Isabella Blake's Story

Normally, PJ was a good guy. He prided himself on that, a little bit. He cursed and smoke and drank too much, but he was still nice. Maybe not the most well mannered person in the world, but decent. So yeah, he was a good person, unless it was four in the fucking morning. Okay, 3:45 AM to be fair, but that was closer to four than it was to five.

He thought about ignoring the knock on their door, at first. They didn't live in the best place, and it was a Saturday (technically Sunday now), so of course people were drunk and knocking on doors. Of fucking course. They'd figure out they were at the wrong place eventually, change directions, and that'd be the end of it.

But this knock was persistent. In fact, now it was more of a banging. Paxton groaned as he grabbed at his pillow, forcing it over his ears to try and drown out the sound. He was grumpy for two reasons 1) he'd pulled a double shift Friday and was goddamned exhausted and, 2) he'd rather be the drunk idiot knocking on doors, not the victim of the noise.

Finally, he gave up, and that was when he went from a good guy, to a jerk, because he was pissed. All he'd wanted was a few hours of glorious sleep. The apartment was still dark when he made it outside, the one window in their livingroom bringing in the only brightness from the lights of NYC that never went out. He scowled at it, and it's reminder that he should be sleeping before making his way to the door.

He and Ethan didn't live in a large place - they shared a bathroom, the livingroom and kitchen was technically one room just separated by their couch, and their bedrooms would look more average if they were combined, because they were really too small on their own. But it worked. It was theirs, and they loved it.

"What?!" he snarled when he finally drew the door open, a little surprised to see Isabella Black standing there. She seemed sober enough, like she'd just gotten off work or something. "Uh...hey. What's up?" He greeted, nicer this time.

Isabella arched an eyebrow at him, then pointed downwards. There was a baby. In front of him. In it's carseat, wrapped up in a jacket with a little beanie on. Sitting on it's stomach was a singular envalope, with Ethan's name scrawled across the center, and a lipstick kiss pressed into the left corner. No. No...PJ had seen enough Layla Letter's to recognize that damned signature. He knew it was hers. And he had a feeling the baby was hers too. Hell. No.

"ETHAN!" PJ twisted around quickly, storming across the apartment for the second time that night to bang on his roommates door personally. "Ethan! Get out here!"