23. Garrett #2
I expect her smile to vanish once she realizes I’m the recipient. But it doesn’t. She says something I can’t decipher and goes back to stroking the cat.
Her smile sends a shot of warmth winding through me. “I’ll have to take you to visit Uncle Lucas and Auntie Simone soon. They have a cat named Snowball and a dog named Jasper.”
Peony doesn’t respond. She’s too busy playing with her new friend.
After a minute or two, the cat loses interest and trots up the driveway to the house.
I’m tempted to see if Peony is okay with me carrying her the rest of the way to the playground, to give Zara’s shoulders a longer rest. But in the end, I don’t push my luck, even though I’m worried about Zara’s shoulders. Toddler steps. That’s what I need to do to win Peony’s trust. But first…
“The lab sent me the paternity results,” I tell Zara as she picks up Peony.
I help her stand, my arm around her waist…and for a second, the test results are forgotten and the memory of Zara’s lips on mine floods in. My body pleads for me to kiss her again, to taste her once more, only this time for longer than a brief touch of our lips .
“So you’re her father?” Zara starts walking, snapping my thoughts back to the email. “It’s confirmed?”
I walk alongside her, positioning myself between Peony and the road. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet.”
“What do you mean you haven’t looked yet?” Skepticism draws out her vowels, surprise the pièce de résistance on top.
“I was waiting until you got here. I guess I…Kenda was your friend. And well, I didn’t want to face the results on my own.”
“Are you hoping she’s your daughter?” Zara’s words are spoken so softly I barely catch them.
“I’m hoping if she is my daughter, she’ll give me a chance to be her father.”
“And if she isn’t? Then what? Hypothetically.”
I shrug. Something tells me things will be complex even if the results are negative.
Sure, I won’t have to deal with Peony’s indifference anymore, but it will leave the question of who her real father is and why Kenda lied.
“I’ll figure that out once I know for sure.
” That’s as honest as I’m willing to be with myself and Zara.
We arrive to an empty playground. Zara slips Peony into the swing and gently pushes her.
Staring at my phone’s Home screen, I pace on the artificial grass behind Zara. Do I look at the results now? Or wait until we’re ready to go home?
She’s my daughter. I know in my gut she’s mine. So what’s the problem?
Read. The. Email.
Zara glances at me over her shoulder. “Are you figuring out a plot problem or getting the courage to look at the results?”
Christ. I don’t even want to think about the book. Not right now.
“I’m just warming up my clicking finger.” I flick my index finger up and down, up and down, making a show of it.
Peony giggles and pumps her legs in the swing, but it looks more like she’s running in the air. Usually, I find it funny when she does that, but now I can’t even crack the smallest smile.
My mind flashes back to thoughts of Peony being kidnapped. Shit. Why did I think it was a great idea to write a thriller about a child kidnapping?
I stop pacing and push a hard breath from my lungs. Okay. Enough with the stalling.
Peony deserves to know the truth.
I walk to where Zara is still pushing her in the swing. Peony is chatting to Zara in toddler talk. My best friend answers as if she knows what the heck Peony is saying.
Zara takes my hand and gives it a light squeeze. Her fingers are soft against my calloused skin. “No matter what it says, I’m here for you, Garrett. In whatever way you need me to be.”
I squeeze her hand in thanks and click open the email from the testing center.
The email contains a website link for the paternity results. I hover my finger over it. My palms grow slippery; my heart rate kicks up a notch, telling me not to be a chickenshit.
I click on the link, sign into my account, and skim to what I’m looking for. “She’s definitely my daughter.”
White-cold fear shoots through my veins, turning my legs boneless.
Christ , how the hell can I be her father?
I don’t mean the mechanics of it. I know damn well how I knocked up Kenda the last time I saw her.
But if I couldn’t keep Cooper and Clarke alive, if I couldn’t protect them, how am I supposed to keep a child happy and safe?
I shove the phone into my pocket and swallow down the fear, panic, helplessness in my throat. They don’t budge. They cling like a cancerous growth. “I don’t know the first thing about being a father.”
“You’ll learn.” Zara’s tone is the calm of a lighthouse beacon during a storm. “You’re gonna be a great father. You are a great father.” Her arms go around my shoulders, and she hugs me tight.
I loop her waist with my arms, pulling her close. Holding her like this feels so good but also so wrong. She’s my best friend, and I can’t afford to screw things up between us. Not now, when I need her the most. Not ever.
I release her and step away, ignoring my body’s indignant rant to the tune of What the hell is wrong with you?
The toddler swing’s momentum has slowed, and Peony is watching Zara and me with an expression I can’t read. An expression beyond the frustrated crease of her brow at how the swing is no longer moving.
“Can I swing you?”
She doesn’t reply, and I give the chair enough of a push to get it going again.
The frustration falls from her face, replaced with a smile. I don’t kid myself this time into believing her toothy grin is directed at me.
Zara pats my arm in support. “Your daddy is great at pushing the swing, isn’t he?”
A self-depreciating laugh rumbles from me. At least someone appreciates the skill I’m rocking. “Maybe this is my new superpower.”
Zara chuckles. “Maybe. But I seem to remember you were good at pushing me on the swing when I couldn’t figure out how to coordinate my body to get the swing moving.”
She was seven at the time, and I could barely push her without landing on my ass every time.
“I was good at that, wasn’t I, Golden Girl?” I gently shove her arm.
Her answering throaty laugh sends a rush of heat to my groin, and I silently curse my idiotic body.