Chapter: 4
The Upper Hand
When Rick Grimes arrived bright and early the next Monday morning at their headquarters, he made a beeline towards Negan's office.
Walking through the glass doors, he discovered his brother hunched forward in the middle of his dark-colored suede couch watching the news on his iPad. Legs splayed, thighs straddling the round coffee table, at six foot two, Negan was once on the path of becoming a pro baseball player. The family's empire, however, took precedence. Not that he had any regrets. The perks held more appeal than slugging away for years in the minor leagues with only a ten percent chance of making it to the majors. For one thing, Negan's job afforded him what he craved the most—control.
"Your instinct was spot on," Negan said with enthusiasm. "Come over here and look at this."
The small hairs on the back of Rick's neck stiffened. "Not instinct, habit. We can't be too certain about anyone. You know that."
"Yeah, but sometimes the reminder of how fortunate we are to have you at the company satisfies me."
Rick shrugged his suit jacket off, placed it neatly on the arm of the couch, and sank into the seat beside his brother. An open file, with several pages and photos, were fanned out on the table's glass surface before him.
Next to the documents, Negan plucked up what Rick assumed to be a half-drunk mug of Jasmine green tea—his new wife's favorite—and sipped from it. Like him, Rick once considered making a proposition to a strange woman for a marriage of convenience, but that arrangement seemed too cold even for him. Be that as it may, as of late Sherry and Negan seemed unable to keep their hands off of each other. Especially during that recent birthday dinner. And Rick wondered, could the two actually be falling in love? Why would his brother take that risk?
Negan patted Rick's knee. "Good thing you took note of that Mocha skinned beauty Saturday. As per your request, Simon ran a full background check on her and her plates."
His heart picked up a beat. "And?"
"And you were right, Rick my boy. Her shit doesn't add up."
Rick nodded. Not at all surprised by Simon's confirmation of his suspicions. Still, he felt a slight thud of disappointment, followed by the beginnings of a throb at his temples.
Yes, he took note of the 'Mocha skinned beauty,' right from the moment he saw her standing in his den. With her staring at him perplexed, he drank in her brown eyes, rich and dark, like brushed hickory or smoked Balinese oak. And that voice. With every word she spoke her breathy tone, like a perfect whiskey, heated his insides leaving him intoxicated. Hell... the whole damn package, petite as she was, drew him in.
And it pissed him off. Even more, than he already was.
So instead of letting his attraction have sway over him, he fought against it by being a complete dick. Yeah, not his finest moment, but he'd like to think he was being...proactive, for a lack of a better word.
Afterward, when he'd realized she'd been hurt, he tried to be cavalier in his dealings with her. In his awkwardness, though, he still came across as if he were cross-examining her, which wasn't his intention at all, but ultimately it did lead him to pick up on her edginess. Her responses to his harmless questions—Questions pertaining to her family, and her kid—Rick knew. She was lying in some way. Hence, the need for security checks.
"Does the name Lori Andrews mean anything to you?" his brother asked.
"Lori Andrews? Maybe." Rick scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, I think I know that name."
"Oh, you know more than just her name Ricky." He handed Rick a photograph of a beautiful young woman with long dark hair, that was wild and untamed. A look of disappointment tugged the corners of her mouth, as she stared off into the unseen distance. "Remember the last time we were all at Nonnetto's vineyard in Matraia?"
"You mean that family reunion for his seventy-fifth birthday a couple years back?"
"Right you are bro. And you stumbled in half-assed drunk, with this wide-eyed brunette on your arm. Charming I thought, frail, but charming."
Rick scrubbed his face. The memory was hazy. That whole summer vacation was hazy. His only mission on that trip was to have a good time.
"Yeah well, turns out your summer fling Lori Andrews is Michonne Andrews older sister. Or at least she was."
Rick narrowed his eyes in confusion. Negan placed another picture in his hands, this one was taken at a high school graduation.
"This is some years ago with her family. There's Miss Michonne in the cap and gown. Your ex on the left of the elderly man, and the youngest, Margaret Andrews, with her arms around her. All three girls were adopted as kids by this childless couple from a next to nothing town called Senoia. Unfortunately, about a year ago Lori died. That son-of-a-bitch cancer got to her. She survived by a 4-month-old son whom she gave full custody to her sister."
He leaned back staring at the dated photo in his hand. Something inside him wished he was wrong, that Michonne had not been lying to him. "It's not a coincidence, is it?"
