11. Hope

My stomach flutters nervously as I strap Justin into the front pack. I’m glad I haven’t eaten anything yet this morning, because the thought of telling Dexter he’s a dad has my insides churning.

Justin wriggles against me and I rub his head, making shushing noises. He wouldn’t go down last night until I came home. But Grace didn’t let me know because she didn’t want to disturb my date.

When I came in Grace was fast asleep and Calvin had been pacing the motel room trying to get Justin to sleep. It’s good practice for when he becomes a dad in a few months, but guilt racks at my bones for my unsettled baby.

“We’ll go home tomorrow.” I kiss his downy head. “Then we’ll get back into your normal routine, I promise.”

I pull the strap tight and he calms down as he nestles into place, his body fitting perfectly between my breasts. He prefers looking outwards and that’s how he is today, his legs and arms hanging out while he faces out to look at the world.

I check my phone, but there’s no message from Dexter. I texted him before I left the motel to tell him I was running late. No matter how organized I try to be, I can never get out the door on time since I had Justin.

I set off down the sidewalk, following the map on my phone to the spot where Dexter tells me they’ve got the best bacon sandwiches in Oregon.

I decided to just turn up with Justin, because then I can’t back out of telling him.

We cross the square and I see Dexter sitting on a park bench facing the river. I take a deep breath.

“This is it.”

I kiss the top of Justin’s head, inhaling his milky scent to steady my nerves as we approach the bench.

“Hey.”

Dexter looks around, and I wait for the shock to register on his face when he sees Justin. Only it doesn’t.

He looks at me with a furrowed brow, and there’s hurt and bitterness in his expression. His shirt is rumpled, and there are shadows under his eyes like he hasn’t slept. My steps falter as he gets up from the bench and comes toward us.

“Who’s this?” His voice is gruff and sad, and this isn’t how I imagined this going.

I take a deep breath. “This is Justin.”

“When were you going to tell me, Hope?” he says quietly, and there’s an edge to his voice I don’t like.

I press my lips together. He’s angry, and he has a right to be. I’ve kept it from him, and I realize now that was a mistake.

“I was waiting for the right time.”

“The right time?” He runs a hand over his face. “Was that before or after I got you off in the alleyway?”

I look around quickly. It’s not busy at this time of the morning, but I still don’t want to have this conversation in public.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be angry?” I ask it as a question, because there’s so much emotion running over his face that I’m not sure what he’s thinking. But none of it is positive.

He grunt laughs. “Angry? Why did you come back here, Hope? Why did you look me up? What do you want from me?”

His words sting, and I blink back tears. His expression softens for a moment, and he reaches a hand out but stops before he touches my cheek. He pulls his hand back, and his expression goes hard again.

“I…I…I thought you might be happy to see us.”

This isn’t going at all how I expected. I thought he might be shocked, surprised, overwhelmed, maybe even happy, but not angry.

Dexter shakes his head as if I’m crazy, and maybe I am. Maybe I’m crazy to think that a man I hardly know could be someone I want in mine and Justin’s life. The way he’s talking to me is not the Dexter I know. But maybe it’s the real Dexter. Maybe this is him.

My own anger flares up inside me. How can he be so callous about his own son, his own flesh and blood?

“Yes, Dexter. I thought you were someone who cared. But you know what, forget it. Justin’s better off without you in his life.”

I swipe furiously at my eyes, and Justin, sensing something’s wrong, begins to cry. I turn around, shielding him from Dexter’s bitter look.

“Why would I want your baby in my life?”

“I don’t know,” I say over my shoulder. “Because maybe he deserves to know who his father is?”

I don’t wait around for a response. I rush across the square clutching Justin to my chest.

I fling the car door open and strap him in as fast as I can, ignoring his cries. I pull out quickly and drive without looking back, wanting to put as much distance between us and that asshole as I can.

Rejecting me is one thing, but rejecting his own son? He’s not worth another moment of my time.