Chapter 11
CECIE
The number sits between us like a grenade with the pin pulled.
"He's yours," I say again. Because once wasn't enough. Because Gunther's face has gone completely blank and I need him to hear me. "Gunther. He's yours."
He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Reaches for the paper with fingers that won't quite cooperate.
I hand it over. Watch him read. Watch his eyes track the same words I just absorbed. Probability of paternity: 99.9%. Alleged father cannot be excluded.
"I'm—" His voice cracks. "I'm his dad."
"Yeah."
"I'm Orry's dad."
"That's what 99.9% means, yes."
He looks up. Eyes wet behind his glasses. "I have a son."
The words punch straight through my chest. Because hearing him say it. Watching his face crack open with something raw and unguarded. It makes it real in a way the paper can't.
"Yeah," I whisper. "You do."
He sets the paper down. Carefully. Like it might combust. Then he covers his face with both hands and laughs. This broken, disbelieving sound that turns into something between a sob and a hiccup.
"Sorry," he chokes out. "I just. I need a minute."
"Take your time."
He breathes. In. Out. His shoulders shake. I watch him pull himself together piece by piece. The way he always does. Methodical. Controlled.
Except this time it doesn't work.
"I'm his dad," he says again. Looking at me now. Desperate for confirmation. "Cecie. I'm—"
"You're his dad."
"I have a son."
"Yep."
"I'm a father."
"Are we gonna keep doing this or—"
"How long have you known?"
The question lands like ice water.
I freeze. "What?"
"How long." His voice sharpens. Still wet. Still cracked. But harder now. "How long have you known he was mine?"
Oh.
Oh no.
"Gunther—"
"Because I've been. I've been terrified. For weeks. Thinking maybe. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was seeing patterns that weren't there. Maybe I was just some. Some stranger who wanted so badly to matter that I invented a connection that didn't exist." He stands. Starts pacing. "And you. You knew."
"I didn't—"
"Didn't you?" He spins. "The dimple. The eyes. The timeline, Cecie. You knew I was Ridge the second I walked into Colum's office. Maybe before."
"I suspected—"
"When?"
My hands fist in my lap. "The dimple. When Orry smiled at you. I. I started wondering. And you did too, Gunther. I knew it was you because you're the only man I've been with in a long time. I just didn't want to push you into fatherhood if you didn't want fatherhood."
"Wondering."
"Yes."
"Not knowing."
"No. Not knowing. Not for sure. Not until—" I gesture at the paper. "Not until now."
"But you suspected. And you didn't say anything."
"What was I supposed to say?" My voice rises. "Hey, stranger I met at a party, I think you're the father of my child because of a genetic dimple? You want to run a paternity test based on a hunch?"
"Yes!"
"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who—" I stop. Breathe. "You don't know what it's like."
"What what's like?"
"Being the woman who got knocked up by a one-night stand and has to explain that to everyone. To customers. To my landlord. To every person who looks at Orry and does the math and decides I'm irresponsible or careless or—" My throat closes. "I protected myself. And I protected him."
"By keeping me in the dark."
"By not humiliating myself chasing down a man who wore fake tattoos and lied about his name!"
Silence.
Gunther stops pacing. Stares at me.
"That's not fair," he says quietly.
"Isn't it?"
"I didn't lie. I just. I didn't correct you when you assumed—"
"Same thing."
"It's not."
"You let me think you were someone you weren't."
"So did you!" His voice cracks again. "You called yourself Sis. You never told me your real name either. You snuck out before I woke up and I spent months wondering if I'd imagined the whole thing because I didn't even know how to find you!"
"I left because I was embarrassed."
"So was I!"
We glare at each other. Both breathing hard. The clinic walls feel too close. The hum of the fish tank too loud.
"I looked for you," I say finally. Quieter. "After I found out I was pregnant. I went back to the bar. Asked around. Nobody knew Ridge. Nobody knew you. It was like you didn't exist."
"Because I didn't. Not really. Ridge was. He was a costume. A bad idea. A stupid, reckless—" He exhales. "I'm not that guy, Cecie. I'm not cool or dangerous or. Or any of the things I pretended to be that night."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yeah. I know exactly who you are. You're the guy who color-codes parenting spreadsheets and panics over fevers and can't lie to save his life." I stand. "You're Gunther. Not Ridge. And honestly? Gunther's better."
His face does something complicated. "You mean that."
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't."
He sits back down. Heavily. Like his legs gave out. "I should have recognized you."
"How? I didn't recognize you."
"I should have. Your voice. Your. Something. I should have known."
"Gunther—"
"I walked past you for weeks. Brought you coffee. Talked about the weather. And I didn't. I didn't see you."
"You weren't looking."
