Page 13 of Keeping Kyler
“Was there something wrong with the food?” She frowns, looking down at my untouched plate.
“Nope. Just lost my appetite.” My forced smile is even less plausible this time.
“You sure, ‘cause I can have a word with the chef. Get him to cook ya som—”
I rudely cut her off. “Is there something wrong with your ears? I said I’m not hungry. It’s hardly a crime.” My tone is purposely harsh. I’m in no mood to waste time small-talking with some hick waitress in some two-bit town. I want to go meet the sperm donor, get a few things off my chest, and then leave this Godforsaken place.
“That’s some mighty big chip you got on your shoulder.” She moves sideways, scowling at me as I ease out of the booth past her.
“Whatever.” I shrug. Not like I’ll be seeing her again anytime soon.
“Suit yourself, asshole.” Her mouth pulls up in a sneer as she grabs my plate and the twenty and turns on her heel.
Iwasan asshole to her, but that’s my prerogative. She’s supposed to be nice to the clientele, no matter what. It’s little wonder the place is empty if that’s how she speaks to most of her customers.
It takes twenty minutes to get to the sperm donor’s place. Kev programmed the exact location into the GPS app on my phone, and now I know why. This place is miles out of town, in the middle of nowhere. I passed the last house about ten miles back, and I can see jack-shit in the pitch dark. There are no street lamps or signs this far out of town. The roads are narrow and bumpy, and I’m grateful I had the foresight to rent a truck. I park at the end of the lane that leads to his house and try to calm my beating heart. I don’t know how long I sit there, but it’s at least a half hour before a small red car swings into the lane and disappears out of sight. It was too dark to see the occupant, so either it’s him or he has company. Great. I wasn’t planning on having a showdown with witnesses.
I pull out my cell and send a quick message to Kaden letting him know I’m here. He wishes me luck, but I know it’s a futile sentiment. No amount of luck is going to make this visit any less nauseating.
I wait another hour before deciding to close the distance. If it was a visitor, I’d presume they’d be gone by now, so it’s must’ve been him. The sperm donor. My father.
Swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, I crank the truck into gear and turn into the lane. A small, dilapidated building looms before me. The grubby whitewashed walls are in dire need of painting, and overgrown weeds cling to the sides of the house, looking like they’ve had free rein to reproduce for years. The two-story property has a small veranda out front that is well worn and in ill-repair. An old wooden love seat, missing a few panels, swings gently in the late-night breeze. A light is on in one of the upstairs windows and in one of the ground-level rooms. I get out of the truck on shaky legs, wiping my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans as I approach the house.
I hop up the steps, faltering in front of the door with my hand raised.
It’s now or never.
Nausea swims up my throat, and the urge to hurl is riding me hard. Before I can chicken out, I rap firmly on the door.
My heart is thumping against my ribcage as the door swings open. My gaze widens for a fraction of a second before I regain control.
“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” The waitress from the diner lounges against the doorframe, eyeing me from head to toe. She’s wearing a thin negligee with no underwear, and judging by the tangled state of her hair and her swollen lips, I’d say she’s just been royally screwed.
Her sharp eyes miss nothing. “Like what you see?” She puts a hand on her hips, thrusting her chest out as she licks her lips provocatively.
“Who is it?” A gritty, slurred voice rings out from somewhere inside the house.
“Some asshole with your eyes,” she yells back over her shoulder.
There’s a loud scraping sound, followed by heavy footfall, and then a tall, broad-shouldered man appears behind her. Planting a meaty hand on her waist, he eyeballs me with vacant curiosity. His tan face is craggy, with deep lines, and there’s at least a few day’s growth of gray-tinged stubble on his chin. His dark hair is littered with generous strips of gray, and it’s on the longish side, curling around his ears and his neck. Eerily familiar pale blue eyes meet mine. His gaze rakes over me slowly. Then he guffaws, throwing back his head and laughing. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
My spine stiffens as I glare at him.
“Was wondering when you’d make an appearance. Figured you had more gumption than those other two idiots who showed up here a few months back.”
A muscle clenches in my jaw, and he laughs again.
“Care to enlighten me, Dougie?” his young fuck buddy asks.
Doug’s fingers slither into the front of her nightdress, and his large hand cups one of her bare breasts. She arches into him with a whimper, and bile swims up my throat.
“Meet Kyler Kennedy, sweetheart.” He pinches her nipple, grinning at me the whole time. “My son.”
Chapter Six
Kyler
That out of body experience thing is happening again. Doug Grant, a.k.a. sperm donor, is sprawled in a worn leather reclining chair in his squalid living room, wearing a filthy wife-beater with his beer gut spilling over the band of his low-hanging jeans, eyeing me like it’s physically paining him to look at me. He’s still a good-looking dude—age notwithstanding—but he looks like a lazy motherfucker. I cannot believe my mother went out with this skeeze.
