by Leigh, T. K.
My aunt’s face falls. By my tone alone, she knows it’s serious. She gestures to one of our employees to take over the register, then heads toward the table, sitting down. “What is it, Andrew dear?”
I rub my palms along my jeans, exhaling. “This morning, after I dropped the girls at school, there was a knock on my door. It was a process server.”
Molly squints, shaking her head. “Process server? For what?”
I bounce my legs as I tap on the wooden table. How can I sit here and tell Molly and Gigi our family is about to be torn apart? It wasn’t this difficult when I told Brooklyn. She’s analytical and rational. Molly and Gigi tend to be very emotional. I’ve finally gotten mine under control. I need them to stay calm so my girls won’t think anything’s wrong when I see them today.
“Remember how I told you we ran into Carla at the science museum last month?”
Molly nods, her eyes remaining intent on mine.
“Well, a few weeks ago, she stopped by my office and asked to be a part of the girls’ lives.”
“And you told her to fuck off, right?” she retorts, her voice harsh. She crosses her arms over her stomach, pure distaste on her face.
“Essentially, yes.” My tone is calm, a complete one-eighty from my sister’s. “I told her I wouldn’t let her hurt them again. Before she left, she basically threatened me, saying I couldn’t keep them from her forever.”
Gigi gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “She didn’t...”
I briefly squeeze my eyes shut. “She’s asking for shared physical custody of Alyssa.”
“And Charlotte, too?” Molly presses.
“She’s asking for full custody of Charlotte.”
“What?” she shrieks, her eyes glistening with tears. “She can’t do that!”
I glance between Molly and Gigi, who wears a long expression. “She might be able to.”
“How? You’re her father!” She opens her mouth, struggling to come up with a compelling argument. “She can’t do that!” she repeats.
“She can if I’m not her father.”
Molly inhales sharply, her lips parting as she processes this information. “She... No...”
“What are you saying, Andrew?” Gigi asks in an uncharacteristic shaky voice. She’s always been one of the strongest women I know. Her one weakness, all our weakness, is family. The idea of anyone trying to come between us is too much for any of us to bear, especially Aunt Gigi.
“In her complaint for custody, Carla alleged that Chase is the father.”
“Your teammate?” Gigi lifts a brow. “The man she cheated on you with after your injury?”
“She claims the affair had been going on for much longer, without my knowledge. That Chase is Charlotte’s biological father, not me.”
“But you don’t know for sure, right?” Molly grasps at straws, just like I did earlier today. I’ve had several hours to come to terms with the fact that my entire life is about to change, and not for the better.
“Not yet. I talked with an attorney earlier, then went to a lab. They took a DNA swab. I have to take Charlotte to get one. And the attorney also wants to have Alyssa’s DNA checked against mine so there aren’t any surprises. Once we do that, we can find out the truth, one way or another.”
Molly pinches her lips together, her chin quivering. She looks away, swiping at her cheeks.
“You’re going to fight this, right?” Gigi presses.
“Without a doubt.” My response comes quick, fevered. “Brooklyn took me to see an attorney she knows, someone she trusts to go to the mattresses.”
“Only you would resort to using a Godfather reference when talking about fighting for custody of your daughters.” Molly’s voice lacks the teasing quality it normally has. Regardless, I’m grateful for the short moment of levity.
“Brooklyn took you?” Gigi gives me a questioning look, a sly smile gradually building on her lips.
“I didn’t know where else to go, so I went to her office. Luckily, she was there. The attorney she introduced me to is infinitely better than that guy who represented me in my divorce. She actually has kids of her own. She promised to do everything to fight this and help me keep custody of Charlotte, even if it’s proven she’s not mine.”
Silence settles at the table as they process this drastic turn of events. What can you possibly say to news like this? That it’ll be okay? That it’ll work itself out? I’m not naïve enough to believe that’s the case. No matter what happens, this will change all our lives. Despite that, I don’t feel as helpless as I thought I would. Spending the day with Brooklyn, being with her, seeing how her body still reacts to mine, gave me a small slice of comfort, regardless of the difficult position we find ourselves in these days.
