by Faye Byrd
“Cameron was switched at birth. As in he’s not the baby you were pregnant with. Is this correct?” he asks, and his sharp focus zeroes in on this one small aspect.
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yes, Richard. Cam is not the son I carried. I actually have two sons now. Blake. That’s my other son’s name.”
“No, Easy, no. You don’t understand,” he says, exhaling a heavy gust of air into the line. “I need to see you. We need to speak in person as soon as possible.”
“Am I missing something?” I ask, not understanding his sudden change of attitude.
“I don’t know for sure, but I do have something I need to tell you. It may be nothing, but it could also be huge. Please, when can I see you?” he begs, and my confusion skyrockets.
I twirl the cord of my desk phone around my fingers as I consider his request. My life is completely foreign compared to how it was when he left. Of course, I’d never remove him from Cam’s life as long as he wants to remain a part, but I can’t help to think of Trystan right now and how he might feel.
I clear my throat. “Sure, Richard. We can get together soon.”
“No,” he insists. “I seriously mean soon, Easy. I need to speak with you.”
His insistent tone gives me pause. What could Richard Head, my ex-fiancé who’s been out of the country for the last six months, possibly have to say that could affect my life? That is so important that he’s basically demanding I hear him out.
“Okay,” I say, his insistence and my curiosity both getting the best of me. “I’d like to introduce you to my husband anyway.”
“Yeah … um, sure. And he’s Cam’s biological father?” he asks, then continues in a joking manner. “Leave the country for a little while and look what I come back to. You’re married and have two kids instead of one.” He lets out an attempt at a laugh, but it falls flat.
My hand automatically slides down to caress my ten-week non-bump. If he only knew. “There were some painful times, but where I am now”―I let out a ridiculous, girly sigh―“is where I was always meant to be. I’d never take a moment of it back, even my little boy’s suffering. Without it, we would’ve never known about Blake … or Trystan.”
“Wow,” Richard says. “You talk about it as if it’s a fairy tale and not the hardest thing you could ever face as a parent.”
I think about that for a minute before I respond. “Right now, we are living the fairy tale. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t an easy road―especially for Cam, but he was sick whether we found out about the switch or not. Now, he and I have so much more than we started with and he’s well, or on the path, at least. We couldn’t have dreamed up a better outcome.”
“I look forward to meeting your prince charming then,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice, but it’s also tinged with a touch of melancholy. “So does dinner tonight work?”
“I …” I sigh, pausing to think this through. “I think tonight may be too soon. Give me the evening to prepare Trystan. I mean, he knows about us, but he has no idea you’re back. Why don’t you come to the house for lunch tomorrow.”
“Okay, I can do that.” Though he’s agreeable to my terms, he still seems disappointed with the wait.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Richard, but you have me very curious,” I say. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“I … I honestly don’t know. Guess we’ll see tomorrow.” His tone is pensive, as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Cameron will be excited to see you, and you can also meet Blake,” I say, trying to lighten the conversation. “You’ll have to fill me in on your work, too. I can’t wait to hear all about Africa.”
“Yeah, sure. If you want to hear it, I can do that,” he replies, his voice a little shaky. “But about the kids …” He pauses. “Could you, uh … could you have Melissa watch them for a little while?”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem, but you’re worrying me,” I say as prickles of unease move over me. This man has something to get off his chest, and whatever it is, it’s placing a burden on him.
“I know, and I’m sorry, but this has to be said in person. Don’t get worked up, though. It may mean nothing, but it could mean everything.” His ominous words clumped together with his bold insistence causes the exact opposite effect.
I swallow back the dread and form a reply. “Tomorrow it is then, say noonish. My house.”
“Works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow, Easy.” The line goes silent, and all I’m left with is a knot in the pit of my gut.
When I walk in the door, the first thing I hear is the pattering of feet, running from the kitchen. “Mama,” Blake calls. “You home.” He runs into my open arms.
“We was helping Daddy cook dinner,” Cam says, taking his turn right after I let go of Blake.
I give him kisses all over his cheeks. “Mmm, smells good. What did you cook?”
“Daddy fried some chicken and me and Blake mixed a salad,” he replies, taking my hand to lead me toward the kitchen where Trystan is standing at the stove.
“Hey, baby,” he says, smiling. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll have this on the table when you get back?”
“Sounds good,” I say, laying my design bag and purse on the dining room table as I pass.
I hurry up the stairs and change into my comfy clothes, pulling the clips from my hair. By the time I return to the kitchen, Trystan and the boys are already seated at the cleared table, waiting for me. We have a wonderful family dinner followed by a movie with the boys before I take them up to get them into the tub. After a good twenty minutes of play, I dress them in their PJs.
When we come out of the bathroom, Trystan is leaning up against the wall, book already in hand. “You dudes ready for bed?”
Blake fist pumps. “Oh yeah.”
Cam tugs my hand, so I lean down to see what he wants. “Night, Mama, love you,” he says, right before giving me a smacking kiss on my cheek.
“Night, baby. See you in the morning,” I say, then turn to Blake. “You forgetting something?” I tap my cheek.
“No way,” he says, coming over to give me his own giant smooch.
“Night, sweetie,” I say, standing. “Love you both.”
As they run down the hall, I giggle at their exuberance and turn to my sexy, smirking husband. He’s like a billboard for the perfect dad, leaning there with a children’s book in his hand.
Little does he know I’m going to turn that smirk into a sneer before the night is over. I step closer. “I’m going to shower, and I’ll be waiting for you,” I say in a seductive voice.
