The very thought fills me with rage and despair. But the idea of a baby? It paralyzes me in fear.
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.” I pace away and take off my hat, scratching my head before slamming it back on again. “Everyone knows, especially me, that I can not have kids.”
“Why?” Dad demands as he tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Why can’t you be a father?”
I chew on my lip. How do I say this without hurting his feelings?
“Did your mom and I fuck you up?” he continues.
“Not you and Jillian,” I reply and then swear under my breath, pacing back and forth. “You guys are the best. All of you. And the kids are all well-adjusted people.”
“But not you?” Josh asks.
“I’m way better than I was the day that bitch dropped me off on this ranch.” I shake my head. “But damn it, her gene pool is in me. And I’d give just about anything to make that not true. For Jillian to be my biological mom. But she’s not. And I’ll be goddamned if I’ll pass on anything Kensie gave me to a baby. That’s just not fair.”
“Seth—” Dad begins, but I cut him off.
“No, it’s not just that. Look, you know that Kensie was a shitty mom and that I had it pretty bad before I came here. I don’t want to tell you all of the things that happened, but let me just say that I’ve seen too much, and I have too much bad in me to be a dad.”
“Whoa,” Dad says and puts his hands up, palms out. “Stop right there. What in the hell are you talking about?”
I shake my head. “Nevermind. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m just a mess. And you’re probably right. I shouldn’t be here today.”
“What did you see, Seth?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, goddamn it,” Dad counters. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”
“It was a long time ago, and it’s over, so it doesn’t matter.”
“It’s clearly not over for you,” Josh replies. “And if this isn’t your safe place, then I don’t know what is, Seth. We love you, and nothing’s ever going to change that, so you need to talk to us. Tell us what in the hell has you so twisted up inside.”
Jesus, I don’t want to do this. But I need advice. I need to talk to them because with the way I feel right now, if Remi’s pregnant, I don’t know what I’ll do.
So, I talk. I talk more than I ever have before, and I tell them everything. I don’t leave anything out. When I’m done and look up at them, my uncle Josh has tears in his eyes, and my dad looks like he wants to kill someone with his bare hands.
I’m pretty sure he has done that in the past.
“How do I bring all of that to a kid?” I ask at last. “It’s not fair. It’s too much.”
“So, what you’re saying is, because the woman who birthed you was a piece of shit who allowed other pieces of shit to treat you like a dumpster when you weren’t old enough to fend for yourself, you’re not worthy of having a family?” Josh asks. “You’re not good enough to raise a child in a loving and respectful house? You grew up in a family that’s exactly that: loving and respectful. Hell, you practically raised your younger siblings and cousins. You’re their favorite person in the world.”
“That’s different,” I whisper.
“No,” Dad says at last. “It’s not different. It shows who you are. I need to say this, for the record. If she were still alive, I’d fucking kill her. Slowly. Painfully.”
I tighten my jaw and nod once.
“I’d hold her for you,” Josh mutters. “After I killed the assholes with her.”
“I’m no shrink, but Seth, you’re not going to be a shitty dad because those awful things happened to you when you were a kid.”
“Hell, no,” Josh says. “If anything, it’ll make you more protective. More grateful that you have something so great.”
I stop and frown, considering. “I guess I never thought of it like that.”
“You and Remi have an incredible built-in support system here on the ranch,” Dad reminds me. “With your grandma here, your mom and Cara, and hell, all of the kids, that baby won’t go without love and attention. In fact, you’ll be kicking us all out of your house. You’ll be sick of everyone.”
“He doesn’t kick me out of his house,” Uncle Josh says. “I’m his favorite.”
“I don’t know, it scares me.”
“It should terrify you,” Dad says with a nod. “Being a dad is the hardest thing you’ll ever do.”
“Says the man with a dozen kids,” I reply.
“Four. Four kids. And I don’t regret a minute of it. Well,” he amends, shaking his head, “I regret how I handled things when you were young—now more than ever.”