“What are you going to tell the girls?” Molly asks after a while.
“I have no idea.” I peek at my watch, seeing it’s almost 1:30. “I have to go pick them up from school. I don’t know how I’m going to peer into their eyes and pretend everything’s okay. I’m not going to tell them anything yet, not until I have definitive answers. But at some point, I have to tell them something. How am I supposed to explain to a six- and eight-year-old why their mother abandoned them and wanted nothing to do with them for six years, but is now trying to take them from me?” I shake my head, my throat tightening.
Gigi places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You will, and we’ll be there when you do...if that’s what you need.”
I force a smile. “Thanks, Gigi.” I place one hand over hers, then reach across the table, grabbing Molly’s, as well. “Both of you. I can’t tell you how much your support means. Not just with this, but with everything over the years. I’d be lost without you two.”
“And Brooklyn,” Gigi reminds me, constantly looking for an opportunity to bring her up. “She helped raise those girls. She’s always been there for you. Even when you didn’t realize it.”
I nod, pulling away from them. “I know.” On a long sigh, I stand, my attention focused on my aunt. “Can I borrow your car?”
“Where’s yours?”
I shrug. “Home.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Oh really?” She waggles her eyebrows.
“Like I told you. I went to see her and she took me to talk to an attorney.”
“That’s true,” Molly interjects, standing. “But you left out how you got here if you don’t have your car.”
“Brooklyn drove.”
“And she left without taking you back to get your car? I find that hard to believe.”
“I told her it was okay. Normally, she’d force me into her car, but considering I took the Triumph to her office, I think she was more than happy when I said I’d get Gigi to lend me her car.”
My aunt’s eyes harden, her lips pinching in a tight line. The vein in her forehead throbs, evidence of her displeasure at this news. She hates that bike more than Brooklyn does.
“We grabbed Kelly’s, then brought it back here and ate up on the roof,” I finish before Gigi can berate me for riding my motorcycle.
“Her idea or yours?” Gigi asks.
“Hers,” I answer, not seeing why that should matter.
“I thought you were giving her space to figure things out?” Molly teases.
“That was before I received the motion for custody modification.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“She’s still engaged to Wes,” I remind them.
“Are you really going to let that stop you?” Gigi crosses her arms in front of her chest, passing me a skeptical look.
I do my best to reel in my grin as I slowly shake my head. “Do you know what Dad said to me when I first started playing hockey?”
“What’s that?”
“The word ‘quit’ isn’t in our family’s vocabulary. So give up on Brooklyn? Not a chance in hell.”
* * *
My eyes remain glued to the phone in my hand as I stand in the
distance, waiting for that final bell of the day to ring, followed by the sound of the front doors of the school opening, swarms of kids barreling out. The women Molly refers to as the “cougar den” lurk close by, ready to pounce, but I’m in no mood today...especially today.
As I search Google for cases in this state where a non-parent retained physical custody of a child, which I probably shouldn’t be doing since it doesn’t seem to be a normal occurrence, a familiar squeal meets my ears. It’s both heartwarming and heartbreaking, the mere thought that this loving, considerate human may not be mine. The instant I see Charlotte, it takes everything I have not to break down in front of her. My lungs constrict and my heart feels like it’s shattering in my chest.
A breaking heart isn’t simply an analogy used for dramatic emphasis. I now know it does happen. The agony coursing through me is more than I can stomach. Still, I can’t let her know. Her life’s about to drastically change. I need to give her a few more good days before that happens.
So I plaster on a smile, acting like everything’s exactly as it should be and this is just like every other day I’ve waited outside their school to walk them home.
I click off my phone and shove it into my pocket before squatting, holding my arms wide. When Charlotte runs into them, I pretend the strength of her hug nearly knocks me over.
