I had this chapter half written before even writing the previous chapter, but apparently I've been distracted lately. Anyway it's here now. And I'd like to say a special thank you to everyone who is reading along and especially everyone who is taking the time to review. Your support it greatly appreciated.

Chapter 9

Past

The talk with my cousin, while long and insightful, did not present me with a solid answer to the questions swirling through my head and my heart. He spoke of his decisions back when he found out Rachel was pregnant. He explained that he still stood by them to this day, despite the difficulties he'd had reintegrating himself into his own daughter's life because of it. He told me he had no regrets but for the fact that he wasn't more present in her life. But even that was not a regretful action, because it kept her safe much longer than if he were a constant fixture. He knew he had enemies. He knew they would stop at nothing to get to him, even if it meant targeting his family.

He explained that because he'd missed most of Julie's childhood, when he finally decided to step up and be a physical presence in her life she was suspicious and wary, especially after the Scrog incident. He told me that whenever she contacted him it always felt like an afterthought, like she suddenly realised that she was obligated to inform him of the events in her life, like getting into or graduating college. And while their relationship was much better now that she was old enough to understand some of his decision making processes - she was, in fact, around the same age he had been when she was conceived – it was still tense. They didn't have that shared history that she had with Ron, who had raised her like his own. Even going so far as to legally adopt her when he signed away his rights.

"I wouldn't change any of the decisions I made," he told me firmly. "But that's my life. My timeline. I know you're asking for my help, cousin, but I can't make the decision for you and you shouldn't model your future on my past. The situations, while appearing the same, are completely different. All I can do is offer you this advice: Look at your life. Figure out what works and what doesn't work. What you like and what you don't like. Measure the empty space in your life, in your heart, in your home. Is there room? Is there time? Is there reason?"

I don't know when Ranger turned into Yoda, but that was some serious shit he was spinning there. As I stared at his left eyebrow, processing his words, I couldn't help but ask, "Did Steph coach you on what to say when I came to ask your advice?"

Ranger chuckled. "You're kidding, right? Steph would have handed you a beer, told you the story of the time she thought she was pregnant and how it was the scariest four hours of her life, offered you a peanut butter and olive sandwich then flipped a hockey game on TV."

He had a point. Steph was not the most emotionally stable person in the world, and her family history meant that she dealt with tough situations with food and denial more than open conversations and thoughtful anecdotal advice.

So with Ranger's words still ringing in my head, I spent the day staring at some screens, a thankfully mindless activity, since all my brain power was now focused on figuring out my life and what I wanted in and out of it.

At nineteen hundred hours, I left the Rangeman building, headed down the street to the diner where I'd agreed to meet Phoebe. I was pretty sure I'd come to a decision, but there was still a lot to work out.

She was already there when I entered. Her back to me in the booth at the far end of the restaurant. She looked up from the she was reading as I slid in across from her, a protest on her lips until she realised it was me. "Lester," she said breathily, her gaze roaming down from my face to take in my black uniform t-shirt stretched tight over my pecs. "You're looking… fine."

"You're looking much better than you were sounding this morning," I countered.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course," she said matter-of-factly. "It's called morning sickness. As in, before midday. I'm fine now."

"That's good," I said. I had no idea how to broach the topics I knew I had to broach. If we were going to enter into this world where our lives were connected we needed a certain amount of honesty between us. After several moments and a deep sigh, I decided to just start with that. "Phoebe, look, if our lives are gonna be connected by this child, we needed to be honest with each other."

"Okay," she agreed, but the look on her face said she had no idea what I was getting at. Better start slow, I warned myself, or she'll leave and cut you out of your kid's life completely.

"How do you feel about having a baby?" I asked.

Her hand drifted down to her stomach at my question and I noticed for the first time that it was not flat like I'd assumed it was on our recent meetings. I suppose it was because her t-shirt today was form fitting while at the club and when we met at the motel to get the samples for the paternity test, she'd been in a flowy dress. "I'm happy," she informed me firmly, staring straight into my eyes. "It's not exactly how I pictured becoming a mother, but I'm not complaining. We created a life, Lester, and I won't be the one to destroy it."

