by Stella Gray
Still, I could at least try to help him not lose his life to alcohol.
Luka was taking a long gulp of whiskey, not realizing that he was dribbling a good portion of his drink down the front of his shirt.
“You’ve had enough,” I told him firmly, trying to ease the glass from his hand.
Instead of giving it up, he wrestled it away from me, managing to slosh the rest of the whiskey all over the hand knotted silk rug. Realizing what he’d done, he slammed the empty glass on top of the bar.
“Who are you to boss me around, anyway?” he railed. “Everybody was drinking tonight, and that was just fine—how come I’m the one who gets the spotlight on me?”
“Everything okay in there?” Tori called out through the doorway to the dining room.
“We’re great!” Luka slurred, pulling the whiskey bottle across the bar toward him.
I turned toward the doorway and motioned for Tori to stay at the table, trying to give her a reassuring smile. The last thing I wanted was for her to witness this altercation.
“You’re done,” I repeated to Luka, grabbing the bottle and locking it in the cabinet.
It didn’t feel good treating him like he was a child that needed to be protected from himself, but the fact was, it wasn’t so far from the truth.
“You’re a real fucking drag, Stefan,” Luka said.
I took a long breath, searching for the kind of words that might get through to him. “I care about you, Luka. And I know you’re an adult who can make his own choices. But this has to stop. You’re destroying yourself.”
Luka laughed bitterly. “You’re not my father,” he said, and then he gave me a mean smile. “Though you are somebody’s father now, aren’t you? Kind of funny, isn’t it?”
“Luka,” I warned.
He ignored me. “I’m not entirely convinced, though,” he said, tapping his finger against his chin. “You know, I’ve seen the brat myself.”
“His name. Is Max,” I grinded out, tamping down the first stirrings of rage.
“Sure, Max,” Luka repeated, before glancing up at me and tilting his head as if he was studying me. “The thing is…he doesn’t really look like you, does he?”
I didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“You’re drunk,” I told him.
“Are you sure he’s even yours?” Luka said. An uncomfortable chill went up my spine. “You might have loved that bitch, but let’s not forget she was a hooker for a living.”
Without realizing I’d made the choice to do so, I had Luka shoved up against the wall, my hand around his neck. Fear flashed in his eyes, but he still had the nerve to smirk at me as I stood there breathing hard and trying to calm down.
“Shut the fuck up,” I seethed.
“The truth hurts, brother,” he said, his voice rasping from the pressure on his neck.
Suddenly, Tori appeared in my periphery, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. I wondered how much of the conversation she had heard.
She cleared her throat and I released my brother, stepping back. I regretted my outburst.
“Here’s some coffee for you, Luka,” she said, in a much kinder tone than he deserved. “Why don’t you go sit with Emzee for a bit?”
I half expected Luka to argue with Tori, to start cursing or trying to pour another drink for himself, but he took the coffee without comment, his head lowered like a chastened dog.
“Sure,” he said quietly and shuffled back to the dining room, where my sister was waiting—hopefully to pour a carafe of coffee into him before sending him home.
I leaned back against the bar, feeling suddenly weary. Tori squeezed my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I glanced in the direction my brother had gone in. “I don’t know,” I said honestly.
“I heard him,” Tori admitted. Her voice was low; perhaps she didn’t want Emzee to hear. “He’s…very drunk.”
“Yeah,” I responded. “Anyway. Let’s go sit.”
As I sipped coffee back at the table, I couldn’t help brooding. I knew Luka was drunk and spouting off, but I couldn’t deny that he’d succeeded in planting the seeds of doubt in my mind. And he had a point about Anja. A solid one. She’d slept with other men—that was a fact. I didn’t judge her for it, but it certainly called the issue of paternity into question.
And then that first day at the zoo with Max, I remembered thinking that although he had seemed familiar, especially his expressions and quirks, he hadn’t really reminded me of myself. And he didn’t look anything like the younger versions of me that I’d seen in my childhood photos. Maybe the familiarity was just seeing Anja in the kid, but I wasn’t sure. I’d believed her when she’d said Max was mine, but Luka’s words had thrown everything into question.
I continued mulling it over as I helped Emzee escort Luka to the foyer.
“Can you make sure he gets home safe?” I asked her as he struggled with his coat.
“I’m fine,” Luka mumbled, misaligning the buttons.
Emzee nodded. “Sure. In fact, I won’t leave his side until he sobers up. My boyfriend’s at home with Munchkin anyway, so I don’t need to rush back to my apartment any time soon.”
“Life saver,” I told her. At least there was one person in my family I could always depend on. Then I gave Luka a hug, even though he tried to pull away. “Take care of yourself,” I said.
Once Tori and I had ushered them out the door, we sank onto the living room sofa with the last of the coffee. The staff was already in the process of dismantling the décor and candles in the dining room and cleaning up the remaining dishes on the table.
As the comforting, familiar sound of Gretna’s humming issued from the kitchen, I leaned my head against Tori’s and went silent for a long time, lost in thought.
