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I expected that, but it still hurts.
“A part of me really thought you would believe me, Michael. You wouldn’t need proof, you wouldn’t need reassurance. You would see a picture of Noah and know, deep within you, that he’s your son.”
He shifts uncomfortably.
“If you truly believed that, then you must not know me that well.”
“I don’t know you at all,” I say icily.
“Will you get me what I need for the DNA test?” he asks impatiently.
I get to my feet and dig through my bag before finding what I need. I throw it onto the table in front of him.
“Happy now?”
He nods before picking up the small, transparent bag containing a few strands of my son’s hair. I came prepared, knowing he’s too thorough to believe word of mouth alone. At least he’ll know the truth and there won’t be any doubt in his mind as to Noah’s paternity.
“Very,” he replies before getting to his feet.
“How long will it take for the results to come back?”
“About a week,” he tells me.
“Okay, good.” I nod. “And Michael? If you ever try to run a background check on me again, I swear I’ll take my son and we’ll leave. We’ll go somewhere far away where you’ll never find us again. I don’t care if you want to keep lying to yourself—a part of you must know that he’s yours. But if you ever disrespect me and my privacy, it’ll be the last time you see either of us.”
He leans down to look me in the eye.
“Tread carefully, Chrissy. Don’t forget who you’re threatening.”
His eyes clash with mine and then he leans away. He walks out without another word.
CHAPTER9
MICHAEL
My hand shakes as I read the piece of paper in my hands.
He’s my son. He’s actually my son.
In the past week, I’ve started to slowly accept the fact that I’m a parent. But it didn’t feel real until this moment. It hits me that I’ve been someone’s father for six years and I had no fucking clue. I laugh. I don’t even know what to feel right now.
Everything crashes toward me in waves. Shock, acceptance, anger, resentment, sadness. I’m not sure how to deal with all this.
I’m walking to the car when my phone rings. It’s my secretary, Jason, and I briefly consider not answering. I’m not in the state of mind to think about work right now, but the knowledge that it could be an emergency makes me hit the answer button.
“What?” I ask, annoyance bleeding into my tone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Crane. Is this a bad time?” Jason questions unsurely.
“Just tell me what’s wrong,” I tell him.
“Right? I just wanted to ask if you had an official date for when you would return to the city. Some meetings need to be scheduled in advance.”
I think about my son. A son whose life I have been absent from for many years, who now lives here in Arcola. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving here anytime soon.
“Any and all meetings will be virtual for the next three months. Send any important documents or information to my email. I’ll sign everything that needs to be signed digitally,” I inform him.
“Sir?” Jason asks in surprise.
