“What did you just say?” I asked again when Sage still said nothing.
She looked sick.
Her mouth opened and closed as she tried and failed to find the words.
“Sage,” Odin said quietly. “We need more information.”
Sage started to cry, then turned to me. “I swear on my life, Gentry. That’s your son.”
I shook my head as anger started to course through me. “My son’s dead.”
“He’s not,” she replied. “I swear to you.”
Since no words were forthcoming from my own lips, Odin took over. “What makes you think it’s his son?”
I closed my eyes as those words washed over me.
Pain was a constant thing when you’d lost your child.
It stayed there, festering and reopening at any slight memory, for you to always feel.
But this? The words that’d come out of Sage’s mouth? It felt like someone had set that wound on fire.
“He’s the same age. Has the same birthday. Has the same name,” she explained, wringing her hands together. “He looks exactly like Gentry.”
Incredulousness shot through me.
“What does their address say?” I asked. “Let me see the chart.”
“We didn’t get that information.” She slapped herself on the forehead.
“Take the paperwork in there and have her fill it out,” I replied forcefully.
Sage left, heading to the front likely to get the paperwork.
Odin stared at me, then gestured toward the door.
I moved, stopping right outside the half-open door as Sage pushed through it with a clipboard filled with paperwork.
“While you wait, we need to get you to fill out these treatment forms for Dean,” Sage said shakily.
“Oh,” a woman replied. “We’re self-pay.”
Vague recognition sparked in my brain.
An old memory of a voice that I couldn’t quite place.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re self-pay or insurance-pay,” Sage interjected. “This is right to treat paperwork. Liability-wise, we have to have this information. We also need some information on the child. Full name, date of birth, birth parents. Things of that nature. Medical history on the child. Medical history on both parents.”
“He doesn’t have a dad.”
Now that voice, I’d know fucking anywhere.
Nadine had a nasally voice that sounded like she constantly needed to blow her nose.
Seven years later, and I still knew that voice well.
“Is he deceased?” Sage asked carefully.
