I was considerably calmer when I returned to my truck and sat behind the steering wheel. I was about to start the engine when that same rental car turned slowly into the parking lot.
She’d come back.
I didn’t get out. I waited for her to make the first move.
She walked the short distance to my car and opened the passenger-side door. In my peripheral vision, one shapely leg in skinny jeans followed the other. I swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel. Next came her delectable ass, which she sat on my leather seat.
Enough already.
I was torturing myself. I kept my eyes straight ahead. Looking at her made me both angry and horny, along with resentful and needy. None of which would help my current situation.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly as she shut the door.
“I know,” I said in a voice colder than the frigid air outside this car.
She dug in her purse, which was almost as big as my hockey duffle. My mother had carried a ginormous purse like that when we were younger.
“I meant to give this to you earlier before I lost my nerve.” She held out a manila envelope. Frowning, I took it from her, careful not to touch her fingers, and opened it. I pulled out the contents, which consisted of a handful of photographs. She could’ve given me her cell phone to scroll through the images, but instead, she’d had photographs printed. For some reason, the gesture melted my frozen heart a bit. At least, it was an olive branch, and I would graciously accept it as such.
I stared at the first photo of two children smiling for the camera. The little girl was dressed in a pink frilly dress, her blonde hair and blue eyes reminding me of her mother. Yet there was something in the stubborn set of her jaw and mischief shining in those eyes that reminded me of myself. The little boy had brown eyes and dark brown hair. He wore a sweatshirt and jeans. He was barely smiling, his gaze intense. He was the spitting image of me. My heart soared as I gaped at the two of them.
I was a father. A fucking father. They were part of me, and I was part of them. My chest swelled with pride for these two little lives I’d helped create. They were my blood, and I knew in that instant I’d fight to be a part of their lives.
“That’s Hailey and Heath,” Caro said.
I didn’t comment but turned to the next photograph. Heath was in full hockey gear and racing down the ice. Emotion surged inside me, filling my chest with a mixture of wonder, sorrow, and love. He was my son. I couldn’t speak, and I kept my gaze turned away from Caro. Hot tears burned in my eyes, and my heart felt as if it might burst from my chest.
My son.
The next picture was of Hailey, also on skates, but in a figure-staking costume and executing a spin. A vise closed over my chest, and I rubbed my eyes with my fists. She was my daughter as much as he was my son.
Holy fuck.
I’d been slammed against the boards headfirst. I’d never known such pain yet such incredible awe for these children I’d helped put on this earth.
“They’re athletic, like you. Heath is the best player on his team. Hailey is a star among her group.” Caro’s voice was husky, betraying her own misgivings and regrets. This hadn’t been easy for her either. I almost felt sorry for her.
I said nothing, merely looked through the three pictures again. There were no words when a man found out he was a father for the first time. No words to explain the emotions filling my heart with joy for the future and sadness for all I’d missed.
I cleared my throat and held the photographs tenderly in my fingers. Finally, I lifted my head and met Caro’s gaze. Her eyes were full of sympathy, laden with guilt, and sprinkled with apprehension.
“What do you want from me?” I croaked huskily, just grateful I didn’t break down and sob and reveal weakness to her. I revealed weakness to no one.
When my dad died, the pain of my loss overwhelmed me. I never wanted to feel pain like that again, and I’d managed to keep my emotions in check until I’d met Caro that summer. I’d let her in, I’d become immersed in her, and I’d walked away when the summer ended.
I met her gaze, displaying my hockey face, the one that betrayed no emotion other than determination. She stared at her hands in her lap. I waited, calling forth patience. She sighed and lifted her gaze to meet mine.
“My husband, Mark, died a few months ago, and my in-laws admitted he’d been adopted. They encouraged me to get DNA tests done on the twins so they’d know their genetic and health backgrounds. I did, and I never expected the results. Never. I promise.”
“You didn’t do the math and figure it out?”
“No, I never…I never even considered… You have to believe me.” She wrung her hands again, and I recalled she was quite the hand wringer whenever she was nervous, like the night I broke up with her.
“I don’t have to do shit.” Her possible intentions slapped me in the face. She wasn’t here because she was righting a wrong. She was here for money because she was desperate. I’d be a fool if I didn’t demand an official DNA test, even though I already knew the results.
“You want money?” I didn’t exactly mean to sound as accusatory as I did, but it came out that way, and I ran with it.
She lifted her head with pride and met my gaze with sheer determination. “No, that’s not why I’m here. Mark had a modest life insurance policy. I plan on going to school to get my LPN.”
“How modest?”
“I don’t see where that’s any of your concern. I’m here because it was the right thing to do. That’s all. I don’t want your fucking money.”
“They’re my children, and my responsibility, too,” I said, testing the sound of the words on my tongue.
“I’m not here because I want money. I’m really not.”
I didn’t believe her. The timing was too coincidental. I shot her a glare.
“I don’t want you to feel obligated,” she said.
“They’re my children. They are my obligation.” I turned to face her, wanting to make myself perfectly clear. “I also fully intend to exercise my parental rights.”
Her eyes grew big and she went back to hand wringing. “In what way?” Her voice held a hint of steel I hadn’t heard before. I’d stirred up Mama Bear.
“I want all the rights granted to me by law. My attorney will contact your attorney. Give me the information.”
“I don’t have an attorney.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
Leave a Reply