"We both know it isn't." He handed Rick the full report. "Why would a small town woman find herself out in the big city of Savannah just like that? She didn't get married, didn't purchase a new place, hell she didn't come out here for better employment. It says right there she's the owner of some ratchety old gym. To top it all off, she's got no family out here. Absolutely none. And what, she makes a huge move like this with a little kid? It's all too questionable in my opinion. She wants something."
Rick did the numbers in his head. "So you think Lori had my child."
"I think she told a cock and bull story to her sister about it being your child. Hence her suddenly showing up." Negan got off the couch, strode over to his desk, and grabbed up the receiver to his phone. "But don't worry bro, I know exactly what to do to get rid of a woman like this. I've had my fair share of scheming skanks trying to get their hooks into me and our money with fake pregnancies, and false claims of paternity."
Rick gave his brother a look. Skanks he had no problem going to bed with.
Jerk.
"Nah," he shook his head, "don't bother. I'll handle it." Michonne may have some agenda or whatnot, but that didn't mean she deserved to have Negan set behind her. "Besides, I have to at least see this boy, get him tested. Confront her face to face."
"Are you out of your goddamn mind? That woman, you're not going anywhere near her, ever again. Capisci? Stay smart Ricky—"
"I said I can handle it! This could be my kid."
Negan shook his head and leaned his tall form back against his desk. Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he gave Rick a thoughtful look. "And what if he is? Huh? What the hell are you gonna do about it? She's not just going to hand him over like a free dessert plate. By the end of today, we'll have her financial records, and I guarantee you she's looking for a payout."
Rick nodded. Of course, he knew that. What else could it possibly be? But that didn't mean he would walk away either. Not if there's a small chance he'd fathered a son. Having made his decision, Rick stood up and grabbed his jacket. "If he's mine...then I'll just take him."
"Dude, you sure about this?"
Rick jumped out of his car and glanced up and down the street. The surroundings were clean; no shady characters were in sight; the identical houses lined off perfectly. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said. "Stay here and I'll go in, do this by myself."
By midday, when his secretary had informed him that his afternoon meetings had been rescheduled, on a whim, Rick decided to take the forty-five-minute drive over to Michonne's apartment in Bradley Pointe to confront her.
Jerry shook his head. "Okay boss man, but holla if things look sketchy."
Rick cocked his head to the side with a look of amusement. "Sketchy how Jerry? She's barely five foot -five."
"And she could be packing some heat, you know what I'm saying? Don't take much to pull a trigger, man. Especially if you plan on going in there to piss her off. And that is the plan, isn't it?" Jerry asked, with a smug smile. "To piss her the hell off?"
Rick paused to give some thought to his bodyguard's advice. "Alright," he nodded, because yeah, that was the plan. "You could come out of the car, keep me covered. But stay here, outside."
"That's what I'm talking about." The barrel-chested man sprinted out onto the sidewalk and removed his sunglasses. "Just let me do my job."
"Shouldn't take longer than a few minutes," Rick promised.
After Jerry confirmed which apartment was Michonne's, Rick walked past a few buildings then up the pathway leading to her door. Focused on the task at hand, he determined to keep his hostility under control. If he could treat this situation as a regular business negotiation, he should be able to maintain the upper hand. Gritting his jaw, Rick steeled his heart and pressed the bell.
She didn't answer.
Not right away, but he heard when her footsteps approached the other side of the threshold. His heart sped up and he clenched his fists when slowly she pulled the door open.
"Rick...I mean Mr. Grimes, w-what are you doing here?" She stared at him incredulously.
He didn't mean for his gaze to travel the length of her, but apparently, it did, because she snatched the top of her plaid shirt which fell slightly open. Too late, he thought, glancing left. The curve of a smooth patch of chocolate skin left an image now forever embedded in his brain.
He cleared his throat. "Is there anything else I should know about?"
"Is there a reason why you've shown up at my home uninvited?"
He pushed past her into the tiny apartment. "I came to see the baby."
He glanced back as she remained frozen by the gaping entrance. It's clear she didn't expect those words to come out of his mouth.
"You know, don't you?" Michonne said softly.
"That you were gonna claim that he's mine? Yeah, wasn't hard to figure out after a simple background check."
"Wait. You did what?" Creases appeared on her forehead and she finally shut the door.
He glared at her, not liking the innocent act of hers, it was causing him to already lose his patience. Here she was, turning his fucking world upside down and she had the audacity to play innocent? "Cut the crap Michonne! That's why you showed up at the mansion, isn't it?"
She returned his glare in silence.
"Isn't it?" he muttered. "Yes, or no!"
She jumped and her gaze darted behind him. "Yes."
"The whole time, you were lying right to my face."
"No. I…" she stammered, eyebrows knitting together, lips puckered in a bow. "I'm not a liar."
