Jack
The glass of iced tea in my hand suddenly weighs a thousand pounds. I stand frozen in the Wilsons' living room, my entire world tilting sideways as Mia walks through the front door.
She stops dead when she sees me, her blue eyes going wide with shock that I'm certain mirrors my own expression.
For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other across the familiar space where I've spent countless evenings with Robert discussing everything from sports to politics to the state of education in America.
Then my gaze drops to the two small hands clutching hers.
Twin boys. Identical, from what I can tell. Dark hair like Mia's, fair skin dusted with freckles. They can't be more than nine years old, and they're staring up at me with open curiosity.
But it's their eyes that steal the breath from my lungs. The same unusual shade I see in the mirror every morning. The same eyes my daughter Emma inherited from me.
My mind races backward, calculating ages, dates, timelines. Ten years since that Fourth of July night. Nine months of pregnancy. These boys are nine years old.
The math adds up with devastating clarity.
"Jack!" Linda's voice breaks through my paralysis. She's hovering near Mia with an expression I can't quite read. Nervous? Guilty? "I didn't realize Robert had invited you over today."
"He asked me to stop by to discuss the upcoming school fundraiser." My voice sounds remarkably steady considering my heart is trying to punch through my ribcage. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"Of course not." Linda's smile is too bright, too forced. "You're always welcome here. You know that."
Robert’s gaze lands on Mia and the boys, and something shifts in his expression. Wonder. Joy. A hint of tears gather in his eyes.
"There they are," he says softly. "My grandsons."
The word hits me like a physical blow. Grandsons. Does he know who fathered them?
"Dad." Mia's voice is barely above a whisper. "I didn't know you'd invited Jack."
"Didn't know you'd be bringing company either," Robert says, but there's no accusation in his tone. Just warmth as he looks at the twins. "Come here, boys. Let your old grandpa get a proper look at you."
The twins exchange glances, then the slightly taller one steps forward with more confidence. "I'm Rory. This is Corey."
"Rory and Corey." Robert's smile is genuine, transforming his face. "Your grandmother told me about you this morning. I've been waiting all day to meet you properly."
This morning. Linda told him this morning. So he's only known about his grandsons for a few hours.
I watch as both boys approach Robert's recliner with the cautious curiosity of children meeting someone important. Rory, the bolder twin, extends his hand for a handshake. The gesture is so formal, so adult, that Robert laughs.
"A handshake? Come here." He pulls Rory into a gentle hug, then reaches for Corey, who goes more reluctantly. "I can't believe I have grandsons. Nine years old, your grandmother said?"
"Yes, sir," Rory answers. His voice carries confidence that reminds me painfully of myself at that age.
"And you've been living where?"
"Different places," Corey says quietly. "But now we're here in Riverside with Mom."
Robert's eyes find Mia's, and I see the question there. The hurt. But also something softer. Forgiveness, maybe. Or at least the beginning of it.
Before anyone can say more, footsteps sound from the kitchen and another man enters carrying a casserole dish. He's tall, well-built, with dark hair and an easy smile that sets my teeth on edge immediately.
"Sorry, I was just helping with the food." He sets the dish on the dining table, then moves to stand beside Mia with a familiarity that makes my hands clench. "You must be Jack Lewis. I've heard a lot about you."
I seriously doubt that.
"This is Marcus," Linda says quickly. "Mia's ... well, they used to date. I thought it would be nice for him to join us for dinner since he's in town."
Marcus extends his hand and I shake it, noting his firm grip and the way he positions himself slightly in front of Mia. Possessive. Territorial.
"Marcus Rosemond," he says. "I helped raise these boys for a few years. They're like sons to me."
The words land like grenades in my chest. He helped raise them. My sons. If they are mine. And looking at those hazel eyes with gold flecks, I'm becoming more certain by the second.
"I didn't know we were having a party," Robert says, looking between Linda and Mia with confusion. "I invited Jack to discuss school business."
"And I invited Marcus because I thought Mia might appreciate the support," Linda says, wringing her hands. "I should have coordinated better."
The dinner table arrangement feels like a cruel cosmic joke.
I end up sitting directly across from Mia while Marcus claims the seat beside her, his arm draped casually across the back of her chair.
