Evan: GET OUT
1601 Words
Pain slips from my palm and slowly climbs my arms, settling in my brain before ebbing away.
My tight fist crushes the stem of the rose as my eyes fix on my wife who was previously alone in a room with another fucker.
Her eyes are dilated, her lips swollen, and her clothes ruffled—especially at the chest.
“Get out,” her voice is low but firm.
Inhaling, I take a step into the kitchen.
“Get. Out!” her voice cracks this time as she staggers to her feet, my son in her hands.
“Des—”
“GET OUT!!” she shouts, startling little Junior.
He starts to cry.
Bouncing on her feet and pacing the room, she tries to calm him—herself crying.
Still pressing my palms against the rose stems, I know it’ll be a long night trying to get the thorns out, my eyes shift back to the fucker standing in front of the microwave without a belt and a trouser pulled down to his ass.
His grey eyes are dark with either desire or annoyance—or maybe it’s just an effect of the dim light. But I don't give a flying f**k.
“Daddy,” Junior calls me again, pointing.
I manage a smile at him.
“I want Daddy,” he fusses.
“No,” Dess shakes her head, still rocking him in her hands. “He’s not Daddy. You do not want him.”
“Excuse me?” My brows knit, fresh anger surfacing. “What do you mean I’m not ‘Daddy’?”
“Are you?” she shoots, furrowing her brows at me.
My eyes fall to my little boy as he strains in her arms, wriggling and trying to get away from her.
“Daddy,” he mutters again.
Proud dad moment!
“Kay!”
That’s his name?
Is it Kaleb? Kamron?
I can’t wait to find out what beautiful name Dess had chosen for our offspring.
“Stop it! You’ll hurt yourself,” she cries, but my energetic boy—Kay—keeps up the fight.
She gives in and lets him run over to me.
Gently placing the roses on the slab, I bend over and gather him with my bloodied hands, holding him at my side while I look deep into his familiar-unfamiliar blue orbs.
“Yes, Daddy is here for you…” my gaze shifts to my beautiful wife, “and Mommy.”
She huffs, her hand flying to her forehead as she feels her skin. My eyes catch a little bandage around her thumb, but I sweep that aside.
“Now,” I turn towards the other fucker, making sure Junior look at him too. “Who is that, Junior?”
“Evan, what is the meaning of this?”
I ignore her—she’s not the one I’m interested in at the moment.
“Ryker,” my son’s little voice answers my question.
Oh, he’s so obedient.
A smirk forms on my lips. “Now, Ryker, I’d respectfully ask you to get the”—f**k—“out of here.”
He draws in a fuckload of air, trying his best to sustain his anger.
I don’t really care.
If he annoys me any further, I’ll have my men run him the f**k down.
I’m only excusing this behavior because it’s been real long since I was last with my dear wife. She’s allowed to get a bit of action during my absence, but I’m here now, so side c***s can get the f**k out. Thank you very much.
“Evan…” Dess says in exasperation, but my eyes remain trained on f**k-face.
He pulls up a smile, bucks into action—but he doesn’t head for the door. He moves over to Dess, presses a kiss to her lips, and whispers something inaudible.
While he walks past me, he pinches my baby’s chubby cheeks before leaving.
I’d kill him now. For sure.
Turning back to Dess, I beam. “Roses.” I jolt my head at the damaged flowers.
“Leave… please.” She presses her lids together, trying—unsuccessfully—to keep the tears in.
As a responsible—as I’d rightly price myself—parent, I gently crouch and place Junior on the wooden floor, kissing his head and whispering to him to go to his room.
He obeys, running out of the kitchen as fast as his adorable feet can carry him.
“He’s beautiful—”
“Get out.”
I snap. Rushing over to her, my hand finds her neck—holding but not pressing against her warm skin. For a moment, I get lost in her warmth. In that familiar scent.
“How many times have you said those words just tonight?” my voice is husky. Not sure if it’s more from desire or anger—or maybe just a little of both.