Finally, I turned to look at my wife.
“I’m going to ask Anja for a DNA test,” I told her. “What do you think?”
She nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. You need to know the truth.”
Stefan
Chapter 19
The lab waiting room was white and cold and sterile, the neutral abstract art on the walls only adding to the stark feeling of the place. It smelled of antiseptic and everything seemed meticulously clean. I’d done my research to find the best DNA lab in Chicago that provided expedited test results, and now I was sitting here waiting for those results that would either confirm or deny a permanent connection to the woman sitting to the left of me. Eight days had passed since I’d thrown the dinner party for my family—the night Luka had put the seed of doubt in my head about Max’s true father.
When I’d confronted Anja with the possibility that Max might not be my son, she had been surprisingly quick to agree to the DNA test. We’d decided not to mention it to my father until we got the results back. It would keep things cleaner, avoid sowing further discord.
Since a cheek swab was all that was required, Anja had gone with Max to the lab last week to submit their DNA samples first, telling him it was just a doctor’s appointment. Anja thought it would be less suspicious if Max didn’t see me there too, so I’d gone to the lab later that day to submit my DNA. Even with the expedited testing, we still had to wait a few days for the results. So here we all were now, minus Max, holding our breath in this waiting room.
Anja was currently sitting on one side of me, her hands folded tightly in her lap, while Tori sat on my other side, her fingers entwined with mine.
I was so grateful she was here.
No matter what the results were, I needed Tori by my side. Needed to know we’d be facing this together.
It was a little awkward, the three of us, but it was better this way. Better we all got the news together. Anja was handling the whole thing with shocking grace and composure; except for some tears when I first asked for the test, she’d been supportive of the process throughout. She said it would be best to know for sure before introducing me formally to Max as his father.
“How much longer, do you think?” Tori asked, in a hushed tone.
We were the only people in the waiting room, but the stillness of the place, the harsh whiteness of it all, made it seem like whispering was required.
“I’m sure it’ll be soon,” I murmured, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb.
Sitting around waiting was stressful, but in some ways, dealing with the Max paternity issue had been a welcome distraction from what was currently going on with the federal investigation into my father and KZ Modeling. Tori had spent the last week getting back on track at UChicago, taking the opportunity to slip the last few pieces of incriminating information to Gavin between classes, and the latest news from his brother was that a raid would happen soon.
But it couldn’t come soon enough. Frank had told me to be patient, but I was not a man known for my patience. Especially when it came to getting things done. I wanted my father arrested. I wanted his company destroyed and I wanted him out of the picture.
And I wanted it now.
Glancing over at my wife, I examined her beautiful profile. There were dark circles under her eyes—she was brave and strong, but she hadn’t been sleeping well. Even the combined distraction of her studies and the marathon sex at home wasn’t enough to chase the worry away.
Right now she was biting her bottom lip, and I squeezed her hand. Looking over, she gave me a smile, and I was even more comforted by her presence and support.
That was another reason I was eager for the feds to put my father behind bars. I knew that he was furious that his attempt to drive me and Tori apart had failed, and despite my family dinner speech, I still wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t do something awful in order to get what he wanted. He was a man who didn’t like to be told no, and it was impossible to not worry about Tori whenever she left my sight. Days during the week were a nightmare. I found myself texting her constantly just to make sure she was okay, and at class where she was supposed to be.
“Do you have any of that gum?” Anja asked, leaning over me to talk to Tori.
“I think so!” Tori lit up and started digging around inside her bag.
The most surprising thing had been the way that Anja and Tori had found a way to bond during this whole process. With a little squeal of triumph, Tori pulled out a fat pack of the pink and green watermelon-mint bubblegum that both of them were equally obsessed with.
“That stuff is foul,” I said. “Watermelon and mint do not go together.”
“Then why is it so hard to find?” Tori pointed out, passing the pack to Anja.
“Because nobody wants it,” I said.
Anja laughed.
“It’s because everybody wants it, so they can’t keep it in stock anywhere,” Tori argued.
Soon enough I was enveloped in the scent of the gum, while Anja and Tori chewed away happily on either side of me. I feigned disgust, but I didn’t actually mind. If anything, I was amused. It was just like Tori to make friends with Anja. The two of them could have been enemies, but instead, whenever the three of us were together, Anja and Tori often got so chatty that I found myself leaving the room and letting them get caught up talking about books and ethnic food and random old movies I’d never heard of.
“I finally watched Spirits of the Dead last night, after Max went to bed,” Anja told Tori.
“And?” Tori prodded, on the edge of her seat.
“Very good. Just like you said.”
“Yeah,” Tori said. “It’s hard to do a bad adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe.”
The two of them had been texting non-stop about a French director named Roger Vadim. I’d only heard of him because he directed Barbarella, but apparently, he’d done tons of movies that both Tori and Anja loved, though Tori seemed to know a little more about them.
“The last segment was the freakiest,” Anja said. “The severed head?”
