Unforseen Daddy: A bad boy second chance romance Page 10

  “I’ve never seen a bartender wearing gloves,” Agatha remarks loudly and Fergus looks over at her.

  “It’s called hygiene. You can learn from me.”

  I snort and Agatha immediately shoots me an insulted look. “He said it.”

  “How’s Eve?” Fergus asks.

  I swirl my drink in my glass, watching the golden liquid swoosh around. “She liked the food you sent her. She sends her thanks.” I glance at Agatha. “I guess I should thank you for trying to defend my honor the other day. You shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I don’t like her,” Agatha says abruptly.

  Instead of getting resentful, I prod her with my foot. “Because she was mean to me?”

  Agatha just glares at me and sips at her mango juice with a scowl. “She thinks the worst of you.”

  “At least she hasn’t tried to suffocate me with a pillow,” I say with a straight face.

  Ian looks over at us, narrowing his eyes at his fiancée. “Not again.”

  Agatha frowns. “It’s not like I killed you.”

  “You put the pillow on my face and sat down on it,” I scowl. “And you’re heavy.”

  Agatha’s eyes widen with horror. “Did you just call me fat?”

  My mouth falls open, and I scramble to fix this because if I know one thing, calling Agatha fat these days is a suicide wish.

  “You’re glowing,” Fergus says, smoothly. “Zayn’s a general asshole. Everybody knows that.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, half-heartedly, grateful that I am saved.

  Then, as an afterthought, I add. “You and the girls could do some girl time thing with Eve. You’ve not exactly been very welcoming.”

  Agatha stiffens. “I don’t think she likes me very much either.”

  “She doesn’t know you well enough. She’s met all of you before, occasionally, but aside from Fergus, none of you ever took the opportunity to befriend her or get to know her.”

  I try to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice, but it must have slipped because I see the hint of guilt slide on Agatha’s face.

  Ian and Philip have now moved towards us, and they stand around us as we make a complete circle.

  “She was invited to the barbeque,” Ian says. “I understand she doesn’t want to come.”

  I feel a hint of frustration. “All I’m saying is give her a chance and try to get to know her. Eve doesn’t trust people that easily and I want her to be a part of my life.”

  Philip takes a chug from his beer and looks curious. “Not to step on your dainty little toes here, Zayn, but didn’t Eve want to keep your relationship limited to Mila? I didn’t know you were trying to be more involved in her life. Or that she was even interested in getting involved in yours.”

  I wonder how to answer that.

  Fergus’s mouth twitches and I know he suspects.

  “What’s going on?” Ian nudges me with his beer bottle, a little too hard.

  “It’s nothing. She’s the mother of my child. I’m just trying to—”

  “He’s lying,” Agatha declares. “He’s up to something.”

  I bay at her, not that it bothers her.

  “Do you like her, Zayn?” The words are mocking, no malicious intent behind them, but she must have seen something shift in my eyes because the smirk slides from her face and she sobers up. “Are you serious?”

  “Wait, what?” Philip blinks. “You and Eve?”

  Ian sounds hesitant. “Man, is that even a good idea? You’ve got a kid together.”

  Agatha doesn’t say anything, her eyes narrowed.

  I wonder what she is thinking, and I stare at the guys. “Look, lay—”

  “She’s the one, isn’t she?” Agatha’s voice is soft, shock apparent in her tone.

  I wince.

  Even Fergus stops pretending to clean the glass at this point. “The who, now?”

  However, Agatha isn’t paying attention to any of them, her glittering blue eyes fixed on me as the pieces fall together in her head.

  “When she left five years ago, you were miserable,” she breathes, staring at me. “I didn’t put the dots together because you never hung around her when we were around. Oh, God, you were so careful!”

  It is like someone opened a history book and is walking me through it, showing me feelings and emotions that I buried for so long.

  “I always thought there was a woman. But you always denied it, and you kept sleeping around. It was almost as if you wanted to prove me wrong.”

