FINN
I held my thumbs over my phone’s keyboard, going back and forth over whether or not to send the message.
“You’re thinking too hard, brother,” Patrick said, his feet propped up on the coffee table and his eyes on the TV, some 90’s action movie with Jean-Claude Van Damme on the screen.
“I know, and that’s making me even more anxious about it.” I set the phone down, shaking my head in annoyance as I picked up my glass of neat whiskey and sipped. Outside the windows of my condo, the sun was setting through the towers of downtown Denver, the sky above the mountaintops a deep orange. It was damn beautiful.
I had my slippers on, my whiskey in hand, and some junk-food action movie on the TV. Normally, that was a recipe for a relaxing night in. But not that night. I was too wrapped up in my own head, thinking about the dinner with Kenna. I was debating whether or not to send a text about the toys.
“Just send it – you two are on speaking terms. Worst she can do is say no.”
I read the text again, as if I might find some typo that would make or break my relationship with Kenna.
Thinking I may as well bring the toys – getting them from their da might be better than in the mail, yeah? Let me know. Either way is fine with me.
“Go ahead and send it. She might appreciate the gesture.”
I closed my eyes and hit send. The iPhone sent message sound effect played, and I dropped the phone on the stand next to my chair before taking another sip of my whiskey.
“It’s so fuckin’ bizarre,” I said. “Texting used to be one of my strong suits. I’d write some funny shit and send it without second guessing myself even once. But with Kenna, it’s not like that at all.”
“There’s a lot at stake, brother. Things are a bit uncertain with you and her, and you’re worried that you might offend Kenna and make her decide not to let you be in the twins’ lives. There’s a hell of a lot more riding on that text than just sex. So, go easy on yourself.”
He made good sense. I shifted in my seat and looked out the window. Out of the corner of my eye I paid close attention to my phone, hoping it’d light up with a text from Kenna. A few minutes later it did. I snatched up the phone and swiped the screen.
Sure, if you want.
I read the text out loud to Patrick, eager to hear his thoughts on the matter. He shrugged and said, “Well, she said that was fine.”
“But she doesn’t sound too thrilled about it, either.”
He shrugged. “Are you expecting her to be? She still might be thinking that you’re gonna use the toys to buy the kids’ affection or some such. For her, I’d bet that everything comes down to how you act during the dinner. Until then, she’ll play things close to the chest.” He sipped his whiskey, then continued. “You’re good, Finn. Just be a normal dude tomorrow and you’ll be fine.”
I allowed myself a smile at this. Patrick was chill and relaxed, which was doing me some serious good with all that was going on in my head. My phone lit up again, this time with a call from Duncan.
“Shoot,” I said, grabbing my phone and getting up. “Forgot the boss wanted to chat about the charity.”
“Alright,” Patrick shrugged. “But you’re gonna miss the part where he tosses the guy out the window.”
On the TV, a massive explosion rocked the scene, followed by Jean-Claude roundhouse kicking some poor schlub in the chest and sending him flying through a window.
“Wait, never mind,” Patrick said, his eyes still on the screen. “There it was.”
I laughed, giving him a playful shove as I headed out of the living room.
“Hey!” I said as I entered my office. “What’s the word, Duncan?”
“Not much,” he said. “Wanted to know if you had any new thoughts.”
“Actually, I had a few…”
After pulling out my laptop and opening my notes, I started reading off the results of the brainstorming sessions I’d had over the last few days. And it was damn good to talk with Duncan – as much as it reminded me of my father, work never failed to get my mind off whatever else happened to be gnawing at me.
As Duncan and I chatted, I heard the office door open behind me. I turned to see Patrick approach, his phone against his ear. He raised his fingers to my face, snapping for my attention. There was an expression of intense concern on his face – everything about his behavior was totally unlike his normal calm, cool attitude. He stuck out the thumb and pinkie finger of his free hand, pointing to my phone and then making a hanging-up gesture.
“Hey, Duncan?” I asked, turning away from Patrick. “Mind if we cut this call short? My brother’s here and he’s trying to talk to me about something that looks urgent.”
“Oh, I didn’t know your brother was in town – give him my best. And sure, we can pick this up later. I’ll stop by the office this week and we can chat more then.”
“Perfect – talk to you then.” I hung up and tossed the phone onto my bed. “What’s the damn big idea?” I asked. “Kind of an important call.”
He didn’t say anything to me. Instead, he put his phone on speaker. “Cara, I’ve got Finn here with me now. Can you repeat what you just told me?”
Cara. It took me a second, but I remembered she was Da’s personal assistant. What the fuck was going on?
“Finn, you there?” Cara asked on the other line.
“I’m here, Cara. What’s going on?”
She took a deep breath, and just from that I could tell she didn’t have good news. “It’s your da. He was in the office today, working like a dog as normal. He was in the middle of a check-up and he passed out, fell and hit his head.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “Is he alright?”
“He’s in the hospital now. They said he had a stroke. And the prognosis isn’t good.”
My heart thudded in my chest.