“E-Evan…”
“You didn’t do well, Dess.” I stick my tongue out, licking from her chin, over her lips, all the way to the tip of her nose. “You ran away from me right after serving me unacknowledged divorce papers.”
She squirms.
“For three years, Dess, I’ve been looking. Three f*****g years!” I turn her face, licking her smooth cheek, licking the freckles. “And to my awe, I find that you’ve been hiding my heir from me. And to top it all, you were going to f**k another man over the counter with my baby boy running around!”
“Please!” she bites her lower lip, making my pants tighten.
“You deserve to be punished for all that.”
Her hazel eyes shoot at me, staring daggers as her breathing shallows.
Uh-oh.
“To be punished, you say?” She slaps her palms on my chest, and I willingly fall back, releasing her. “Haven’t I been punished enough!?” she shouts, and I find myself worrying about little Junior getting upset.
“Calm down,” my voice is even.
I’m heartbroken too. f**k!
“Why should I be calm?”
For Junior, perhaps?
“You used me! Evan! You violated me. Married me, tortured me, cheated on me, divorced me—”
“YOU divorced me!” I cut her off.
Like whoa—hold on.
I was going to cut my birthday cake when I received a signed divorce paper, then you f*****g vanished!
For. Three. f*****g. Years.
She laughs, the sound cracking. “You let your mistress walk all over me.”
“And that gives you the right to take my son away from me?”
“He’s not your son!”
This again.
“Then whose is he?” I stand my f*****g ground.
She falls back, sighing. “Mine.”
An unbelievable scoff leaves my lips. “Really?”
The boy has my every f*****g features! No other man could have given him to her. No other fucker.
“Yes.” Her lips curl in disdain. “Or did you do anything with me that would have gotten me pregnant?”
My hands clench. Fresh pain shoots up.
No. We never consummated our three-month marriage, but that boy has too many of mine and my father’s features—House Vanhook’s features—not to be mine.
“So now ask yourself again, is Kayden...”
He’s named after my father. Why didn’t I f*****g think of that?
“...really your son?”
Slowly, a smile spreads across my face. “You named him after my father.”
Her face furrows—understandably. “Late Mr. Vanhook’s name was Jayden!”
“Lie to me. Tell me you didn’t get the inspiration for 'Kayden' from 'Jayden'.”
She exhales, utterly dumbfounded.
She loved my father. Of course, she’d birth him and name the child to fit my dear old man.
“No wonder he looks so much more like Daddy than me.” I shrug. “I mean, you could’ve named him Ivan or Avan or something.”
“Leave!” Her voice is firm.
Green fire burns in her eyes.
I could keep this up all night, but it would be wiser to leave. Let her rest after a full day’s work, and allow little-Evan his mommy’s company.
Jet was right.
I should’ve f*****g learned about them before I rushed over here.
Heading straight to my car, my eyes catch the tall black figure of the grey-eyed man from the kitchen.
Evan... Go to your car. Gently walk over to the car, start it, and leave. That’s the best option.
Well, I throw all 'best' options to the wind and head straight for the motherfucker.
“Hey!”
He slowly turns toward me, tossing his cigarette to the ground.
My eyes follow the smoking roll of s**t as it hits the concrete. Dess doesn’t like smokers.
“Vanhook.” His voice is calm, exuding a type of confidence I detest in others. Especially not when they’re in my mighty presence.
Closing the distance between us, I stare him deep in those annoying eyes. I’m about to cuss him out when a realization hits me.
This isn’t the first time I’m staring into these cold, lifeless eyes. Not the first time I’ve met this motherfucker. And the first time is definitely not the encounter in Dess’s kitchen just now.
“You were at Kim’s apartment.” The words stumble out of my mouth.
The afternoon of my birthday, the afternoon before Dess disappeared, he was there. Waiting outside.
That's not good.
- Writer