  I don’t want to go back there, I realize.

  I don’t want to remember the past. I don’t want to experience the burning agony that seared my heart when I let Eve walk away from me, from when I pushed her away.

  “That’s enough, Agatha.” My tone is harsh.

  Ian gives me a warning look, but Agatha shakes her head. “It was more than a one-night stand for you, wasn’t it, Zayn?”

  Why don’t I want them to know?

  Because they will ask why I let her walk away.

  Because I don’t want them to see the darkness that lurks in the corners of my soul.

  Agatha glances at Ian before looking at me, asking slowly, “Are you in love with Eve, Zayn?”

  All eyes turn towards me, waiting for me to answer.

  I don’t want them to know.

  I down the remaining whiskey, not even feeling the burn in my throat.

  “What if I am?” I don’t stare at any of them.

  Fergus is the first one to grin. “Well, about damn time.”

  Agatha blinks. “Well, yeah, that makes things different. I can try to befriend her.” She makes a decisive noise. “I’ll charm her socks off. Just you see.”

  And just like that, everyone gets on the same page.

  Because my happiness is important to them.

  It doesn’t escape my notice that none of them probes me with questions and I feel grateful for that. As their voices drown out the noise in my head, I let their excitement grip me, letting the slaps on my back and lame jokes slide.

  But even as I grin ruefully, part of me can’t help but wonder if they will be singing the same tune if they knew my past, about the blood that stains my hands.

  10

  EVE

  “T hree more days?” I ask.

  Ron sounds so excited on the other end that I don’t have the heart to tell him that I miss him and that I wish my best friend were here with me to help me sort out all this mess in my head.

  “It’s amazing here, Eve! This old dude bought like three of my pieces on the spot. And Mark told him triple the price, and he said yes! He didn’t even hesitate!”

  I can’t help but smile at the infectious happiness. “That’s great. Don’t let the money get to your head though. Otherwise, your ego will have to start paying rent as well.”

  “Oh, boo hoo. I’m rich, bitches!”

  I laugh. “I’m glad you’re having a good time. Mila misses you a lot.”

  “And I miss the munchkin.” There is a yearning in Ron’s voice and I know he misses our makeshift family.

  “Hey, Eve?” There is hesitation in his voice, and I catch on to it.

  My hand pauses from where I am slicing the onions for an omelet. “What is it?”

  “Something weird happened, and I don’t know what to make of it.”

  My hand tightens on the knife. “What happened? Did Mark do anything?”

  “No,” Ron immediately protests. His voice sobered. “It’s about Mark, but he didn’t do anything.”

  I frown, staring down at the onions I apparently just butchered. “Then, what is it?”

  Silence from the other end, and then, “Mark has a burner phone.”

  I blink. “Like, the disposable ones you see on detective shows?”

  Ron’s voice is low, and I hear the whine of confusion in his voice. “Yeah.”

  “How do you know it’s a burner phone?”

  A slight pause. “Because there was a plastic bag full of the
m. I counted at least seven.”

  “Jesus,” I say loudly, stunned. “What is he, a peddler?”

  Ron sounds miffed. “I am more under the impression that he may be a spy or something.”

  “Mark is too uptight to be a spy. That stick up his ass makes him ineligible. Besides, he hates the sight of blood, remember?” I tap the knife on the chopping board as I reference to one of the nights I had a nose bleed and Mark rushed out the room like a little girl.

  But even as I say it, I feel worried. “Does Mark know you know?”

  I can almost see Ron shaking his head. “I was looking for a shirt in his suitcase, and I saw them. It’s more than just that. I didn’t tell him.” Hesitation. “I don’t think I should. There’s something else.”

  I feel incredulous. “There’s more?”

  “I think he got into a fight with somebody. His knuckles were torn, and there were some bruises on his back. He said somebody tried to mug him when he went out for breakfast this morning but he didn’t go to file a police report.”

  “Shit, is he okay?” I jolt at the news.

