The women step from the order line into the wait-for-food one, and I swear, I hear another whisper from behind me.
I fix my eyes on the short-haired person who’s about to take my order. Then a low voice says, "Vance...Rayne, is it?"
I grit my molars and ignore the guy.
"Is that your stolen baby?"
Ignore him, I tell myself.
"Imagine, the son of a millionaire, stealing a baby. A gay man who can't even father children, stealing one he doesn’t have a right to."
I glance over my shoulder—a split second before turning away. "Don't know what you're talking about, man.” My words sound soft. My heart is hammering. I clutch the baby carrier closer, and the person at the register says, “What can I get you today?”
"What'd you say?" The low voice corresponds with movement behind me. For an awful moment, I wonder if Eden will get hurt if this fucker hits me.
I turn around, holding her carrier slightly behind my back.
In the calmest voice I can muster, I say, "Just said you don't know about our situation, dude."
"Did you call me dude?"
“Listen, I’m not looking for trouble. Just came here to get a burger—”
“Are you him?”
I want to turn around, but I’m scared of a hit from behind. If I drop the carrier…all I can think about is Eden’s floppy neck.
“Am I who?” I glance at the crowd that’s gathered around this rage-a-holic, hoping someone will say something so I don’t have to. All of them are quiet and wide-eyed, some holding up phones.
“Are you that faggot, Vance Rayne? I know you are. Take off that hat.”
“I don’t think—”
The fucker snatches my hat off. As I grab for it—moving just on instinct—two things happen: I realize I’ve taken my grabbing hand off the baby carrier, which shifts the weight of it to my hurt shoulder; also, Eden gives a soft cry.
“Dammit.” I look down and then back up at the guy.
“Look at that scar,” he sneers. “That’s the one.”
A woman beside him, wearing a normal-looking black dress, says, “It’s almost like kidnapping.”
“What?” another woman says, looking confused.
I turn partway around, toward the employee taking orders. “I don’t think I’ll order. Thank you.” I’m walking quickly away when something slaps my head. I blink, getting an eyeful of my ball cap, and that’s when something locks up in my shoulder. I’m about to lower the carrier to the ground before I fucking drop it when somebody grabs my pins-and-plates elbow.
“What the fuck?” I wrench the arm away, toss off my cap, and am horrified to find Rage-o crouching right beside me on the sidewalk, reaching for the carrier, where Eden is now wailing loudly.
I shove his shoulder, and the guy shoves me back. Since I’m crouching, balanced on my heels, I wobble, grabbing onto the handle of the carrier to right myself. Then, before he can do anything else, I pre-empt and sock the fucker in the jaw. As I dash off, clutching the carrier and jogging toward the crosswalk, my heart doing ninety miles a minute, I laugh at the sheer audacity—I just punched some damn stranger.
Wouldn’t have done it if my arm weren’t hurt. I needed a second to ensure a safe getaway.
I jog across the street in lite traffic, holding my hand up at cars, which let us pass.
“Vance!” Someone’s shouting.
What the fuckshit?
“Vance! Get in!” I look up, and right ahead of me is the blonde from the atrium—the one from Netflix. She’s holding a car door open.
19
Vance
“What the hell?”
“Don’t look behind you! Just dive in and lock the door,” she—he—says.
I just…do it. As soon as the door slams shut, there’s banging on my window. I see something flash, and then my driver jets off into traffic.
“Fucking shit, dude.” Netflix guy looks over his shoulder. “That baby okay? Are you okay?”
I realize Eden is really going at it, piercing wails and all; I just didn’t notice as we ran from that asshole. I lean over the carrier and try to give her warm little roly-poly body a hug.
“Hey, I’m sorry…” I touch her face.
I didn’t even realize until now that I’m shaking a little.
“You okay?” my driver asks.
I look up at— “What is your name? Sorry.”
“My legal name right now is Anna.”
Eden starts rooting around, and I check the carrier for the bottle I packed for her as to-go food.
“Glad we got this,” I whisper as I guide it to her mouth and she clamps down like a damn snapping turtle.
“I think I need to hear this baby acquisition story,” Anna says.
“Like you haven’t read it.” I make a soft scoffing sound, and he laughs. “Okay, guilty as charged. I still want to hear it from you, though.”
“Why were you there?” I ask, feeling skeptical. “Why were you parked there by the street?”
“Truth?” His eyes meet mine in the rear view. “I’d been planning to drop by your house. Since I heard you were home—some reporters I know saw you at the blinds—I thought I’d ring the doorbell, or walk up to the gate. I saw you leave, though, so I figured I would get some lunch.”