Tori shivered. “I know. Terence Stamp is totally haunting. You should watch Pretty Maids All in a Row next,” she suggested. “It’s the one he did after Barbarella. With Rock Hudson.”
“Rock Hudson, is he the one from all the Doris Day movies?” Anja asked.
Tori grinned. “That’s him. It’s a weird movie but I think you’ll like it.”
“They’re all weird. That’s the best part,” Anja said eagerly.
“Sounds like a good distraction,” I said, inadvertently reminding us why we were there.
A quiet hush fell over the three of us as the reality of the situation sank back in. In the distance I heard the clip clop of shoes against the tile floor. The door to the back offices swung open and our heads snapped up as a nurse said, “We’re ready for you,” and gestured for us to follow her.
“I guess this is it,” I said, standing.
Tori took a deep, shuddering breath, and I kept a firm hold of her hand. My heart was pounding in my chest as we followed the nurse, Anja walking behind us. I had no idea what to expect. I wasn’t even sure I knew what I wanted anymore.
For all these years, Anja had been a dream; a ghost from my past that I was constantly chasing. Then, just when I’d started to think it was time to give up on finding out what had happened to her, she had returned—bringing the possibility of a child, of a family, into my life. I’d realized that I didn’t hate the idea of being of father, more confident than ever that I would not repeat the same mistakes my own father had made…but was I ready to be the father of a seven-year-old child who I barely knew? Who I’d never had a chance to bond with?
The nurse stopped outside an office and gestured for us to go inside.
“The doctor is in,” she said with a smile. “Don’t worry, her bark is worse than her bite.”
We took our seats across from a doctor sitting at a desk. She was young, with a shock of unruly dark curls, and wearing a serious expression that didn’t seem to match the hair. It was hard to gauge any information from her expression, though. A file was open on the desk.
I strained to see what was written on the pages spread before her, but I was too far away. The writing was too small, and it was upside down anyway.
“Ms. Fischer,” she said, using Anja’s legal pseudonym, “Mr. Zoric. And Mrs. Zoric.” She nodded at all of us gravely. “I have your DNA results here. As you know, we run all our tests twice, and we now have a conclusive answer for you regarding the paternity of—” she glanced down at the paperwork. “Maxim.”
I let out a breath. “Okay,” I said.
“We’re ready,” Anja added.
Glancing over at Tori, I saw that she was pale but her posture was straight. She looked at me and gave me a short, firm nod. Then I looked at Anja again. Her skin was practically leeched of all color but she also gave me a nod. I linked my fingers together with Tori’s. Whatever the results were, we’d face it together.
The doctor cleared her throat and looked down at the paperwork again. My pulse raced.
“The DNA shows conclusively that you, Stefan Zoric,” she said calmly, “are not Maxim’s father. Your DNA is a 0% match.”
“Wait. Are you positive?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Positive,” the doctor said, not a sliver of doubt in her tone, and I suddenly realized why she put on such a serious face for these appointments. “We ran two independent tests, with two different lab technicians.”
I let out a breath, feeling my shoulders slump with the release of so much tension. Despite the confidence of the doctor’s assertion, it still took a long time for her words to sink in. It was a shock. I wasn’t Max’s father.
There was a soft, muffled sound, and I turned to find that Anja had her head in her hands and was crying. Tori let go of me and went over to Anja, rubbing her shoulders and back and murmuring soft comforting w
ords.
I felt numb.
“I’ll leave you alone to process this. Take as long as you need,” the doctor said, picking up the file and heading out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.
Not Max’s father.
I took a breath and leaned back in my chair, my head resting against the wall. I didn’t know how I felt. Relief, yes, but also disappointment.
Max was a good kid, smart and inquisitive and fun—and I had really enjoyed spending time with him. Regardless of the paternity issue, I cared about him. And I hadn’t minded the idea of being his father. I’d even started embracing the concept. Looking forward to what lay ahead.
At least the disappointment was mine and Anja’s alone. It had been smart not to introduce me to Max right away as his father. For all he knew, I was just a friend of his mom’s. And now, a friend of his as well.
I couldn’t help thinking that for all of my brother’s flaws, all of his drinking and immature behavior, Luka had done me a favor by expressing doubt about my paternity. Because if I hadn’t asked for a DNA test, I never would have known the truth. None of us would have.
But now, after all this hardship and strife, my relationship with Tori had been given the gift of a clean slate. As saddened as I was to lose my biological connection to Max, I took comfort in knowing that Tori and I wouldn’t have to navigate that complication any more. Now we could focus on our marriage—on our family. Maybe start thinking about a baby of our own.
Glancing at Tori, who was still comforting Anja, it was easy to imagine her as a mother. To picture her glowing and pregnant with my child. It was something I wanted, I realized.
Maybe that could be the next step in our lives. Once my father had been brought to justice and his illegal business dealings dismantled, Tori and I could focus on having a family.
Anja was still crying, with Tori crouched on the ground beside her chair, holding Anja’s hand.