  “He’s fine. He wasn’t even upset. I wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t walked in on him in the shower this morning. He was fine last night. We had another showing. And I woke up to him all bloodied and shit. He’s least bothered.”

  That is strange.

  I hear a muffled sound coming from Mila’s room and then say in a low voice. “Do you want to come back? Do you feel unsafe with him?”

  “No.” There is surprise in Ron’s voice. “It’s Mark. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I doubt it’s anything dangerous.”

  “He got his ass beat up, and he’s apparently got secret callers or something. I’d be hightailing it out of there if I was you.”

  Ron is adamant. “No, no. I just wanted to talk to you about it. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. I’m not going to say anything.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a smart idea, Ron. Come home,” I try to change his mind.

  “I love him, Eve,” Ron tells me, softly. “And I want to trust him.”

  When the call disconnects later, I try not to let worry overtake me.

  I have to remind myself that Ron isn’t as fragile as he appears to be. He trained himself in different kinds of martial arts. He has a trail of certifications and worked as a Judo instructor for a few years. My friend leads a diverse lifestyle, but he is not weak.

  I start preparing breakfast, my lips pursed.

  Ron can handle himself.

  But that doesn’t mean I can’t worry about him.

  After all, he is my only family now, aside from Mila.

  One of the other instructors took over my classes while I was indisposed, as Lorraine was informed, but first day back, I make sure to meet up with the instructors who seem relieved to see me again.

  “When Lorraine said indisposed, we thought you were off having wild sex with that gorgeous man who’s always dropping by,” one of them confides with a grin as the others watch me with gleaming eyes, wanting me to confirm their theory.

  For a moment, it crosses my mind that the pictures and articles from the news didn’t reach them, till one of my employees brings it up in the break room.

  “Bunch of nonsense,” she declares, waving the days-old tabloid in the air before tossing it on the ground.

  “Yeah,” affirmations come from around the room.

  “We’ve seen you build this place up by yourself,” Garnet, the Bollywood instructor, speaks up, her voice soft. “You’ve never looked for a handout. Can’t see you trying for one now.”

  Her words loosen the tightening ball inside my chest. “Thanks.”

  Pink-haired Jill, who is a student at the local university and is teaching hip hop dance, scowls at the picture in the paper. “Bull-fucking-shit. You should track down the reporter and stuff this article up his ass.”

  I grin at the mental imagery. “Thanks for your support, ladies.”

  One of the instructors leans forward. “So, what is going on between you and this hunk?”

  It is at this moment that my phone chooses to ring and I have to excuse myself to disappointed exclamations.

  After the phone call, I have a class to teach so I make my way there.

  Some of the classes switched to the evening, and it is getting dark out there when the last class ends. Knowing that Mila is with Zayn, who picked her up from school since Ron isn’t around to babysit, it feels odd to me to find myself so comfortable with the idea of just delegating these small tasks to Zayn.

  I don’t know why it makes me feel so strange that he accepted my request so calmly as if he were picking Mila up from school every day.

  A quick call to her teacher reassured me that Mrs. Hayfeld would personally ensure that she hand Mila over to Zayn.

  As I clear up the studio, I check the clock.

  A golden head pops in the doorway. “I’ll be out in ten minutes. Cory’s picking me up any time soon.”

  Lorraine’s new boyfriend, a sweet young thing, refuses to let Lorraine walk home at night, something that I appreciate. He always comes to pick her up in his car.

  “Okay. Are all the doors locked?”

  “Bolted shut,” Lorraine says with a straight face. “No raccoon is getting in on my watch. No, sirree.”

  “It’s not the raccoons we’re worried about,” I grin.

  The young girl grins before popping back to the front desk.

  My back is to the door, so I don’t see the light in the hallway turn off. Folding the towels, I am placing them on the rack when I hear a faint clutter.

  Looking over my shoulder, I frown at the dark hallway. “Lorraine?”

  There is no answer.