“I missed you, Daddy!”
Her words hit me hard and I squeeze her tighter, savoring her warm body, inhaling her powdery scent. How much longer will I be able to hug her like this?
I pull back, doing everything to swallow down the tears threatening to fall. As I stare into her dark eyes, able to make out flecks of gold identical to those in Chase’s, my stomach sinks. How did I not see it all before?
“I made you something in art class!” she exclaims.
“Yeah?” I clear my throat, masking the slight tremble in my voice. “What’s that?”
She places her backpack on the ground and unzips it, pulling out a piece of folded construction paper. “A Mother’s Day card.”
She hands it to me, a brilliant smile on her face. With every second that passes, every word she says, it becomes increasingly difficult to fight back my tears. I’m a man. I’m supposed to be strong, not let things like this get to me. Kids have that effect on you. If they hurt, you feel that pain tenfold, wishing you could do something to take it away. Right now, I wish I could do something to dampen the pain of what Charlotte’s about to go through…what both girls are about to go through.
“I made one for Auntie Molly, Aunt Gigi, and Auntie Brook, too!” Excitement oozes from her as she shows me all the cards, oblivious to my internal struggle. “I couldn’t get as detailed as some of the other kids in class since I had four to make and they only had one, but I still think they’re good. Do you like yours, Daddy?”
Opening the card, I smile when I see her attempt at drawing a hockey player and a trophy cup with #1 scrawled on it. “I love it, Char.” I pull her against me again, kissing the top of her head. “But you didn’t have to make me a card. I’m your daddy.”
“I know. But you’re my mommy, too.”
I hold her at arm’s length, studying her. It seems like just yesterday I cradled her against my chest for the first time. When Carla walked in carrying Charlotte after the doctors finally brought me out of the coma, I panicked, thinking over a month had passed. Charlotte wasn’t due until March, but it was only February. That should have been a giant red flag. The last thing on my mind was whether Charlotte could be mine. Instead, my focus was on whether I’d ever play hockey again, my world feeling like it was crashing around me when my doctor insisted I retire from professional hockey due to the extent of my latest injury, which only exacerbated the prior brain trauma. Maybe if I had focused on my family, not the fact I’d never play hockey again, I would have put the pieces together. Or maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling me I needed this tiny human in my life, just like she needed me.
“And I always will be,” I say, kissing her one more time, my lips lingering on her cheek longer than normal, savoring the feel of her soft skin against mine.
“Hey, Dad...” Alyssa’s voice cuts through. I turn to see her walking up to us, her backpack slung over her shoulders. The instant our eyes lock, she slows, her expression falling. She’s inherited her aunt Gigi’s observational skills. Normally, I consider it a good thing. Now I wish she weren’t so intuitive. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course.” I stand, tousling her hair and giving her a hug, although she tries to push away.
I hate lying to her, to both of them. I’m struggling to cope with the unknown myself. I can’t put that on them, too. I want to enjoy my last few days where these girls think I’m their hero. I fear they soon won’t.
“Let’s go home and get you girls out of these uniforms.” I look up at the sky, the May sun warming my face. “It’s a perfect day to go rollerblading, don’t you think?”
“Yes!” Charlotte says, her voice oozing enthusiasm.
Alyssa’s not as convinced, eyeing me with skepticism. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You always make us finish our homework before we can play.”
I lift a brow. “Do you have a lot of homework?”
“No. Just a few math problems. It’ll be easy.”
“Then let’s do something since it’s so nice out.” Most other parents would probably be concerned about homework, but Alyssa’s intelligent. Math comes easily to her. I used to try to help her, although she insisted she didn’t need it. She was right. Numbers just click for her. In the time it took me to work through one of her problems, she’d successfully completed her entire assignment.
“You’d tell us if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
“What’s wrong?” Charlotte presses.
“Nothing is wrong. I didn’t get to see you girls much during hockey season. I want to make up for that now. Unless you’d rather do homework this afternoon…”
“No!” they both reply simultaneously.