The twins sit between their mother and grandmother, their eyes darting between all the adults with obvious confusion.
Mia looks like she wants to disappear into the floor. Her face is pale, her knuckles white where she grips her fork. She's barely touched the food on her plate.
I can't stop staring at the boys.
Rory drums his fingers against the table while listening to Robert talk about his years as fire chief. It's the exact same gesture I make when I'm thinking, when I'm processing information. My secretary has commented on it a hundred times.
Corey has a thoughtful furrow between his eyebrows as he considers his grandfather's questions. The same expression I see on my own face when I'm working through a complex problem.
The way they tilt their heads. The shape of their jawlines. The way Rory's mouth quirks up on one side when he's amused.
Every gesture, every expression, every small mannerism screams my DNA.
"So, boys," Robert says, his voice warm with grandfatherly affection. "Tell me about school. What are your favorite subjects?"
"I like reading," Corey says quietly. "Especially history books."
"And I like science," Rory adds. "We're learning about space right now. Did you know that Jupiter has at least seventy-nine moons?"
Robert laughs, delighted. "I did not know that. You're a smart one."
"They both are," Marcus interjects smoothly. "Straight A students. I always made sure they kept up with their homework when Mia and I were together."
The implication is clear. He was there. He acted as their father. He has a claim to them.
My jaw tightens so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack.
"That's wonderful," Robert says. "Education is important. Your mother was always an excellent student, too."
"Mom's a teacher now," Rory says proudly. "At the high school."
"I know." Robert's gaze finds Mia's again. "I'm proud of her for that. For becoming a teacher. It's what she always wanted."
The moment feels significant. An olive branch extended. Mia's eyes fill with tears.
"Thank you, Dad," she whispers.
Marcus leans closer to Mia, his hand finding hers on the table. "We always knew she'd do great things. She just needed the right support system."
I want to punch him. The urge is so strong I have to grip my glass of iced tea to keep my hands occupied.
Throughout the meal, Marcus dominates the conversation.
He reminisces about his relationship with Mia, making pointed comments about second chances and the importance of family stability.
He talks about the years he spent with the twins, the baseball games and school events, painting himself as the devoted father figure.
Linda encourages this narrative with leading questions. "It must have been wonderful, having that support during those early years."
"It was," Marcus agrees. "The boys needed a father figure. I was happy to step into that role."
Mia barely speaks. She pushes food around her plate, her face growing paler with each passing minute. I catch her eye once and see desperation there. A silent plea for help that I can't answer in front of everyone.
My jealousy wars with my growing certainty about the twins' paternity. Every time Marcus touches Mia, every time he references his role in the boys' lives, I want to stand up and announce that those are my sons. That I'm their father, not him.
But I can't. Not here. Not like this. And not without confirmation.
After dinner, Robert retreats to his recliner, exhausted from the excitement and exertion. Linda immediately fusses over him, adjusting his blanket and asking if he needs his medication.
"I'm fine, Linda," he says, but his voice is weaker now. "Just tired. It's been a big day."
"Meeting your grandsons," Linda says softly, stroking his hair. "I'm so glad you finally got to meet them properly."
"Me too." Robert's eyes find the twins, who are looking at family photos on the mantle. "I just wish I'd known about them sooner. Wish I hadn't wasted so much time being angry."
The guilt in Mia's expression is devastating.
"Why don't you help me with the dishes, Marcus?" Linda suggests, clearly trying to give Robert some space to rest.
Marcus hesitates, his gaze lingering on Mia. "Sure. Happy to help."
He follows Linda into the kitchen, leaving Mia and me momentarily alone in the hallway. Through the kitchen window, I can see the twins in the backyard, examining something in the grass with the intense focus only children possess.
Robert has dozed off in his recliner, his breathing deep and even.
This is my chance. Maybe my only chance.
I grab Mia's wrist and pull her into the empty study, closing the door behind us with a soft click. The room is exactly as I remember it. The same bookshelves lined with fire department memorabilia. The same desk where we ...
I push that memory aside and focus on the woman in front of me. She's trembling, her blue eyes wide with fear and something else. Resignation, maybe.
"Jack, I can explain—"
"Are those boys mine?" The question comes out low and dangerous, barely controlled. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears.