Chapter Fifteen
Jackson
Complete and utterly exhausted from the past few days, I trudge up the steps to my apartment, barely managing to put one foot in front of the other. When I get to the door of my apartment, I put the key in the hole and turn, pushing the door open and stepping through before anyone or anything can interfere with my plan to fall face first into my pillow and sleep for as long as physically possible.
But as soon as I step inside, the light shining entirely too brightly into my bloodshot eyes causes an instant ache to form behind my eye, as I try to remember if I turned it out when I left the house.
“I could have sworn that I turned it off,” I murmur to myself, as the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Grabbing my gun from its holster, I raise it to shoulder level and begin to slowly make my way through the apartment one room at a time, checking to make sure that everything looks to be in order and that there are no intruders lurking about.
Upon first inspection, everything looks fine, but once I make it to my kitchen island, I stop cold in my tracks.
I know that I didn’t leave anything on it, having cleaned it off after eating a quick bowl of cereal before heading out to class just the morning before. But now, I find myself staring at a stack of folded papers.
Upon further inspection, I find that the folded papers are copies of tests results that are dated for three weeks ago, the day that Brooklyn and I ran into one another at the clinic.
Just as mine had been, each of the tests tests that had been ran came back as negative, which is a relief. But, then I pull out the last sheet, only this one is dated for today, or I guess yesterday, and it’s this test is something called a ‘hCG, Beta Subunit, Qnt, Serum’ with a result of 787.
It takes a few seconds for what that means to sink in to my sleep deprived brain but as soon as it does, I stumble back a step as the enormity of what this means hits me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly the fear of someone breaking into my apartment completely disappears at the realization that the *intruder* was obviously Brooklyn and I’m not even going to question how she knows how to break into someone’s place without leaving little to no trace of her presence behind.
As I pick up the first set of test results, placing them both together, my mind still reeling with where to go and what to do from here, a small piece of paper that I had somehow missed falls to the counter.
Picking it up, I find that it’s a sticky note with the words, ‘We need to talk’ scrawled sloppily onto the little square along with a phone number. She doesn’t leave her name, but of course she doesn’t have to.
A glance at my watch tells me that I’ll have to wait for a more decent hour before I’m able to talk to her, but I do want to talk to her and if by chance the baby is mine, I will do right by both of them. If she doesn’t want to keep it, well, that’s something I’ll have to think on.
I’m not saying that I’m in a position to be a single father, but I don’t like the idea of someone else raising my kid, not when I am capable, even if it would change the trajectory of where I am currently headed with my life.
And if she were to want to terminate, yes, it’s her body, but that baby is a part of me too and I do feel like I should have, at least *some* say in the decision.
Hopefully it’s a moot point, but I definitely have a lot to think about.
Placing the results back down on the counter, I thumb in her contact information and then type out a text.
**Jackson: Sorry it’s so late but give me a call or come by when you get the chance. I will make sure that I’m around and available to talk.
I go to lay in bed and although I’m both physically and mentally exhausted, my mind is racing in every which direction and I can’t seem to get it to stop.
All I can think about is those test results sitting on my countertop and what they mean.
I honestly can’t say that I’m excited at the prospect of being a father, because although Bos and Aspen now have a little girl, and Lincoln and Raleigh and their twins, kids weren’t really ever something that I put too much thought into, maybe because I never found the right girl.
There was a time, back when Linc, Raleigh and I had our thing going, that I had the absolute smallest of thoughts possible that just maybe I would get to be something to their twins, something more than uncle Jax, but then things went sideways and that, was that.
*But I might be someones dad.* I think, trying to even wrap my head around the idea of such a thing. *Fuck! That’s such a terrifying thought and I don’t know how to feel about it. There’s a part of me that is elated, but another that is scared shitless, another that wants to fucking vomit and then a large part that just wants to pretend that it doesn’t exist until I have to.*
*But that’s the cowards way out.*
*I’ve been a coward for way too fucking long as it is and enough is enough.*
*It’s time to face this shit head on and be a man.*
*I want to be the man that my dad raised me to be.*
*I need to be the man that Brooklyn is going to need me to be—whether she decides to keep the baby or not.*
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