What had started as a simple statement of contentment, suddenly ended with fierce accusatory words and flashing angry eyes. I was a little taken aback, given her timidness and uncertainty since seeking me out in the club, but it was more true to the character she'd shown three months ago when this all started, so I wasn't exactly shocked to see her inner tiger bare it's claws. Plus, pregnancy hormones and stuff, right?

"Hey," I said quietly, holding up my hands. "I never said I wanted to destroy it. I was just asking how you feel about committing to this life. Just because you've decided not to terminate doesn't mean you're planning on keeping the baby."

"Of course I'm keeping the baby," she spat. "What is wrong with you? A child is a gift."

Wow. I'd really stuck my foot in it now. Hadn't even meant to. Maybe Steph was right, maybe I had a gift for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time in mildly important situations. "Okay," I murmured after a long, tense moment that did not appear to be anywhere near long enough for her to calm down. "So we're keeping the baby."

Her eyes flashed again, and I was fairly certain she had the ability to make my blood run cold if she so desired. "We?" she questioned.

"Yeah," I said. "We. I want to be a part of this baby's life. We're in this together now."

Surprisingly, her shoulders relaxed a little at that, her expression softening. "Okay," she said. "Good. I'd like that. I, uh, think I'll need the help."

I nodded my understanding. "They say it takes a village to raise a child," I said reassuringly. "Even a strong woman needs back up from time to time." Smooth, Santos. Sweet talk her. Lull her into a sense of security. Make her trust you. This is your strength. You've been practicing for this moment every weekend since you were fifteen. "So let's get some stuff figured out," I suggested. "Starting with your place of residence. How long are you planning on living in that motel?"

She grimaced. "Just until I find a more permanent place I can afford," she explained. "My parents kind of kicked me out when they found out I was pregnant out of wedlock."

Parents, I thought doubtfully. It more likely her husband had kicked her out when he found her cheating and pregnant and she was too ashamed to tell her parents. But still. I couldn't let the mother of my child live in a dingy motel. "I, uh, have a place," I mentioned cautiously, not wanting to provoke her again. "It's just outside of town. I don't use it often, because I also have an apartment in the building where I work, but I'd be happy to open my home to you."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?" she asked, and the hope in her tone was so thick I thought it was going to start oozing from her pores. "You would do that? You don't even really know me and…"

"You're having my baby, Phoebe," I pointed out. "My first priority is keeping you and it safe. What better way to do that than keeping you in my home."

"You don't keep a woman, Lester Santos," Phoebe said lightly, leaning an elbow on the table and cocking her head to the side with a slight smile. "But I appreciate the sentiment. When, ah, when do you think I could move in?"

"I have Saturday off," I said. "How does ten o'clock sound?"

"Perfect," she sighed gratefully, seeming to melt into the booth.

We were quiet for a few minutes, me trying to figure out a way to bring up the topic of her decaying marriage and her, well, I have no idea what was on her mind. I'm not a mind reader. She looked uneasy. Kept glancing at me when she thought I wasn't looking. Just as I was about to stand to leave, figuring there was nothing left to discuss this evening, she reached out and laid a hand on top of mine on the tabletop.

"Lester, can I tell you something?" she asked nervously.

"Anything," I agreed, my pulse picking up as I contemplated what she was about to confess. Would she really reveal her infidelity to her husband to me that easily? I hadn't even asked about it.

"I wasn't expecting you to be this… thoughtful," she admitted. So, not about cheating on her husband, then. "Thank you. It means a lot to know that you'll be there to help me through this."

I rested my hand on top of hers. "Of course," I said. "I'm an honourable man."

"Thank you," she repeated.

I just nodded. I wanted her to come clean about the husband. I wanted to know what was going on with that, make sure that this baby was the reason for the divorce. I could probably do some digging and find out on my own, but it seemed better to have her tell me herself. If we were going to be in each other's lives for a while – like, a life time – it was probably best to form the basis of our relationship from this point on honesty. That meant that I needed her to be truthful with me, but I also needed as much as possible to not go behind her back to snoop on her.

She was going through a lot of physical, emotional and probably social changes right now. I'd give her another few days to come clean. Maybe she just needed the right conversation to lead into it. I could work on that for Saturday.

"I'll be at the motel at ten on Saturday," I reminded her. "If you need anything before then, just call."