The First Rule by Nicole S. Goodin

26

Ryan

“Are you sure this is okay?”I ask for the hundredth time.

Candy – Abbey – is driving me back to her place so I can meet her son. My nephew. I still can’t fucking barely believe the series of events that have unfolded within the past hour.

Once Abbey settled down and had a look at my ID, she started talking and she hasn’t stopped.

She’s twenty-five years old, and about three and a half years ago, Jacob got her pregnant. I didn’t ask for too many details on that particular occasion, but from what I gather, she was a stripper at the time and had been hired to dance for a group of men at a buck’s night – a buck’s night that Jacob attended.

Apparently, she gave birth before Jacob found out about the kid, and he was less than impressed when Abbey came to him six months later, out of money, and saying he was the baby’s father.

He demanded a DNA test, and when that proved he was indeed the father, he paid her off. One hundred thousand dollars upfront and ten thousand every month since.

He’s been buying her silence with those payments I saw coming out of his account.

“It’s more than okay, Ryan, Trent will be so excited to meet an uncle. He knows so little about his father’s side of the family... unsurprising given he doesn’t even know his father.”

That comment makes me feel like shit, even though I know it’s in no way my fault, or my burden to bear.

“He never visits you guys?”

She shakes her head but keeps her eyes on the road. “He hasn’t seen Trent since he was a six-month-old baby. He’ll be three this year. He sends the money, which is very generous; it’s a lot of money.”

I don’t think there’s any amount of money in the world that can make up for an absent father, but I don’t say that to her. It’s obvious she longs for a father-son relationship for her son, but she’s accepted she’ll never get it.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Her eyes dart towards me and then back front and centre.

“I don’t know your situation, of course, but if Jacob is paying you regularly, why are you still working there?” I sling my thumb over my shoulder.

She sighs heavily. “Same reason I started it in the first place. I took on all my parents’ debt when they died. It was fine for a while, but I had about a year off work when Trent was born, and I’ve never got those clients back. The hundred grand Jacob paid me went straight onto their loan, but that’s not all of it. There are monthly repayments, interest… they weren’t the most honest people – their situation was a lot worse than I thought. Some people actually think the house fire that killed them was an attempt at an insurance payout gone wrong. I thought it was absurd when I first heard that rumour, but now I think maybe they were onto something.”

“Holy shit,” I mutter.

This chick is doing it tough.

She shrugs. “It’s not so bad. My brother helps out, but it’s a struggle to make ends meet sometimes.”

She turns down a quiet street and then into the driveway of a small, but tidy house.

“I don’t mean to condone blackmail, but why didn’t you just ask Jacob for more money? I’m sure you know he’s got plenty of it.”

She turns the key, and the engine goes quiet.

It’s an old modest car, but much like the house, it appears well cared for.

“I didn’t want to be that girl… you know? The one who got knocked up and then forced the dad to pay up big. I went to him when I had no other choice. He offered the other money, so I took it.” She lolls her head to the side and meets my gaze. “I’ve been called ‘white trash’ all my life. Just for once, I’d like to not live up to that name. And then there’s the fact that I’m terrified that if I don’t stay quiet and play nice, he’ll find a way to take Trent from me.”

I don’t think she’s white trash at all. Being a stripper and an escort is certainly not the ideal lifestyle for her, but she’s doing what she has to do to keep a roof over her and her son’s head. I also can’t blame her for the fear she has about Jacob – Darcy is living proof that he would stoop that low.

“Let’s go in, he’ll need to go to bed soon.” She tips her head towards the house.

I feel nervous as shit as I climb out of her car. I don’t know why… this isn’t my kid. I haven’t abandoned anyone, but I share blood with someone who has, and that’s enough to have my stomach doing somersaults.

I follow her up the small path and through the front door.

The house is basic, but cosy. It feels like a home. There’s a basket of toys in the corner and photos everywhere of Abbey and Trent.

I don’t care what she thinks of herself, I already know she’s a good mother doing her absolute best.

“Trent? I’m home!” she calls out.

There’s a guy sitting on the couch in the other room who is looking at me curiously, he must be around my age – I assume this is Abbey’s brother, but I don’t get an introduction.

A little boy with dark blonde hair comes barrelling into the room, stopping right in front of me.

I crouch down before him, taking in every inch of his gorgeous little face before finally meeting his eyes. Bright green eyes, a perfect mirror image of mine look back at me.

Any doubts I had up until this moment, vanish. Even thoughts of making Jacob pay momentarily disappear. All I see is this little boy – my flesh and blood, and I soak in the feeling of knowing I love him already.

* * *

“He was so incredible,Reb, so smart. He knows how to count to ten.”

“I know.” She smirks. “You told me already.”

I rub my brow. “Did I? Sorry.”

She smiles at me. “Don’t be sorry, it’s good to see you smiling again. Proud uncle looks good on you.”

She’s right. I feel better than I have in ages, and not only because of Trent, but because I have hope. I have something Jacob wants to keep hidden. I have leverage to get my family back, because that’s what Darcy and the baby are; they’re my family.

