by M. J. Fields
Loyalty. Mitch was the first person I felt its true depths from, and one day, when I’m in heaven, I’m going to find Lilyanne and thank her for being a big part of instilling that in him. Although, as I have pointed out to him, he was very loyal to his sister, Cara, who he basically raised, even before Lily.
Cara aced her SATs, and although she has ADHD that she refuses to take medication for, because she’s afraid she’ll get hooked on a feeling, like her mother, father, and paternal grandmother have, she’s fast becoming one of my favorite people in the world.
She has a very good chance of being a student here next year. Mitch isn’t ready for that, though. He isn’t ready for his sweet, innocent sister to be around a bunch of jocks who are going to want to “get in her pants.”
Mitchell Westcott Moore, Giddy-up, hot jock, playful player, most oral, the exact opposite type of guy who I would have thought I would fall for, that I would warn any friend or even foe to run from, also turns out to be a Dean’s list student, entrepreneur, real estate investor, horseman, best friend a person can have, best boyfriend in the universe, is hella swoony.
With a boatload of bitcoin from selling Jersey Chasers to an anonymous buyer, he bought a fixer-upper about a mile away in a neighborhood that is thought to be up and coming. Logan’s brother-in-law and Logan both told him that they thought it was a sound investment. It’s a big brick Victorian home that had been abandoned. He plans to move Carla out of her small place and for Cara to live there with her off-campus.
He traded in his car and bought a used SUV and is making me learn how to drive … in the shitty snow. It’s a beast of a thing, but I am the proud owner of a New York State learner’s permit.
Downs woke from his coma but has a long road ahead of him. Mitch now believes in miracles, and yes, God.
Trucker Cohen stepped up. Now he and Keeka are extremely happy and live in New Jersey. He apologized for being such a dick to Mitch, and Mitch told him to fuck off. He adores baby Leddie and Keeka, but he doesn’t feel anything for Trucker. I tend to think it has a little to do with the fact that Logan and Trucker were best friends all the way through high school, but I will let him come to that conclusion on his own. I don’t doubt he will, with perfect timing, as he did with me.
He sees things. Not like in a sixth sense way, but as in, he truly is the most “woke” human being I’ve ever encountered, and I thought my instincts were spot on …
He literally saw a man about a horse over Christmas break and bought said retired, barren, Kentucky Derby-winning racehorse on a hunch. My guess is because she was black and beautiful. Well, she was also pregnant. Three months to be exact. Clearly the previous owner was wrong about her.
He saw another man about a horse and is on his way home from Saratoga Springs as we speak. His hope is to sell the baby and keep momma. If all goes well, he plans to see an old bitchy lady about a horse farm around tax time. My man’s smart.
I get flowers every Tuesday, in lieu of date night, because I am just not ready for that yet, and I cook for him. I love cooking in general. That’s kind of my role here in the apartment unless London’s aunt Tessa is here—still unreal that I was all freaking gaga over Lucas Links, and Elle—I mean London never even acted put off by it—but I love cooking for Mitch especially.
I had another panic attack at the fundraiser for the victims’ families that Lucas, Brody, and Maddox Hines put on. My parents attended, met Mitch, and were polite-ish to him and to me, as well. They didn’t see me lose it. No one did. Mitch carried me into the locker room and laid me on a bench. He held his hand on my diaphragm and talked me through it.
After they left, I found out he had flown them up. I cried, he held me, I yelled at him, he still held me. We went to Logan’s apartment after that, where he had people over—family, friends, and the major donors. Apparently, José Cox was a major donor.
José hugged me and asked me if I needed anything. Then he handed me a card in case I changed my mind. Mitch now knows I think he’s possibly my biological father. I told him all about our interactions. He also thinks José knows I may be his, as well. He’s not pushing me to confront him, even though, somedays, I sort of wish he would.
I look at the clock when I hear a knock at the door. He’s early, and dinner isn’t finished yet. He won’t care. Me? I like to have it on the island and ready.
I don’t bother taking off the apron. He thinks it’s stunning, not sexy. As a matter of fact, he’s turned into a big softy. Well, his heart. His bod is still rocking.
“You’re early,” I say as I swing open the door. My jaw drops when I see it’s not Mitch.
“Hope I didn’t startle you, Jamie. May I come in?”
I nod, unable to form a proper sentence as I step back and let José in. Once in, I shut the door behind him and lock it, jiggling the handle to make sure it’s locked.
He smiles. “You lock doors.”
I nod. “I’m not like trying to keep you in here or—” I stop when he laughs. “Sorry. Awkward, right?”
He takes his coat off and hangs it over the chair at the island. “Mind if I—”
“Of course, have a seat.” I nod. “Would you like a drink?”
“Water’s good if you—”
“We have water.” I smile.
“Sorry. Awkward, as well.”
I open the refrigerator and grab two bottles of water, although the bottle of wine, not yet open, looks awfully tempting right now. Then I walk over and set one in front of him before opening mine.
“Something smells great.”
“Mitch hates mac and cheese, so I’m making my”—I stop when I’m about to say mom’s recipe—“recipe.”