“I’m not gonna tell you your business, boys. I’ve been working with your da for long enough to know things were tense between you two and him. But with things looking as they do, this might be your last chance to see him.”
I closed my eyes and calmed myself, silencing the whirlwind of emotions running through me. “Thank you, Cara. Please send the information on where he is to my email, would you?”
“I most certainly will. And I’m so sorry to have to break this to you both.”
“It’s alright,” Patrick told her. “Thanks for letting us know.”
Patrick hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket. “This is bad, Finn,” he said. “And we need to figure out what to do.”
“What’s there to figure out?” I asked. “Da’s in the hospital, and we need to go see him. You have something else in mind?”
“Not at all. Just that I know things were…tense between the two of you.”
“None of that matters now. You heard Cara – if we don’t go see him now, we might not get another chance.”
“I’m right there with you,” he said. “I’m already mostly packed – how about you get a suitcase together and do whatever else you need to do while I buy tickets.”
“Perfect.”
He hurried out of the room and I rushed to the closet, grabbing my suitcase and filling it with enough clothes for a week.
There was no love lost between Da and me, but all of that seemed so small and pointless. As strained as our relationship might’ve been, the man was still my blood.
Once I was packed, I opened my laptop and fired off a quick email to the receptionist at the clinic, letting them know I was taking an emergency trip to Ireland, and to pass that along to Duncan. I hated leaving Duncan in a lurch, but I was sure he’d tell me to do exactly what I was doing.
Patrick came into the bedroom. “Two tickets from Denver,” he said. “Leaves in two hours, which means we need to get going right now.”
“Let’s do it.”
We grabbed our bags and hurried out. My life felt turned upside down. And all I could think about was never saying another word to my father, never sayi
ng goodbye.
I could only pray we’d make it in time.
Chapter 26
KENNA
I was a jangle of nerves, my gut feeling like someone had stretched it out to spaghetti thickness and tied it into a million knots. And on top of it all, I – for God only knows what reason – decided to prepare an overly complicated Mexican meal that I’d never made before. The smell of roasting carnitas and fresh guacamole and rich, melted cheese filled the air.
It had sounded so simple – some fajitas and guac and pico and beans. Oh, and a flan for dessert. But I’d forgotten that Mexican food is trickier than it sounds and involves balancing a million small moving parts at once. So I’d enlisted the help of dear old Mom.
“No, honey – you need to dice the cilantro finer than that.”
“Mom, I put the cilantro in the food processor – it’s about as diced as it’s going to get.”
“See, that’s the thing,” she raised a finger, her way of letting me know she was making an important point. “You don’t stick herbs in the food processor – you need to cut them by hand.”
“It’s the same thing, Mom.”
“No, it’s not. You can taste when something gets chopped up in a machine.”
I sighed, turning back to the big bowl of guac-in-the-making in front of me. While I’d forgotten what a tyrant Mom could be in the kitchen, she knew her stuff.
“Yo, kids!” I said, turning to the twins. “How’re we holding up?”
Sam and Sophia were seated at the kitchen table, a small plate of chopped-up plain chicken in front of each. Sam gave me a thumbs-up, his other hand in the process of shoving chicken into his mouth.
Mom moved over to the stove, sautéing the fajitas veggies before checking on the carnitas. Minutes passed and she didn’t say a single word. That meant she was thinking something.
“Alright, Mom,” I said, my hands busy dicing tomatoes for the pico. “Let’s hear it.”
“What?” she asked.
“I know you’re thinking something. So you might as well say it.”
A few beats of silence passed – not a good sign. The more silence from Mom meant the more she had to say. Finally, she sighed and spoke. “I don’t understand why your father and I don’t get to meet the father of our grandchildren.”
“I had a feeling that’s what it was all about.”
“Well, your feeling was right. It’s crazy that he’s coming over for the first family meal ever and you’re not inviting the whole family. I want to know who this guy is, Kenna. And what’s more, I think I have a right to know.”
I was bringing a total stranger into the guest house who just so happened to be the father of the twins. I could totally understand Mom wanting to meet him.
“It’s not a good idea,” I said, lifting the cutting board with the diced tomatoes and dumping it into a nearby bowl.
“And why is that?”
“Because this is the first time the four of us are hanging out together, like you said. And I want to see how he handles it.”
“So do I! And so does your father.”
“This is his test,” I said. “To see if he’s got what it takes to be a real feather to Sam and Sophie. If he passes, he gets to meet you and Dad. You two are like…you’re like a reward for good behavior.”
Mom gave me a pursed-lip expression, the one she always made when she wasn’t sure if what I was saying was on the level. “That’s the real reason, huh?”
“It’s a big part of it. If he can handle a dinner with the kids and me, then maybe he can handle a dinner with all of us, you and Dad included. And if he can handle that…maybe he’s got what it takes.”
It wasn’t a lie – I wanted to start him off small and see what he was capable of. But I had other reasons, like that I didn’t want Mom and Dad grilling him the moment he walked in the door.
“Well, at least tell me about him.”
“Not sure what else there is to say that I haven’t already told you. He’s a pediatrician, he’s from Ireland, and he’s really handsome. And charming. And funny.”