"I should have been."
"Maybe. But I wasn't exactly waving a flag either." I sit beside him. Close enough our knees almost touch. "We both screwed up. We both hid. We both. We both made choices that seemed right at the time and turned out to be. Complicated."
He looks at me. "Complicated."
"Yeah."
"That's one word for it."
"You have a better one?"
"Disaster. Train wreck. Catastrophically mismanaged—"
"Okay, spreadsheet boy. I get it."
A tiny smile tugs at his mouth. Fades. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For not finding you sooner. For the fake tattoos. For. For all of it."
"I'm sorry too."
"For what?"
"For running. For not. For keeping you out." I twist my hands. "I was scared. I didn't know how to. How to do this. Any of this. I didn't know how to be a mom and run a business and also somehow track down a stranger and say hey, remember that reckless night? Surprise, you're gonna be a dad."
"You could have tried."
"I know."
"I would have. I would have stepped up. I would have—"
"I know." My voice breaks. "But I didn't know you. I didn't know if you'd step up or disappear or. Or hate me for trapping you or—"
"I could never hate you."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"Gunther—"
"Cecie." He turns. Faces me fully. "I spent fourteen months wondering about a woman I met for one night. I kept a napkin with a lipstick stain because it was the only proof you were real. I memorized your perfume. I'm not capable of hating you. I'm. I'm pretty sure I'm the opposite of that."
Oh. Oh. Heat floods my face. "You kept the napkin?"
"It's in my desk drawer."
"That's. That's really weird."
"I know."
"Also kind of sweet."
"I panicked when I couldn't find you. The napkin was. It was all I had."
I blink at him. This awkward, earnest man who hoards glitter-stained napkins and builds spreadsheets for feelings he doesn't know how to name.
"I'm sorry I made it hard," I whisper.
"I'm sorry I made it harder."
We sit. The paper between us. Proof. Evidence. The end of uncertainty.
"What now?" I ask.
"I don't know."
"Me neither."
"I want. I want to be his dad. Really be his dad. Not just. Not just the guy who helps sometimes."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. I mean. You are his dad. Biology says so." I tap the paper. "Also he adores you. And you're. You're good with him. Better than I expected."
"Low bar."
"Fair." I smile. Tiny. "But seriously. You're. You're really good, Gunther."
His face flushes. "I'm trying."
"I know."
"I want to do this right."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet. But. Can we figure it out? Together?"
"Together."
"Yeah."
I look at him. Really look. At the man who walked into my life wearing a bad disguise and walked back in wearing glasses and honesty. Who panicked over fevers. Who learned to change diapers like he was defusing a bomb. Who looked at Orry and saw. Not an obligation. Not a mistake.
A son.
"Yeah," I say. "We can figure it out."
He exhales. Long. Shaky. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm a mess. Orry's a mess. This whole situation is—"
"Complicated."
"Exactly."
"I can do complicated."
"Can you?"
"I color-code spreadsheets for fun. Complicated is my baseline."
I laugh. Actual laugh. The tension cracks. Not gone. But. Manageable.
"Okay," I say. "Okay. Ground rules."
"I love ground rules."
"Of course you do." I count on my fingers. "One. No more secrets. If something's wrong. If you're scared or confused or. Or whatever. You tell me."
"Agreed."
"Two. We co-parent. Actually co-parent. Not you helping out when it's convenient. We share this. Equally."
"Yes."
"Three. We. We take this slow. Whatever this is. We don't. We don't rush into. Into anything we're not ready for."
His face does something. "What do you mean by this?"
Heat climbs my neck. "I mean. Us. If there's. If there's an us. Beyond. Beyond Orry."
"Do you want there to be?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Do you?"
"Maybe."
We stare at each other. The air shifts. Charged.
"Slow," I say.
"Very slow." He nods.
"Glacial." My left brow cocks as I stifle the smile threatening to spread across my face.
"Geologic."
"Good."
"Good."
We sit. Not touching. But closer than before.
"I should get back to Orry," I say eventually. "Colum's probably taught him terrible habits by now."
"Probably."
"Want to come?"
"Yeah. I. Yeah."
We stand. Gunther folds the paper. Tucks it into his jacket pocket. Careful. Reverent.
"You're keeping that?" I ask.
"It's important."
"It's a lab result."
"It's proof. That I'm his dad. That he's mine."
My chest squeezes. "Yeah. It is."
He looks at me. Something soft in his eyes. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For him. For. For giving me this. Even if you didn't mean to."
"Gunther—"
"I mean it. He's. He's the best thing that ever happened to me. And I know that sounds. Dramatic. Or. Or premature because I've only known for sure for five minutes but—"
"I get it."
"Yeah?"