“Good. Then let’s have some fun.”
I hold my hands out for the girls to grab. Charlotte takes one immediately. Alyssa scrutinizes me, her lips pinched together. Instead of insisting she’s too old to hold my hand, she takes it. I don’t know if I should be happy or worried about this.
Chapter Six
Brooklyn
A sliver of light from the streetlamp shines across the hardwood floor in Wes’ master bedroom as I lay awake, sleep evading me, like it has every other night this week. Occasionally, a car drives by or a dog barks before silence resumes. Most people like the peacefulness of living in the suburbs. Not me. I prefer the sounds of the city. It reminds me that there are other people around, that I’m not alone in my troubles, that there are others with bigger problems than mine. I’ve never lived in a quiet neighborhood where the only sounds are chirping birds or the occasional breeze. I’m not sure I want to leave the city and live in a house in the middle of nowhere with Wes. Won’t he miss the city, too? Or is he willing to make that sacrifice because he thinks I want the perfect house, an enormous yard, and beautiful landscape?
As I stare at the ceiling, there’s a subtle jingle of keys, followed by the door opening. Footsteps sound on the floorboards of the first level before they shuffle up the stairs. I hear the exhaustion in them as they grow closer. When the bedroom door opens, I shut my eyes, steadying my breathing, pretending to be asleep.
Wes is quiet as he walks past the bed and ducks into the ensuite bathroom. Soon, the shower turns on. I blow out a breath, then glance at the clock. 1:45 a.m. Is this what I have to look forward to? Dinner alone while he works late? Him sneaking in after midnight? Only seeing him for a few minutes in the morning before the cycle repeats for another day? I’m not sure I want that life, a marriage in name only, to be at his beck and call when it’s convenient for him to show up.
After ten minutes of trying to convince myself I’m just overthinking this, that thes
e feelings are the result of seeing Drew again today, a warm body slides into bed, an arm snaking around my midsection. Wes pulls me against him, my back to his front. I sigh as he plants a soft kiss on my neck. The aroma of his body wash finds its way to my senses and I melt into him, my muscles relaxing as I try to quiet my mind. His kisses become warmer, more seductive, hands roaming my stomach, my hip, my ass. He brings me even closer, his erection hardening behind me.
“Wes,” I whine, my voice raspy. “Not tonight.”
He exhales a long breath, his frustration evident. I hate turning him down, hate I’ve turned him down the past three nights. I should want to be intimate with him. But since Sunday, since fantasizing about Drew while Wes was inside me, I’m fighting a tumultuous tug-of-war. I feel guilty for thinking about another man when I’m with Wes. And I feel like I’m betraying Drew by sleeping with Wes. It’s a reminder that no matter which path I choose, I’m hurting someone I care about.
“Did I do something wrong?” He lowers his voice. “Was I too rough the other night?”
“No.”
Quickly, I turn over to face him, although I fear he’ll see the truth I’m finding it increasingly difficult to hide, especially when I stare at Wes’ lips and can only think about Drew and how I was a breath away from kissing him. Had he not put a stop to it, I would have. Lust controls me when I’m near him. When he’s gone, I want to confess my weakness to Wes and beg forgiveness. I’m riding a constant seesaw. How much longer can I do this before I hit the bottom hard enough to shatter my world?
“I like it when you’re not gentle with me.” I stare at his chest, playing with a few tendrils of hair. “I don’t want you to treat me like this delicate thing you put on a pedestal and worship.”
He pulls me closer, rubbing his arousal against me. “But I like worshiping you. It’s what you deserve.” He lowers his mouth to my neck, dragging his tongue across my skin. I close my eyes, wanting to tell him I’m not in the mood, but how much longer will that work? Eventually, he’ll want to know why I went from being happy to have sex every night to being cold and uninterested. How long will he buy the same excuse before he begins to suspect something? Do I want him to suspect something?