“Smells amazing.” He sets an envelope on the granite countertop. “I, uh …” He stops and shakes his head. “I think you and I need to have a discussion, sooner rather than later.”
“I mean, later’s okay, too.” I feel my face start to burn.
“You on the same page as Mitchell, then? Don’t make any big decisions for at least six months after a tragedy?”
I’m going to kill him.
I smile. “Well, that’s definitely a Mitchell thing.”
He clears his throat. “Well, here’s the thing, Jamie. I have an opportunity. It involves a big move, and I can’t for the life of me make that decision unless I know for sure.”
We’re both skirting around the issue, both unable to actually verbalize the fact that he may be my father, and I may be his daughter, and we both clearly sense it, yet never voiced it.
“So, you want to find out if maybe …?” I shrug.
“I wanted to find out several months ago. I’ll be honest and say that the catalyst to deciding I had to make a move was the incident at—”
“Chaos.” I nod.
“I can’t stop thinking about what if you are, in fact …” He pauses. “And what if I lost the chance again.”
The oven timer sounds, and I jump.
He stands up. “Are you speaking with anyone about the trauma you suffered?”
“I’m really fine.” I turn to grab the oven mitts but can’t put them on because …
“Jamie, you’re shaking.”
“I’m talking to Mitch. He’s been here. He loves me. I love him, but he won’t let me say it, not yet. He just wants to see it, because I’m beautiful.” Lord God in heaven, please make my tongue go numb, so I can stop ranting. “I know that sounds weird, but—”
“I mean a counselor or therapist.”
“I don’t think I really need one.”
“I’d certainly feel much better if you did. I think you would, as well. I have a friend here, a professor in psychology and human behavior, that I have actually been consulting with. She’d be more than happy to meet with you if you’d like.”
“I think, um … Well …” I begin feeling that now recognizable feeling and my anxiety heightens because of it.
I hear the door handle turn and look toward the door. The oven timer is still g
oing off, and I am still shaking. I can’t stop.
José steps up to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Breathe, Jamie girl.”
“Hey—” Mitch pauses and looks at José then at me, setting down a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of flowers. “Missed you.”
The sound of his voice slows my racing pulse, and I look toward him. “Hey, look, José’s here.”
He sets a brown bag on the counter and walks toward me. He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, before he turns off the timer, grabs the oven mitts, and pulls out the casserole dish.
“Surprise, I made you a dish you’re probably going to hate.” I turn toward him as he sets the dish down, pulls the mitts off, and turns back toward me.
He squats slightly so we’re eye-to-eye and smiles. “Not possible.”
I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, and he hugs me.
“How are you, Mitchell?”
When Mitch sighs, I look up at him. He’s staring intently at me.
“Hey.”
He nods at me then looks toward José. “Good. And you?”
“Not great, actually.” José lets out a breath. “But I think if we clear things up, we can all have a better sense of how to proceed.”
Mitch looks down at me again, holding me a little tighter.
“If he … I mean … Yeah.”
Stepping back, I turn and look at José. “So, we need to do a DNA test, right?”
His eyes leave mine as he looks at Mitch.
“I’d have preferred that this be her idea,” Mitch says in a cool, even tone, not matching his hard glare.
“I think we both know that she wouldn’t have pressed the matter.” José’s tone is the same. However, he wears a smile saying I’m playing nice, but I’m still playing.
“Um …” I raise my hand. “I may have.”
Mitch points at him, and I duck under his arm. “She’s gone through enough.”
José puffs up his chest and steps closer. “And she could have died, and I’d never know if she was mine.”
As the two stand toe-to-toe bickering, I decide I’m not getting between them. Instead, I grab the envelope and slide my nail beneath the seal. “Hey, guys, I’m just gonna do this, okay?” I pull out the piece of paper, thinking its instructions.
“I wouldn’t have the chance to spoil my only child or tell her how happy I was to get a second chance to have her in my life. I wouldn’t have been able to—”
“Jamie!” Mitch yells.
I don’t look up. I continue reading the not-instructions, but the lab report stating the findings of a DNA test that I didn’t even know I’d partaken in.
“Jamie?” José says softly.
I feel dizzy yet not sick, numb but tingly, and I’m relieved, not overwhelmed.
I look up at Mitch, and he looks like a cat about to pounce, and I’m the laser pointer that may begin climbing the walls at any moment. Then I look at José.
“You wanna—”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I wanna know.” But he’s frozen in place.
Tears burn my eyes as I look back at Mitch, who gives me an apologetic look. I know without a doubt that he took part in this. And he sees me. He sees me.
“I think maybe you two missed a few years, José.”
José looks at me, and I nod.
His knees buckle slightly, and he does something that makes the point zero one percent chance dissipate.
He looks up.
We meet somewhere in the middle, both crying as we hug for a long, few minutes.
I glance up and see Mitch’s eyes on me, wet with tears of his own, smiling at me softly with those green eyes, as José, my father, pulls my head into his neck.
