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I was too stunned to speak.
Married? To Alma?
Then she pulled me in for a kiss. One that felt wrong but temporarily dazed me.
Married?
Married?
When we pulled apart, her father shook my hand. “Welcome to the family, son.”
Two figures huddled togetherglided over the boardwalk and across the patio until they stood in the living room.
JoJo shut the door.
Penelope’s face was red and splotchy. Her eyes were glassy. Yet they held my gaze.
JoJo caused this.
A thick silence blanketed the room. Penelope shivered, and I lit a fire to ward off the chill.
I offered her the bottle of whiskey. “This will warm you up.”
“Alcohol isn’t the answer to everything,” JoJo said hoarsely.
I glared. “I hardly think you’re the authority on answers... or anything for that matter.”
She recoiled.
My satisfaction at her discomfort was short-lived when Penelope flinched.
She shouldn’t have told either of us.
As soon as the thought came, I kicked it out. I’d lost time, pivotal years with Penelope, but I didn’t want to lose any more. She was mine.
My . . . daughter.
I took a drink as that label, that name settled in my gut.
I have a daughter.
What if she didn’t want anything to do with me?
She’d probably be better off.
This was the biggest mess of my life, and I honestly had no idea what to do.
I sank down in the nearest chair.
Say something to her.
But my head was blank except for the one word.
“Daughter.” I spoke quietly.
“Why didn’t you want me?”
I jerked my gaze up at the blunt question. If the looks weren’t enough, that proved she was most definitely my blood.
