.”

“Really? Guys do it all the time.”

“You’d know, since you prosecute deadbeat dads all the time.”

Shit.

“Besides, Dev, you have other things to worry about.”

“Such as?”

“Our mother. Please make sure I’m around when you tell Valerie McAllister that she has a grandchild on the way and you want nothing to do with it.”

Mom has been begging us for grandkids for years. We’d all placed bets, and I’d been happy to participate, because I was certain Owen would find himself in this predicament long before me.

“But most importantly,” he says quietly, “there’s Callie.”

The mere sound of her name fills me with shame.

“What about her?”

“You’ve broken the heart of the only girl you’ve ever really wanted.”

I snort. “I’ve wanted lots of women, Owen.”

“But Callie’s different, isn’t she?”

I shrug and avoid his gaze.

“Pregnant or not, Callie’s gotten under your skin. I saw it at the wedding. And then I watched your eyes glaze over when you saw her at the benefit.”

I can try to deny it all I want, but Owen’s right. There’s something about Callie that’s unforgettable. She’s beautiful and smart. And the sex . . .

Then I remember sex is the reason I’m in this mess.

My stomach lurches.

“Dev?”

I quickly stand up and immediately vomit on my hardwood floor.

W
hoever came up with the phrase
morning sickness
is a complete liar. Mine is the twenty-four hour a day kind. Thankfully, my child shares my love for banana freezer pops, because, according to my baby bible, I’m probably going to be enjoying my morning sickness throughout my entire first trimester.

That’s what it says—
enjoying
.

Pretty sure the baby bible was written by a man.

I glance wearily at the book in my lap. The chick at the bookstore said it was the most popular book for expecting mothers, so of course that’s the one I bought. Lord knows I’m in desperate need of a baby survival guide.

After my post-Devin breakdown—which consisted of three days of tears and numerous ice cream interventions with Lorie and Megan—I decided it was time to get a grip. I’m a thirty-year-old, professional woman. There’s absolutely no reason that I can’t raise this baby by myself and be a good mother. I certainly don’t need an asshole like Devin McAllister in the picture. All I need is . . . me. Am I scared? Of course. Do I have a clue? Not at all. But I’ll figure it out because single women raise babies every day, and they do it well.

And now . . . I’m joining the club.

With that in mind, I decided to attack this whole pregnancy thing with the same determination I used when studying for final exams in college.

I crammed.

When I’m not working—or throwing up—I’m reading baby books. If I’m not reading, I’m surfing pregnancy websites on my laptop. I’m like a woman possessed, eager for any and all information that can get me through the next eight months without any further emotional breakdowns.

I’ve shed my last tear for Devin McAllister.

A knock on the door makes me jump, sending my precious baby book onto the floor. I quickly pick it up and place it on the table before heading to the door.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Uncle Owen!”

I roll my eyes before glancing through the peephole. Sure enough, Owen’s there, smiling like an idiot and carrying a variety of colorful bags.

“What do you want?”

“I come bearing gifts! Come on, Callie. It’s just me.”

With a sigh, I open the door. Owen barrels through, hitting me with one of the gigantic bags on his way to the sofa. When he’s finally settled, he grins at me and nods at my freezer pop.

“Banana, huh?”

“They help with the nausea.”

“I prefer grape.”

“What are you doing here, Owen?”

“Just checking on ya.”

I look at the bags. “And what’s all this?”

“
This
is for my nephew.”

I fight back a grin. “It’s a boy?”

“Yep.”

I sit down beside him and gaze at the overwhelming amount of gift bags. “You know, your nephew or
niece
is the size of a raspberry right now.”

“Doesn’t matter. Babies need toys.” He grins and hands me a small blue bag. “Open this one first.”

His enthusiasm’s infectious, and I find myself excitedly digging into the bag. Thanks to my baby book, I’m able to correctly identify the little blue onesie.

“Tennessee Titans,” Owen says. “There’s a matching bib, too.”

I smile. “I see that. Those are cute, Owen. Thanks.”

“Oh, but there’s more!” He chuckles and tosses me another gift. After four more bags, I can’t help but notice a pattern.

“Don’t think I’m not appreciative, because I totally am . . .”

Owen frowns. “But?”

“Everything’s blue. You know, there’s a distinct possibility this baby’s a girl.”

“Not gonna happen. There hasn’t been a McAllister girl born in more than thirty years.”

“Hmm.” I don’t have the heart to tell him this baby’s a Franklin. He’s brought gifts, after all, and I really don’t want to rain on his parade. “I really appreciate all this, Owen.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies quietly before taking a deep breath. “Listen, I want to talk to you about Devin.”

My entire body bristles at the sound of his name.

“I know he was a complete ass and totally deserved that slap across the face. But he’s had some time to reflect, and he’s going to try to make it right.”

“How?”

“Umm . . . I sorta convinced him to come over and beg for your forgiveness.”

I laugh. “Seriously?”

He nods.

“Well, you can tell him not to waste a trip because I’m not in a very forgiving mood where your brother is concerned. Is that what this impromptu baby shower was all about? Because if so, you can take your gifts and shove them—”