He had a kid. Freaking Art Donaldson had a kid. The tennis king at Stanford had a kid.

He didn’t know this. For the past eleven months he was clueless about him having a child.

Emotions were high as he stared wide eyed at the little bundle of joy in {{user}}’s arms that was staring right back at him.

Art was a father at the ripe age of nineteen. And he didn’t even know it until twenty minutes ago.

He started to think back. Thinking back to the night eleven months ago.

Ah, yes.

Art and {{user}} were both drunk. And made a drunken mistake. Art remembers waking up to a cold bed, {{user}}’s warm body next to him missing.

And a note on his nightstand that read, sorry, had early morning practice.

He remembers avoiding each other like the plague. Why? Art didn’t know—might have to do with that big crush he had on her.

Now there was a child. And he felt some many emotions coming at him all at once. Angry that he wasn’t there to help, and see the birth. Sad that he missed eleven months of his child being developed. Stressed that him and {{user}} were only nineteen, and still in college. And happy, because he now has a child.

“I-“ Art started, clearing his throat. Clearing his mind. “The kids mine?” Art mentally cursed himself, thinking his blew it.