Heartless by Winter Renshaw

Author:Winter Renshaw [Renshaw, Winter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-07-31T18:30:00+00:00

“What the . . .” Noelle stands frozen in my doorway a half hour later. “Crew . . . why is there an infant in your apartment?”

I hoist the baby over my shoulder and step back when she finally decides to push past me.

“Whose baby is this?” She points, as if she needs to emphasize exactly which baby she’s referring to.

I clear my throat softly. “Apparently, mine.”

Noelle’s jaw falls. “No way.”

I shrug a free shoulder. “I hooked up with this girl a year ago. She shows up this morning saying she doesn’t want the baby, and it’s mine.”

“Psycho.” Noelle rolls her eyes. “I bet she’s lying.”

“Doubtful.” I’m a world-class poker champion, and I didn’t get to where I am without learning a thing or two about reading people.

“You really think she’s yours?”

“Maybe? The timeline adds up. She’s got my chin.”

Noelle snickers. “Your famous butt-chin.”

“Dimple.”

“Whatever.” She bats me away. “She have a name?”

I lift my brows. “I wasn’t given that information. Ava was desperate to get away. You’d have thought she was making a drop or something.”

“Can I name her?”

“She’s not a fucking puppy.”

Noelle reaches for her, carefully slipping her hands under the baby’s arms and cradling her against her chest.

“She smells like a Cabbage Patch Kid.” Noelle smiles and breathes her in. Her nostalgic grin fades before she turns to face me. “Mom and Dad are going to kill you. You know that, right? Murder you.”

I rake my fingers across my eyes and squeeze them tight. “Fuck.”

“Easter’s next month. What are you going to do?”

My hands hook the back of my neck as I exhale. “I don’t know, Noelle. I don’t fucking know.”

“You’re going to have to tell them about her, like, soon.”

“No shit.”

“I love that I’m perpetually the good twin,” she teases.

Noelle’s competitive streak is a mile wide, and I’m not in the mood to feed that beast right now.

The baby wakes, releasing a shrill squawk of a cry that startles us both. We lock eyes, silently demanding that the other one does something to stop the ear-piercing wails.

“Make a bottle,” Noelle says, bouncing on the balls of her feet and glancing around the room. “Do you have bottles?”

I swipe the black diaper bag from the floor and rifle through. A single bottle at the bottom of the bag rests next to a small canister of formula. Seconds later, I’m scanning the label for some kind of direction and measuring out a perfect powder-to-water ratio.

“Are babies allowed to drink tap water?” I call out as I shake the mixture. “I’m out of bottled.”

“I don’t know, Crew,” she calls out, her voice barely audible above the hungry cries. “Hurry up.”

By the time I return with the bottle, Noelle’s hand is already outstretched and swiping the air. A second later, she pops the bottle in the baby’s mouth and the crying halts.

We breathe a concerted sigh of relief, and I fall back into my couch.

“Where’s she going to sleep tonight?” Noelle asks. “Your house is a disgusting mess, by the way.

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