Mom gave me another skeptical look. “Well, I suppose he must be if he was able to sweep you off your feet in a hotel bar and put a pair of kids in you.”
“Mom!” I said, shocked but also holding back a laugh.
“You know, back when I was younger the idea of hooking up with a man like that would be unthinkable. Now you know why.” She waggled the spoon she was using to stir the carnitas at me.
“I know, I know. But at least I got a couple of cool kids out of the arrangement. And you got the best grandkids a grandma could ask for.”
Mom’s expression immediately softened at the mention of her favorite little people in the world. “That’s right, I did!” she agreed, whooshing over to the kids and giving Sam a big kiss on his cheek, then Sophie. “Just the most precious little apples of my eye!”
Mom tickled Sam under his chubby chin, the boy breaking out into wild giggles. Then her expression turned serious again. “But you got lucky. And for all you know, this guy’s not good enough for my little girl. You father definitely thinks so.”
“Right, and that’s why I’m not subjecting the poor guy to that right out of the gate.”
“Speaking of which, where is he? Wasn’t he supposed to show up around six?”
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and checked the time – a little after 6:15. There was no text, no call, nothing from Finn. “Yeah, at six.”
“That means he’s late – that’s strike one in my book. He’d better stroll in here with a humdinger of an excuse, if you ask me.”
“Let’s just go back to cooking. I’m sure he’s on his way.”
But Mom wasn’t about to let it drop. “Not a chance,” she said. “Call or text or Skype or whatever him right now – find out what the hold-up is. Go on; I’ll wait.”
Mom leaned against the counter, waiting for me to do the deed. With a sigh, I slipped my phone out of my back pocket, pulled up our text conversation, and started typing.
Hey! Just wanted to see if you were on your way. Dinner’s about ready.
I hit send, and part of me hoped that the three-period word bubble would appear. But it didn’t.
“There,” I said. “Done.
“Not done. Wait five minutes and call.”
“Mom, that’s way too much.”
“Are you serious? Baby, he’s fifteen minutes late to have dinner with his family. He’d better be on his way or in traction. You have a right to know.” Then she regarded me with a curious expression. “This isn’t like you – why are you letting him slide like this?”
It was a good question, and I realized the answer immediately – because part of me worried he might not show up, and texting or calling him would be a way to confirm it.
“I’m not letting him slide, I’m just…look, this is probably hard for him, and if he’s running a little behind, he probably has a good reason.”
“Five minutes,” she said, pointing at me with the bowl end of the spoon. “Then you call him.”
I glanced at the twins, who were mopping up the last bits of chicken. Not wanting to risk their hunger making the evening any more stressful, I crunched up some tortilla chips into toddler-sized pieces and put them in a little bowl for them. They started into those with as much gusto as the chicken.
“It’s been five minutes,” Mom chimed, checking her watch after what felt like no time at all had passed. “Go ahead and call him. I’ll handle the food.”
No point in talking her out of it. Phone in hand, I stepped into the living room and hit send on his number. The phone rang repeatedly with no answer, straight to robot voicemail message that just listed the number. Despite not leaving a voicemail in as long as I could remember, I cleared my throat and spoke.
“Hey, Finn. Just finishing dinner, wondering where you are. Text or call. Thanks.” I sighed and ended the call.
“Well, I haven’t even met him,” Mom said, “but he’
s already losing points with me.”
“Maybe it’s work – maybe he’s stuck at the office or something.”
“You have his office number? Call him.”
I typed his name into Google and the office number came up. I called, and no one answered.
“I’m starting to get worried,” I said. “What if something happened to him?”
“Don’t stand around waiting for him to check in. Call anyone who knows both of you and track him down.”
Fear and anger roiled inside me in equal measure. I began to pace, thinking of my next move. Duncan. If there was anything work-related happening, he would know about it. I pulled up his number and called. He answered almost right away.
“Hey!” he said, sounding chipper. “What’s up, Kenna?”
“Hey, Duncan. Sorry for bothering you during dinner.”
“Not a bother at all – we’re just waiting on some pizza. Is something wrong?”
“It’s Finn. He was supposed to come over for dinner and he’s MIA. I was wondering if there was a work thing he got caught up in or something like that.”
There was a pause. And in that moment, I could tell he had info that I didn’t. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Finn’s gone. I got an email from him not too long ago that said he was going to Ireland.”
“Ireland?” The word came out as curse-like exclamation. “What is he doing in Ireland?”
“No clue. The email was cryptic, just said that it was an emergency and he’d be in touch to let me know when he was coming back. He really didn’t tell you?”
I sighed, my heart feeling like it’d been gripped by icy fingers. “I need to go. Let me know if you hear anything from him, okay?”
“Oh. Of course. You’ll know the second I do.”
I thanked him and we said our goodbyes.
“Well?” Mom asked. The twins watched me too, as if expecting an answer.
I turned, no idea what do say.
But without a shadow of a doubt I knew that Finn O’Conner’s time in my life was over.
Chapter 27
The Irish Doctor’s Secret Babies: A Secret Baby Romance Page 19
