His palm shredded the thin sheet of paper as he crumpled it and tossed it against the wall. It ricocheted and rolled toward him, the news coming back around again.

She couldn't say to my face that she was pregnant?

He was hot, then cold; dizzy, then painfully lucid. He had to sit down.

The edge of the couch just barely caught him as his knees gave out. He sprawled along the cushions, rubbing his eyes, raking his fingers through his hair, trying to stop the avalanche of thoughts crashing through his mind.

Maybe she's just late. Maybe she's stressed out. Maybe- He sat up, his eyes wide. Maybe the baby isn't mine.

The front door opened and then closed. Timid footsteps crept down the hallway and then a head of dark hair appeared around the corner.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"Hey. Got your note."

"I see." She eyed the tightly coiled ball lying in front of the entertainment center and, as if it was against her better judgment, edged into the room. "So... wanna talk?"

"Why don't you write me another note?" he sneered. "Leave it where I can find it and then disappear for a few hours."

She blanched, wringing her hands so tightly that the knuckles were a blinding white. "So you're mad?"

A haughty chuckle escaped his lips. "Tell me something, Jules. Is this baby mine?"

"What the-" Her eyes narrowed and she moved further into the room. "What did you just ask me?"

"You heard me. Is this baby mine?"

In the next moment, she had lunged across the room and gripped his neck in both hands. Screaming and crying and thrashing, the two were a ball of anger for several minutes until he had flipped them over, his hands pinning her arms down so her back pressed into the couch cushions.

He was panting, sweat beading above his brow. "Are you done?"

"Let. Go!" She grunted, kicking her legs in one last tantrum.

"Calm down and I will."

"Fine. I'm done!"  He released her, sitting back but eyeing her closely. "I can't believe you asked me that."

"I can't believe you left me a note like that. Why else would you not tell me to my face that you're pregnant?"

"Maybe I thought you'd be angry, like you are right now."

He glared at her, to which she glared back. "Spare me the melodramatics, Julia. You know why I'm mad."

She sniffled and sat up, stifling a cough.

"You okay?"

"You weren't concerned when you had me pinned to the couch. Don't feign concern now."

He sighed. Then closed his eyes. Then took a long, deep breath.  "Truce, okay? I'm concerned. Did you go to the doctor?"

"Yeah," she answered quietly. "And it was positive. He says I'm about eight weeks along."

Quickly, he did the math in his head. That would have been... and did we... Oh, yeah. Mardi Gras. He grinned without meaning to.

"Are you mad at me? I mean, what do you want to do?"

"Honestly?" He gently pulled her toward him. She fit so nicely, as she always had, in the crook of his arm. He kissed the top of her head and gave her still-flat belly a pat. "Right now I just want us to worry about having a healthy baby."

"That's what I want, too."

Nine months later...

"One more push, Julia. One more."

"I caaaaaaaaaaaan't!" She wailed, but pushed anyway. Moments later, a beautiful sound-the ear piercing scream of a newborn filled the room.

His grin was bright and proud and never ending as he watched the doctors perform the routine tasks of delivery. That was, until he got a good look at the bouncing baby boy.

The blonde hair. The brown eyes.

He glanced at Julia, who seemed deliriously happy, smiling and cooing at the wiggling creature in her arms.

Julia dyed her hair dark, but she wasn't blonde. And she had blue eyes. And maybe he was just newly born, but that baby didn't look anything like him.

His heart sank as he backed out of the room. He'd spent months preparing for this baby and now the fear that it wasn't his had resurfaced.

He appeared in the opening to Julia's room and lightly tapped against the doorframe. The baby was dozing in a bassinette next to the bed and Julia, who had been dozing herself, stirred at the sound.

"Hey," she said, smiling and beckoning him closer with a nod of her head. "Did you see the baby?"

He stepped into the room, but not very far. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Isn't he beautiful?"

He nodded. "Yep. Good looking kid."

Her smile froze and then disappeared. "What's wrong with you?"

He closed his eyes, shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. "How dumb do you think I am, Julia?" He shook his head then nodded toward the sleeping child. "That is not my son and you know it."

"JC...I mean, I don't understand...what..."

"I want a blood test," he said. And then turned around and walked out of the room.

He almost didn't notice the wide, official looking envelope in the stack of mail lying near the front door. He flipped it over, broke the seal and withdrew the single piece of paper revealing the results of the blood test. He stared at the page for a few moments and then tucked it back into the envelope.

The next day, Julia came to pick up the last of her boxes.  "Mail," he said simply, handing the envelope to her. Her eyes scanned the page and eventually she looked up at up at him.

"I'm sorry I made you hate me."

He inhaled. Then exhaled, then pulled her into his arms and gave her one last, long hug. "I don't hate you. I loved you. All the way until yesterday."