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“Yeah. Didn’t the lab tell you it would either be ninety-nine-point-nine percent yes or zero percent no, nothing in between?”
I nod. “Wait. The lab technician wrote a note at the bottom. Maybe this will explain.” But it doesn’t. “Okay, they’re saying the DNA structure rules me out as the father. Oh, thank god.” I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I can’t wait to shout these results to the world. And to my wife. No, they might not change her mind, but at least they’ll prove I’m no liar. They’ll prove that I’m not like her father or Simon. “But the results are inconclusive because there are some striking DNA similarities.”
As soon as the words come out, something clicks in my head. I stare at my brother. We look a lot alike, enough that Trace is often mistaken for me. Is it possible that Mercedes Fleet believes Trace was me that night? The reason that others at the party thought they saw the two of us hit the bedroom together? And the explanation for the lab finding DNA similarities?
“Fuck, did you sleep with this woman at the Super Bowl after party?”
Trace frowns as he staggers back to the sofa, suddenly turning his own shade of pale. “I-I don’t…know. I remember this one blonde. As soon as I walked in with you, she was all over me. Who was I to say no? But after we hooked up, we drank. A lot. Then one of her friends dragged her out. And that’s really the last lucid thing I remember. There’s this fuzzy picture of a brunette all flushed and panting in my head. I don’t even have a face. I thought it was a snippet of a dream after I passed out, but… Holy shit.”
“Do you have a tattoo of a compass on your hip?”
Suddenly, he grimaces. “Yeah. I saw your ink during that shoulder surgery you had a few years back. You don’t remember telling me that you’d had it done to remind you of the way home?” When I shake my head, he goes on. “You were just coming out of anesthesia. I liked the look and the idea of it, so you let me snap a pic and I got the same ink a couple of weeks later. After that, you were busy rehabbing and living in Texas. I guess I just didn’t remember to tell you or…” He rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Was that sex dream real? Oh, my god. Did I get that woman pregnant?”
I’m thinking it’s a distinct possibility. “I suggest you contact her and the lab and find out for sure. I’ll be reaching out through lawyers to indicate that since the child isn’t mine, I expect her and her demands to disappear. What you do from there is up to you.”
“But if that’s my child…” He swallows. “He or she is family. And my responsibility.”
“Yep.” Not much more I can say, and I’m happy my younger brother came to the right conclusion.
“Holy shit.”
“You already said that,” I point out.
“It bears repeating.”
I can’t argue with that. “Want a beer?”
He might need one after realizing he probably fathered a child on a woman he can’t even recall.
“No. The last thing I need isnotto have my wits about me. That may have already gotten me in trouble. I need to figure out exactly what I’m going to say, what I’m going to do if the test turns out positive. And I need a stone-cold sober head to do it.”
Another good call. “I’ll help you however I can.”
He turns to me, looking anxious but resigned. “Thanks. I’m only sorry I didn’t put everything together sooner and save you any headache with Harlow.”
“It’s cool.” I clap him on the shoulder. “And I’m not giving up on Harlow.”
I’ll make these results public so the scandal will die down and Mr. Chickman’s board of directors will climb off his back. But mentally, I’ve already moved on. I’m thinking of ways to help Harlow see that I’ll love her even if she’s imperfect. That I’ll always value her above all else.
Harlow
“Hi, baby. It’s Noah, leaving you a message. Again.”
His rough, sleep-deprived voice guts me. Why hasn’t he given up on me? I’m defective when it comes to love. Sure, I can care. I can totally help when someone else needs me. But when the time comes to lower the walls and give my heart, I freeze. Ifeellove. I want to open myself up. But like Noah’s issues between his brain and his mouth, there’s this block between my heart and my ability to trust. I don’t know how to conquer it. Some days I feel strong. But when all it takes to shatter my fairy-tale castle is a few sentences from a total asshole doing his best to make money, my strength is obviously an illusion.
I’m not ready to love.
Still, I can’t bring myself to stop listening to Noah’s voice mails. I grip the phone tighter and close my eyes, pretending he’s beside me and I still have the right to throw my arms around him, bask in his warmth, and kiss him with all my might.
“Listen… In spite of what Cliff said to Mr. Chickman, I married you for one reason only: I love you. I would never put a negotiation or a paycheck above you. But those are just words to you, I know. I’m sure your father and Simon have given you plenty of platitudes and empty promises in the past. So tomorrow before you fly back to San Diego, I plan to hold a press conference and announce that I’ll be turning down the network’s offer.”
“What? No!” I shout at the recording as if he can hear me. “You can do the job.”
But he can’t hear me. I left him.
Because I didn’t live up to my end of the contract we signed. Because I didn’t honor my vows. Because I couldn’t trust in love when things got tough.
“I’m doing it to prove that you’re more important to me than anything,” he says in my ear.
