He could be mine!
It’s a miracle my legs don’t buckle.
Holy fuck. That little boy could be my son.
And I’ve lost years with him already.
Reeve’s façade slips for a few seconds, and I see it then. The suspicion. The distrust.
Their reactions tell me everything I need to know, and though I’m in complete shock, I’m beyond enraged. Pain unlike anything I have ever felt before threatens to suffocate me, and I revert to form, lashing out and hurting Vivien with my words and my threats, before I finally make my escape.
54
AGE 26
The hardest thing is keeping everything a secret from my bandmates and my sister. They can tell something is wrong. I’ve been agitated in the days since the reunion, unable to sleep or eat, and I’m barely functioning, running on empty.
All I keep thinking is Easton could be mine and pondering what it might mean if he is.
I arrive early at the medical laboratory just outside of Santa Clarita where the DNA testing will take place. I don’t go inside, choosing to wait outside for Vivien to arrive. Technically, she doesn’t need to be here. She could post Reeve and Easton’s samples, but I knew she’d want to be here. She doesn’t trust me. Pretty sure she hates my guts, and I can’t say I wouldn’t be the same in her shoes.
Every time I feel guilty for the way I’ve been treating her, I’m reminded she deliberately concealed her pregnancy and her son’s real birthday, so I wouldn’t find out. I know what she told me, but I don’t believe her. It’s obvious Reeve has really done a job on her. She fully believes every fucking lie that comes out of his mouth. I scoff at the notion he didn’t know about me. Herclaims that I’m the lucky one and Reeve was the unfortunate one only crank my anger to the max.
How fucking dare she insinuate he had it harder than me!
Nah, fuck that shite.
I should probably feel sorry for Vivien because Reeve has deceived her most all of her life, but I can’t forget she’s not entirely innocent either. Even if what they said about tricking the media into thinking Easton’s birthday is later than it is is true, she still concealed her pregnancy from me.
I had a right to know. She openly admitted she didn’t know who the father was when she got pregnant. She should have told me, but she only told him, choosing to cut me out entirely without any choice. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive her for that even if she did try to do the right thing after Easton’s birth by getting a paternity test done. She thought he was Reeve’s because she didn’t know I’m his twin.
Leaning against the gray brick wall, I mess around on my phone as I wait for her to arrive, absorbing some Vitamin D while I try to deny how excited I am to see her. It takes effort to pretend I don’t spot her SUV pulling into the parking lot twenty minutes later.
I wait until she steps onto the path before I look up. She’s pretty as a picture in a summery white dress that falls just below her knees. Slim legs fit neatly into a pair of off-white wedge sandals. Wavy hair cascades over her shoulders, blowing softly in the breeze. Like me, her eyes are concealed behind shades so I can’t read her emotions.
I push off the wall as she stops in front of me, and we stare at one another without speaking. My heart is going crazy being this close to her. Everything about her is still intoxicating, and I have to imagine roots tunneling from my feet into the ground to stop myself from closing the gap between us and pulling her into my body.
I need to remember all the ways she has hurt me.
To remember she married him while turning her back on me.
Pain presses down on my chest, like usual, and now I want to be anywhere but here. Her presence sucks up all the oxygen, leaving me with the dregs. “You have the samples?” I ask.
She nods. “Let’s just do this.”
We enter together, and I explain who we are to the receptionist, and a few seconds later, the doctor I spoke to on the phone appears to escort us to his office.
She sits beside me in front of the doctor’s desk. Heat rolls off her body, washing over me in comforting waves. It takes every shred of my willpower not to stare at her when she removes her sunglasses and folds her hands nervously in her lap. Shadows darken the curves under her eyes, and I know that’s my fault. Guilt slaps me around the face, and I grit my jaw, staring at the doctor while trying to smother a bout of self-loathing.
The doc’s eyes widen in surprise as he stares at her before clearing his throat and handing me an envelope. “The NDA has been signed by me and all the laboratory staff though there really was no need. We are always discreet. The nature of our work commands it, and our stellar reputation rests upon it.”
Yeah, right.I’m taking no chances. The same way I took no chances with those we left behind in Dublin when we first made it, ensuring Aoife and a bunch of others signed watertight NDAs to guarantee they keep their gobs shut. “I’m sure you can understand the need for extra precaution,” I supply.
“I can assure you both you have nothing to worry about. I am personally handling your case, instead of one of our geneticists, to ensure your confidentiality is protected.” He offers us a tight smile. “As agreed, I will enter the samples under false names as an added safeguard,” the doctor continues, his gaze floating between the two of us.
“Thank you.” Vivien sets two small Ziploc bags down on the table. “The blue toothbrush is my husband’s, and the smaller red one is my son’s.” Her voice cracks and my hand twitches with the need to reach out and comfort her. “Are you sure these will be enough to extract a DNA sample?”
“The DNA in a person’s blood, saliva, hair, or skin cells is exactly the same. Toothbrush samples are commonly used for forensic testing, and it’s no better or more or less accurate than a cheek swab or providing a blood sample, provided there is enough DNA on the sample,” he confirms.
