Probably not, especially when the only role model I had was an asshole.
Was I equipped for what lay ahead?
Not in the fucking slightest. Parenthood had never factored into my life plan, which had a ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ vibe at the best of times.
Did I have a clue what I was doing?
Not one to speak of. I slept on a pull-out bed in my office for fuck’s sake.
But right there and then, standing in a government office in bumfuck Nebraska, I felt something click into place. However she came to be, that little girl was mine. She’d lost everything, and it was time for me to step up for her, whether I was ready or not. She needed me, and maybe in a weird, fucked-up way, I needed her, too.
I pressed my fingertips to the picture, following the line of my daughter’s cheek and down her cute, strangely graceful little neck, like I was trying to send a message through the photograph, letting her know everything was gonna be okay, even though I had no idea if it would, or if I was about to make her life decidedly worse.
I mean, how would a fuckup like me raise a little girl single-handedly? And how the hell would I do it while running a business and at the same time, also teach her how to be a well-adjusted member of society, especially when I was probably the least well-adjusted person on the planet?
What if I did something wrong? I knew nothing about parenthood or looking after babies. If it was a boy, at least I could teach him guy stuff, but what the fuck did I know about girlie shit? Jesus, I’d not long left a sixteen-year Army career where I was surrounded by hairy-assed, gun-toting, testosterone-filled soldiers who blew shit up for fun.
God help the poor little bairn.
It was safe to say that the proverbial shit was about to hit the fan.
—————
Callumand I both had our blood taken as a precaution, but I already knew what the outcome would be. I didn’t need a paternity test to know Imogen was mine. The knowledge had hit me somewhere deep inside the instant I saw her photograph, like I already knew she was a part of me.
Once I let the knowledge settle deep, I started to come to terms with everything. I still felt sick, but my nausea wasn’t about Imogen being mine anymore; it was all about the prospect of how I was going to be a good father. My da may have been a critical bastard, but Ma was another story, and I knew that once she got over the shock, my mother would love my little girl to distraction. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the prospect of telling her any easier.
In the end, I decided to drop the bombshell when Callum and Maeve were with me (safety in numbers and all that). So after dinner (which I didn’t eat a morsel of), we holed up in their hotel room to make the call from Callum’s phone. Mine had died because I hadn’t charged it since the morning of the wedding, and when I rushed out of the gym to head to Nebraska, picking up my charger was the last thing on my mind.
“She’s gonna flip,” I muttered, eyeing my brother’s phone as if it had grown fangs and was about to rip my throat out.
“Yeah,” Maeve agreed. “She’ll give you a clip around the earhole, but when she’s done that, she’s going to be your biggest supporter. Your mam has an edge to her, but she loves you boysand Aislynn more than life, and she’ll love Imogen the same way, too.”
“You’re gonna need her,” Callum declared.
I eyed the way he lay casually back on the hotel bed with one arm behind his head and his gaze on the flickering TV. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Always a silver lining,” he muttered.
“What do you mean by that?” I questioned.
He turned his head toward me and grinned. “At least now she may think twice about flying over to Ireland and gatecrashing our honeymoon.”
My eyes narrowed on my brother. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
His grin widened. “Yep.”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
His eyes slid back to the TV, and he repeated, “Yep.”
“There was me showing you nothing but support when we thought you were the daddy. You weren’t an asshole then, were ya?”
Cal lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “It was your wayward dick that sidelined me in the first place. Maeve and I should be halfway to Belfast by now, sipping champagne in first class while fooling around like newlyweds.” He sniffed haughtily. “I’d even planned to join the Mile-High Club.”
Maeve let out a snort. “God certainly loves a trier, Callum O’Shea.”
I pushed out a chuckle.