“Love you, Jamie girl.” He hugs me tighter. “Always.”
My heart is full, so gloriously full.
When we break apart, he’s smiling. So am I, and Mitch—
Shit, Mitch.
The sound of a cork popping makes me jump and laugh at the same time.
I smile at Mitch as he pours champagne into three glasses.
“I think this is cause for celebration.”
“I think so, too.” José gives me another, gentler hug, and we take the glasses from Mitch.
After we tap glasses, all three of us, and take a sip, José looks at me. “Daisy cautioned me that I needed this to be on your terms.”
I wonder who Daisy is.
“She’s the professor I told you about,” he answers my unasked question. “I’m going to try my best not to overstep, to fight the urge to buy you a pony or a room full of dolls, or making up for missed holidays, birthdays, father/daughter dances, dates, vacations”—he swings his gaze to Mitch—“interview processes for future suitors.” He laughs, and Mitch smirks.
“I hope you know it’s not about that for me. I don’t want anything from you.”
He nods once. “Right, of course. But—”
“And I really want to take things slow.”
“Anything you want, Jamie.”
“And I’m not really on good terms with my mom right now, so I’d prefer to, you know, keep this maybe here?”
His jaw tightens, then relaxes, and his smile returns. “Slow and steady, no pony or dolls.”
“I don’t expect you to become my dad.”
“That’s gonna be a hard one since I already am and have been for nineteen years now.” The pain in his voice is evident.
“Okay,” Mitch says calmly.
“Sorry, Jesus.” José sighs then looks at me. “I would have loved to have raised you, Jamie.”
I nod. “I believe you.”
His eyes widen in disbelief. “This is—”
“We’ll be okay, José.”
He closes his eyes tightly. “I knew from the minute I saw you walking around in that quad that you were something special. The second time, I realized just how special you are … to me. Scared the hell out of me.” He opens his eyes and looks at me. “I’ve done the work, Jamie. I know this has to be at your pace. I know you love your mom, respect her enough to have not—” He stops. “Why are you on bad terms?”
“Very long story,” Mitch interjects kindly.
“Yeah, I guess I should go, then.” He starts toward his coat.
“How about you stay for dinner?” Mitch asks.
He looks at me, and I release a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and smile. “Yeah, please stay. We have some catching up to do.”
He smiles. His smile is brilliant. “Thank you.”
We eat mac and cheese with broccoli mixed in, so Mitch doesn’t have a coronary that it’s unhealthy. We talk about everything. His past mirrors mine—my paternal grandfather was a minister. His faith is much like mine. And I admit all the ways I set about finding him, including coming to school here when my parents wanted me to attend Coastal Carolina instead. I told him about the scholarship that I received right before mailing out my acceptance letter to Coastal Carolina.
He smiles. “Well, who do we have to thank for being part of bringing us together?”
“I thanked them with a letter. I don’t remember offhand who it was.”
“I won’t step on your toes, Jamie girl.” He shakes his head. “Just have a lot of alumni friends, and my focus has always been to build up scholarships for our football program. Would love to help my non-sports enthusiast friends find a place to put their extra cash.”
“Sure, of course. I’m pretty sure it’s in my phone’s contact list.” I start to stand, but Mitch puts his hand on my knee, stopping me. “What?”
“You have a new phone.”
“Right.” I shake my head and look at José. “Mitch got me a new—”
“Fallen out that bad that Madelyn cut you off?” José tries to quiet his annoyance, but it shows in his hardening features.
“No.” I shake my head. “Lost my old one.”
“No way to track it?”
“She lost it the night of the shooting,” M
itch says, squeezing my leg.
The door opens, and Lisa and Christy walk in, laughing. They stop when they see we have a guest.
“Should we—”
“Come.” Mitch stands. “Sit down; Jamie made dinner.”
They look at me then at José.
“This is José Cox. José, this is Lisa and Christy, two of my roommates.”
“We met you, right?” Christy takes a step forward, extending her hand.
He stands. “Not sure.”
“You and Jamie’s mom were talking at the fundraiser.” Lisa nods and puts out her hand to shake his.
I look at him, and he looks at me then back at them. “Yep, old friends.”
Mitch looks at me then at José. “We’re running low on almond milk. You want dishes, or could you run to the store?”
“You want to ride along with me?” José asks.
“Yeah, sure,” I answer.
An hour later, when I walk into the apartment, arms full of bags, Mitch stops pacing.
“See? She’s fine,” Christy calls from the couch.
“Holy shit, how much milk did you get?” Lisa jumps off the couch and hurries toward me.
“You okay?” Mitch whispers.
I nod, allow the bags to drop and step into his outstretched arms.
“Jesus, did you knock over a bank, or does your mom’s friend have some sort of shopping addiction?”
“He’s my dad,” I whisper.
“If he does, then next time he’s over, I wanna go to Coach, Macy’s, Michael Kors, Dick’s—”
“Christy,” Lisa whispers, “she said he’s her dad.”
“Daddy, as in sugar—”
I look back, and she stops.
I shrug. “I have some secrets.”