He dipped his head to level his eyes with hers now, leaning forward as she pressed her back against the wall. Her jeans shorts cut at the apex of her thighs, displaying her bare legs and feet which were now adorned with pink polish on her toes. What's more, her brace was off. After only one damn day. Hmph, stubborn woman.
Not that he cared, either way.
"I have something to show you," she said and hobbled around him. "Just wait."
He stomped after her, watching wordlessly as she limped straight through the kitchen into the living area, where she approached a wooden cabinet and opened it. She stretched behind the top shelf, withdrew a folded envelope, and handed it to him.
"Read it," she commanded, but with a quiet seriousness. "Lori wrote this explaining everything. Why she chose not to tell you about her being pregnant. And why she didn't want your name on Carl's birth certificate."
Rick looked at the envelope with disdain. "How about we just cut to the chase. This sister of yours, whom you said you weren't close to, says that I'm her child's father, but then decided that you should raise him instead of his own flesh and blood? And you simply believed her?"
Michonne nodded. "Lori trusted me to do what she couldn't—to do what's best for Carl. That's why I'm here. For you to be in his life. I'm asking you to trust me too…"
He scoffed, turning his back to her. There had to be more to this story.
"Listen to me," she begged, "Every decision I've made so far has been in the best interest of Carl. He is your son."
Rick swallowed the lump in his throat. How could she be so sure?
"Lori," she sighed, "Knew for a long time that she was sick. Way before you two met. Actually, that's why she was there in Italy in the first place. She was trying to forget, that her days were numbered."
Rick frowned. He had met Lori at a museum. He couldn't recall every detail, but he immediately was taken in by her awe, and the emotional connection she had with the art on display. Her appreciation and hunger for beauty were inspiring.
"Weeks after she came back from Europe," Michonne said, "Lori showed up one day on my doorstep; pregnant, riddled with cancer, and desperate. She'd been careless...with you." She cleared her throat. "I don't mean to malign my sister but, she'd always been careless. Our adopted parents thought she'd grow out of it. And I guess, eventually she did. When she moved back home, asking me for help."
"I guess I'll have to take your word for it," he muttered.
"Yeah, I guess you do," she whispered followed by a groan.
When he glanced back she'd perched herself at the edge of the coffee table. Her injured leg stretched out. Rick scanned the living room for the brace, but he didn't find it.
"Her and I," she said, closing her eyes, "we weren't close. That is true. But hell, everything changed when Carl came into our world."
A thump, followed by a swishing sound, caught their attention and he spun around.
A little boy in a vest and diaper came waddling out of a room to the living area. Rick stared in amazement. Michonne was right with what she said at the diner—Carl was beautiful. Pink, chubby cheeks; bright, clear eyes; wispy, dark hair. From his distance, Rick couldn't tell if they looked alike, regardless, he was spellbound watching him.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," Michonne stood and called to the toddler, "You climbed out of your playpen again? Mimmo. Cosa faro con tè? What am I gonna do with you?"
"Hi, Mamma." His stubby arms stretched upwards, desperate to be scooped up and cuddled, and she obliged with the widest of smiles.
"Rick," she said, "Meet Carl Benjamin Andrews. Carl sweetie, say hello to...to Mommy's friend." She extended his tiny hand and Rick let him grasp the tips of his fingers. Wow. His grip was strong. Naturally. And his skin was so soft. As Rick moved closer he got a strong whiff of that sweet, baby smell.
"Hi," Rick choked, suddenly hit by a truck of emotion.
"Hiii," Carl cooed, mollifying both seething adults and they smiled. He then started squirming in Michonne's arms rubbing his eyes out.
"Okay, okay little man," she bounced him on her hip and patted his back to soothe him, "You really need to stop fighting me with these naps. I'm not playing no more. Come on. Vieni tesoro. Let's try this again."
As Michonne excused herself, Rick slumped down into her couch, dumbfounded. First off, Michonne knew a lot more Italian than she admitted, and now to him, it was obvious why.
Second, and more importantly, it was one thing to think or imagine having a kid, but a whole other experience seeing him in person. Touching him. Smelling him. Inside, Rick felt a pull. This child could possibly be his. But, from what he remembered, Lori had been somewhat of a free-spirit, so who knows where she'd been, and who she'd been with after their time together ended.
So why was he feeling this way? There was no rational explanation but some would call it instinct; others, wishful thinking. Either way, in his gut, Rick knew without a doubt, that this child belonged to him. His knees began to shake to the quiet revelation, and he grabbed hold of his legs to steady them.
I have a son!
A/N: CHAPTER 5 should be up this weekend. Hope you all enjoyed.
