Baby on my Doorstep

Chapter Two - Bad Boys and Coffee

Alright guys(: So, at the end of the last chappie, I said that the badboy's name was danny. I'm changing it to Alec, just to clear that up. I'll probably go through and change the thingy on the last chapter so that it's accurate laatttteeeerrr because I have to finish my homework and I'm lazy. With that said, here's chapter two! Vote, comment, fan pleasssseeee???? ;O I'll love you forever! Also, if you have casting ideas and what not, please comment or pm me or something(:

<3 Jazzy!

*Chapter Two*

“Mom, it’s important. Call me when you get this.” I spoke into the phone for the seven-millionth time, with still no reply from her or my dad. I’d be worried, but I know they’re off partying. I sighed, preparing myself to do this on my own.

I looked over at Dash, err, Dashiell, and his blue eyes were wide and curious. I never noticed before, how dark of a blue his eyes were. Strikingly beautiful for sure, I’d never seen anyone’s eyes that color. I tore my eyes away from his when Shiloh walked up and sat next to me.

“My mom’s up at the counter trying to ask for information, but she keeps hitting dead ends because they’re “not allowed to disclose that sort of information”…ugh.” She huffed and then looked over at me. I’m going to go get a coffee, I’ll be back.” I nodded and continued to look the other direction as the baby began to coo.

We were in the hospital trying to dig up where he came from. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, beyond frustrated, and looked around at all of the people in the waiting room. There was an old lady watching the news, a middle aged man on the phone, another on his laptop, a little boy playing with the toys. The little boy noticed me looking at him and I saw his blue eyes. He smiled, one of his front teeth missing, and then returned to the block tower he had been building. His eyes made me think of Dashiell’s, and I fought myself to keep from looking at him. I watched Shiloh’s mom at the counter, exasperatedly bickering with the receptionist, and then someone caught my eye. Beside her, speaking to another woman behind the counter was a crying boy about my age. His dark tousled hair and leather jacket seemed so familiar… he started to turn in my direction so I quickly averted my attention elsewhere; too bad that elsewhere was Dash. Yeah, Dash. There was no point in going against pet names anymore, really. His little baby face peered up at me and I couldn’t help myself. I picked him up out of his little carrier and held him in my arms. I sensed someone sitting next to me and ignored it, thinking it was Shiloh back from the cafeteria, but then my phone buzzed. I pulled it out, cradling Dash in one arm, and read: ‘Hospital coffee is crap, goin’ to Starbucks!’ I put it away once again, shaking my head.

“Shiloh is quite the character, huh Dash?” I smiled, not knowing what was coming over me. Oh, maybe I did. Attachment. I heard soft sobs from next to me and looked to see the boy with the leather jacket, his head in his hands.

“Are you okay?” I asked, though it was obvious he wasn’t. It was then that he looked up at me and I saw who he was. Alec Page, the biggest bad-boy at Westview high. He used to have chunky glasses, used to like school, used to hate people, he used to read and draw and sing all the time, used to not care. All of that changed when his parents died, three years ago… Now, he got color-contacts - a light purple color, he hates school, he doesn’t do anything but cause trouble, he still hates people, and he still doesn’t give a damn. But here I saw him, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, his cheeks tear-stained, his hair a mess, and an expression of… I don’t know what. I’d never seen anyone as broken and as vulnerable as he was.

“No” was all he said but he didn’t look away, he just stared at me, right into my eyes, and then down at Dash. I instinctively held him a little bit tighter, but I knew Alec wouldn’t do anything, especially not in this state. I placed Dashiell back in his carrier and I twiddled my fingers, but then one had a mind of its own and I found my hand gingerly taking his. I expected him to get up and curse at me, to hit me, to yell, to rip his hand away, but he didn’t. He took it in his and held it, his gaze fell back to his lap and it seemed as though he were letting me in, but I didn’t push it.