  I make my way towards the other switch that is connected to the light in the hallway and flip it.

  It doesn’t turn on.

  “Lorraine?” I call again, sharply.

  She doesn’t reply.

  The dance studio by itself is a big building, but if the doors are open, voices carry. So, even if Lorraine is at the other end, she can still hear me.

  Why isn’t she responding?

  “Lorraine!”

  Suddenly the darkness in the hall seems more sinister than before, and I am reminded that aside from Lorraine and me, there is nobody else in the building with us.

  Another faint sound of something being dragged on the ground, down the long hall that opens to other rooms where classes are held.

  Fear clogs my throat, but worry for my young receptionist overpowers it, and I move towards the rack that holds the towels. Detaching one of the silver beams that are used to hang the towels on, I make my way towards the door, brandishing my makeshift weapon, ready to bash someone’s head in.

  “Lorraine, sugar, you out there?” I call, loudly.

  The silence is nerve-wracking.

  “If this is somebody’s idea of a joke, I’m going to beat your ass till you can’t walk for a month.”

  I push my fear back, letting adrenaline take control.

  “I’m going to stick this thing so far up your ass that even the doctors are going to have a hard time taking it out,” I threaten calmly, in a loud voice.

  A scraping sound that is almost shrill.

  Keeping my breathing even, I reach the edge of the door, and it is then that I notice that aside from the room I am in, every other room in the studio is dark.

  Lights out, huh?

  I let my eyes get adjust to the dark, determined not to let anything happen to the smiling girl who always has a kind word for everyone who comes through that door.

  The carpet under my feet swallows the sound of my shoes but a few steps in, I hear a squelching sound and a metallic scent reaches my nose.

  Thunder crashes in my ears, the pounding of my heart so loud.

  I know that smell.

  I was covered in my own blood so many times that I can’t mistake it or forget it.

  But if I scream or make a noise, whoever is
in the building with me will come after me.

  I have to find Lorraine.

  I curse myself silently for not calling the police, or Zayn, somebody.

  Straining my senses to catch even the slightest movement, I try not to think of whose blood it is on the ground and why it soaked that spot in the thin carpet.

  A draft of air from one of the open rooms tells me that with so many openings and hiding places, I don’t have a chance of survival.

  Maybe that is why the movement behind me has me growling and smashing my elbow into my attacker’s windpipe. I manage to pin him to the wall, rough, large hands fighting back before I am overpowered and slammed face-first into the wall.

  I hiss and fight back viciously, tears in my eyes, as I jab and try to kick out, but he is stronger than me. Just as he pins me to the wall with his body, he starts hissing, “Where’s…Eve?”

  The confusion in the voice as the body presses against mine and the familiarity of the voice nearly makes me whimper.

  A torch shines in my eyes and I blink rapidly as I am released and turn around.

  Zayn grabs my arm, his tone urgent. “Are you okay? Why is the studio dark?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I slap my hand over his mouth. “There’s someone here, and I can’t find Lorraine.” My voice hitches. “I stepped in blood.”

  Zayn gently grabs my wrist and lowers it. “Okay, list—”

  A shrill scream sounds, filled with mind-breaking pain from outside, and abandoning Zayn, I rush towards where I know the front door to be.

  I know that voice.

  Oh God, I know that voice.

  “Lorraine!” I scream, running outside into the parking lot.

  I heard Zayn’s heavy footsteps behind me, but my mind can’t comprehend anything as horror blooms inside me.

  Lorraine lays in the parking lot, spread eagle, her shirt missing, her upper body covered with small cuts, the largest one on her throat.

  She stares at me, blood filling her mouth, spilling over.

  For a heartbeat, I freeze.

  I can’t understand what I am seeing.

  Maybe seeing her delicate hand reach for me snaps me out of it and suddenly I become myself. Closing myself off to the fear, to the panic, I embrace practicality, and leaped towards her, ripping off my t-shirt and pressing it against her wound.