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Chapter 27
EVIE
I’ve been searching for my dad. Finding out what happened to him has become my primary focus.
I contacted the base he was stationed at when I was born, and after a painfully long search, it looks like I might have found someone who will be able to tell me what happened to my dad.
I’m at MacArthur Park, standing by the lake where we agreed to meet. Glancing at my watch, my stomach tightens with nerves. He’ll be here any second now.
When John Adams first responded to one of the dozens of emails I sent out, I wasn’t very hopeful. He asked some questions about me and then said he’d be in touch.
It took him two weeks to get back to me. He said he wanted to meet in person, that he had answers for some of my questions.
I hope he does. I stare at the water, wondering what answers he has for me. I’ve given up staring at every face passing me by. I should have asked him what he looks like. It was stupid of me not to.
“Evie.” My name is so soft, I almost think I imagined it.
I glance over my shoulder and seeing a man standing a few feet from me, I turn around.
He takes a step back as his eyes widen with shock. It looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“Are you John?” I ask, an anxious smile wavering on my lips.
He shakes his head, and although his lips part, he doesn’t speak for another minute.
“I’m Hayden Cole,” he says, his voice hoarse.
My eyes widen as the name sinks in. My breaths speed up, and no matter how hard I fight to keep control of the emotions barreling through me, tears fill my eyes.
“You’re Hayden Cole? Josephine Bailey’s fiancé?” I ask to make sure.
My eyes flit over him, trying to match him to the young man in the photo. My hand is trembling so badly, I almost drop the photo as I take it from my bag. I look at the face of my father on the photo, then back to the man.
They both have green eyes. My eyes.
They both have dark brown hair.
The photo shows a scar through his left eyebrow.
I look up, and my breath catches when I see the scar.
He takes a shuddering breath, and when the first tear rolls down his cheek, he says, “I was told you didn’t make it. I looked for you. I went to the hospital. I was told my daughter died.”
I shake my head, and whisper, “I didn’t.”
We just stare at each other, and it feels like time is standing still.
He lifts his arm slowly and cups my cheek in his large hand. Brushing his thumb over the swell of my cheek, his tears start to fall faster.
My eyes are on fire, and my throat is stuffed full of emotions.
“Oh, my God. You’re alive,” he whispers, his voice cracking over the words.
He takes a step forward, and his arms wrap around me.
The moment I bury my face in his chest, it feels like I shatter. If he lets go of me now, my pieces will just crumble to the floor.
A cry forces its way through my throat, and I press harder into my father’s chest so that I can smother the sound.