I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. I know I’ve still got a way to go, I’m running on a hunch here – assuming that Darcy still loves me, but the more sleep I get, the clearer my head becomes, and I can say now with almost one hundred percent certainty that she does. She belongs with me. The facts are all right here in front of me, I just have to finish this once and for all so they can come home where they belong.

“So, is this chick cool with you using her and the kid as blackmail for brother dearest?”

I don’t particularly like it being worded that way, but that’s the gist of it.

“She told me to do what I had to do.”

After Trent had finally gone to bed, about an hour past his bedtime, Abbey and I had sat and talked for hours with her brother Adam.

I told them everything, every little thing from the very beginning, and when I was done, I knew I had allies for life.

Abbey trusts me not to put them in danger, but she was clear – I needed to get Darcy out of there and if that meant threatening to go to the media about her and Trent, then that’s what I needed to do. She even went as far to say that she’d go to the media herself if she had to. Adam was less thrilled about that plan, but I assured them both that it wouldn’t come to that.

I know Jacob, and I know he’d let hell freeze over before he let a story like that get out about himself.

“She sounds like a badass,” Rebel replies, impressed.

“She is. She’s young, but she’s been through a lot. I admire her strength.”

It isn’t lost on me that she and Darcy aren’t all that different in a lot of ways, they’ve both lost their parents, they’re both being manipulated by the same man. They’ve both lost control of their own lives at one point or another. I think when this whole thing is over, they could even be friends. I hope so. I fully intend for Abbey and Trent to be part of our lives.

“So, what’s the plan? We go in there; all guns blazing and tell him what’s up?”

I’m fucking around on my computer, so when the new email comes in, I see it right away.

“I was thinking something slightly more tactful,” I murmur as I click on the notification and wait for the email to load.

It’s the fake email account Rebel had me create to get hold of Jacob’s medical files, which can only mean they’ve arrived.

I can’t imagine there’s anything in here that’s going to be more leveraging than an illegitimate child with a professional sex worker, but it sure as shit can’t hurt to look. Rebel might find something she finds entertaining.

“Tactful is boring.”

I don’t reply.

“Do you ever think about what might have happened if you’d just told her, if you’d been upfront with her when you first realised what had happened?”

Five years ago:

“Sorry I’m late,” I call out as I rummage around in the fridge for a beer.

My mother hates it when I’m late, but I’m not exactly a big fan of the woman who gave birth to me, so I’m not all that concerned about her giving me a sour look. I’m sick to death of these bullshit family dinners she makes us do.

“We’ve started without you,” my father replies.

I pop the top off the beer and make my way into the dining room.

I’m ready to spin a yarn about the work project I was working on that has made me late. The reality is that I’m still trying to find her.

The woman from the bar.

She’s consumed me.

“The Ryman project took –” I start to say as I step into the room, my eyes scanning the table and landing on a blonde head.

My heart thumps in my chest, my blood pumping faster through my veins.

It’s her.

I blink once, twice, three times, but I’m not imagining it. She’s here.

“Barbie.” The word leaves my lips on a whisper, but no one hears it as Jacob speaks over me.

“Ryan, this is Darcy – my girlfriend.”

The world starts to spin.

I meet my brother’s gaze and I can tell. He knows. The smug bastard took her from me, and he knows exactly how much it’s killing me.

Of courseI’ve thought about that. The what if. There’s been times in my life where I’ve struggled to think about anything else. But that doesn’t matter now. It’s too late for could haves or should haves. The reality is that I didn’t.

I wave Rebel over and she slides her chair around, looking over my shoulder. “Ooooooh,” she coos, distracted from her prior question.

I skim past all the small talk bullshit from the nurse and open the main file attached.

Broken toe, persistent cough… dislocated thumb…

Nothing exciting over those years.

There are several STD checks, but much to Rebel’s disappointment, he was clean every time.

“Lucky bastard,” she grumbles.

I click onto the next page, and I swear, my heart fucking stops.

“Does that say what I think it says?” I demand, my pulse racing.

“Holy shit.”

“Rebel,” I snap. “Tell me that says what I think it says.”

It’s right there in black and white. The absolute foolproof solution to all our problems.

“It says what you think it says,” she confirms, her voice shocked.

The word ‘vasectomy’ is printed in front of me, clear as day.

The notes read, ‘vasectomy successful, specimen checked.’

It’s dated two years ago.

Two fucking years.

I held Darcy in my arms as she cried, thinking there was something wrong with her. It broke her fucking heart she’d been trying to get pregnant for a whole year and nothing had happened.

Now I know why.

I also now have concrete proof of what I already knew in my heart. That baby is mine. I’m the little peanut’s daddy, and no one is ever going to take that from me.

I get to my feet, my desk chair skidding away from behind me.

“Where are you going?” Rebel looks up at me.

“I don’t know.”

I stride around the desk, to the other side of the room and back. I’m full of so much pent-up energy, I couldn’t sit still right now if I tried.

“I want to go over there now and rip his fucking head off.”

“I’m not going to stop you, in fact, I’ll drive. Let’s go.”

She grabs her coat, high fives me on the way past, and we head for her car.