Mike steps up to Ryder, eyeballing him with evident concern. “He’s claiming he’s your father.”
39
Ryder
Istumble back, staring at Mike in shock. “He’s lying,” I blurt. “I’ve never known my father. I’m not sure my mother even knew who he was.”
“He says he has photos and paperwork that prove he’s your dad.”
I shake my head. “I … no. It’s got to be a ruse. Some creative paparazzo trying to worm his way into the house.”
“Den was at the gate when he arrived, and he’s already verified his identity with his police buddy. He’s not a journalist or paparazzi. He’s actually a doctor. An ex-US-Army doctor. His credentials are stellar. I don’t think he’s lying.”
My mouth hangs open, and a thousand thoughts are racing through my mind.
“Babe.” Zeta cups my face. “Look at me, Ryder.” I stare into her eyes and some of my stress evaporates. Her touch and her belief in me gives me strength every day. “Why don’t I go down to the gate with Mike and talk to the man. We’ll determine his agenda and call you then.”
I find myself nodding. “Yeah, okay.” I look over at Mike. “Den’s sure he’s not Ren.” I wouldn’t put it past that asshole to show up here. It’s one of the reasons I’ve increased the security detail again. I doubt even the president is as well protected as we are. But I’m taking no chances. Ren is out for my blood. I have no doubt about that.
Mike nods. “He used the image software checker on him. He’s not Ren. He’s too old anyway.”
I blow air out of my mouth. “Okay.” Pulling my wife into my arms, I say, “Be careful. I’ll wait for your call.”
Zeta leaves with Mike, and after a quick shower and a change of clothes, I spend an anxious fifteen minutes pacing the length of my living room waiting for her call. I jump on my cell when it rings, answering it immediately.
“Babe, I think you need to sit down,” Zeta says.
I slump to the ground on the spot. “It’s true?”
“The minute we set eyes on him we knew. You’re the spitting image of him, Ryder. It’s like looking at an older version of you. In the photos he had of him with your mom, it’s like looking at your doppelganger. He has some letters they exchanged, and it seems to be legit.” She pauses for a bit. “What do you want to do? Shall I bring him up to the house, or do you need time to process this?”
“What does he want from me?”
“He just wants to talk. He didn’t know where you were, Ryder. He’s spent years trying to find you. He has a thick file from a P.I. confirming his efforts. I think he just wanted to find his son.”
“How can he want to know me after discovering what I’ve done?”
“From what he’s said, he feels bad that you were exposed to such a horrific childhood, and he doesn’t blame you.”
I drag a hand through my hair, my heart thumping wildly against my ribcage. “I don’t know, Zeta. I don’t know what to do. What do you think?”
“It’s your call, Ryder. But I think you should speak to him. He’s been at the gate for over an hour, and those asshole reporters have been sniffing around, like bloodhounds. It’s safe to assume they’re going to discover who he is and break the story. It might be best to have spoken to the man first, and … he seems lovely, genuine. I don’t think there is any malicious intent.”
“Okay. Bring him up to the house.” I hang up abruptly, race to the bathroom, and puke my guts up. After rinsing my mouth out with water, I return to the main room, pacing the floor as I wait. My hands are shaking as footsteps approach, and I’m rooted to the floor, my eyes fixated on the entry point to the open-plan living area. Blood thrums in my ears; my heart is beating crazy fast, and my palms are sweaty. I hear Zeta’s voice and another deeper one, and I feel like puking again. They come around the corner, stepping into my line of sight, and everything locks up inside me.
Holy shit.
Zeta was right.
It’s like looking in a futuristic mirror and seeing an image of myself twenty years down the line.
He’s tall like me with dark blond hair worn much shorter than mine and the same hazel eyes. Even the shape of his jawline and high cheekbones is identical to mine. He’s wearing khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and a navy blazer. He’s rooted to the spot too, and we’re just staring at one another across the room. Zeta has her hand to her mouth, and there are tears in her eyes. Mike has discreetly removed the men standing guard in the room, giving us privacy.
My heart is thudding painfully, my breathing ragged, as I’m grappling to deal with this. So many different emotions are racing through me, and I’m overwhelmed, unsure how to handle this. My eyes must display my panic because Zeta is across the room in a flash, hands on my face, forcing my gaze to hers. “Breathe, honey. Nice and deep. In and out.” She draws breaths with me, keeping her eyes on mine, until my anxiety dampens down.
“Ryder. Are you okay?” The man—my father—asks.
“I don’t know,” I croak, my throat dry.