His brows rise. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I smirk. “We need to talk.”
“Talk?” he repeats, confusion marring his pretty face.
I sigh and brush my fingers across his chest. “I had an interesting phone call today. Go read to the boys, and I’ll fill you in soon.” I kiss his lips lightly and leave him standing there to gape at my retreating back.
Once I’ve showered and am in bed, I grab a book to pass the time as I wait for Trystan. It doesn’t take but another few minutes before he’s entering the room. “The boys asleep that fast?”
“Oh yeah, they only had one nap today,” he replies already slinging his T-shirt to the floor.
“Really?” I ask, a large smile forming. “Cam didn’t seem too awfully tired tonight either. This is amazing news.”
“It is. Now I don’t know if it’ll be every day yet, but it’s definitely a start.” He drops his jeans to the floor and slides onto the bed.
“An amazing start,” I say, my heart swelling with pride at my baby’s accomplishments. “I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”
“We’ll take what we can get,” Trystan says as he moves in close and presses heated kisses along my neck.
As soon as his warm lips reach my jaw, I turn, crashing us together in a frenzy of heat and passion. The flames that burn between us are a
lways simmering just beneath the surface, and it’s so easy to get carried away, but not tonight. At least, not right now. Right now, we need to talk.
My hands find his bare chest and push as I pull away. “We need to talk, and I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about what I have to say.”
“Okay,” he says as he reaches down to adjust his cock. My eyes follow his movements, and it almost derails me. When I meet his stare again, he smirks. “Talk.”
I position myself so that I’m sitting before him, legs crossed. “Richard called me today.”
He stares at me with a blank expression. “My ex-fiancé, Richard.”
His eyes widen. “Oh. Okay.”
I sigh and look to my fidgeting hands. “He’s back from Africa, and I thought he’d called to reconnect, but it seems he has something he needs to say.” I lift my gaze to my husband. “I’m not sure what it’s about, but he was nervous and anxious, so I agreed to lunch tomorrow.”
“I see.” Trystan swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs. “You’re going to lunch with your ex-fiancé.” His eyes are unreadable, but his jaw is tight.
I roll my eyes and move slowly, opening his tense arms and positioning myself on his lap. “No, silly. We’re having my ex-fiancé over for lunch tomorrow.”
“Excuse me,” he sputters. “You invited him here?”
“Of course. I just knew you’d want to meet him.” I grab his limp hands and place them on my hips. “And besides, whatever it is, he wants to speak in private. He even asked that my mom keep the boys.”
His fingers dig into my hips, and he holds onto me like a lifeline. “What do you think he wants?”
“I don’t know. He was very vague, but the whole conversation felt weird.” I sigh, leaning my head against his shoulder. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow. Um, if … if you don’t want to cook for him, we can always order something.”
“Baby, look at me.” I lift my head and we’re close. So close I can see the specks of yellow in his green irises. “I’d never treat any guest of yours that way, even if it is your ex-fucking-fiancé.”
I giggle because he’s just too cute. “You know he’s just a friend, right? We were over well before Cam was conceived.”
“I know,” he says, reluctantly accepting the truth. “I still don’t know how I’m going to feel when I meet the man you almost married.”
I push my hands through his rapidly growing hair, pulling his lips to mine for a heated kiss. Once I’ve thoroughly plundered his mouth, I snatch away and push our foreheads together. “I’m yours, baby. Only yours. I’ve only ever been yours. Remember that.”
“I think I need more reminding,” he pants before fusing us together again.
When the doorbell sounds, my unease spikes. The fear of the unknown has haunted me for hours. My night was restless as my mind conjured many scary scenarios of how this conversation could go. All of them weird and completely unrealistic, but unsettling nonetheless.
I wipe my sweaty palms against my pant legs as Trystan guides us to the door. Taking a deep breath, I pull it open to greet a very different looking Richard than I last saw. For the most part, it’s a good different, aside from the paleness and sweat on his brow in mid-January.
“Richard, are you okay? Come in and have a seat. Do you need something to drink?” I’m a bumbling, nervous mess as I usher him inside.
Thankfully, my amazing husband steps in and takes over, guiding me to the recliner and turning to Richard. “Please, have a seat. What can I get you to drink?”
“Uh, I’ll take whatever,” Richard utters, barely glancing Trystan’s way.
Trystan lifts a brow at me, but I just shrug. “I told you,” I say with my eyes.
“Lemonade sound good, baby?” he asks, being more gracious and upbeat than the situation calls for.
“Yes, please.” I give him a smile and focus back on Richard while Trystan goes to the kitchen. I clear my throat. “Um, that was Trystan, my husband.”
Richard nods. “Yeah, I figured.” Then he looks straight at me, and the anguish in his eyes is almost enough to do me in. Whatever he has to say is weighing him down. “Look, Easy. I know we said we’d do lunch, and it smells great in here, but I want to”―he stops and shakes his head―“no, I need to get this out.”
I sit forward, giving him my full attention as Trystan comes back with our drinks. After handing me mine, he turns to Richard. “Here you go, man.” Once Richard has taken a sip and set it on a coaster, Trystan holds out his hand. “I’m Trystan Ashby, and I understand you have something you need to say to us.”
Richard shakes his hand but at no point does he meet his eyes. “Uh, yeah, I do. Could you have a seat?”
Trystan perches on the arm of my recliner and settles his hand on my lower back. Once he’s positioned, we look to Richard expectantly.
He only pauses to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Easy, do you remember when you were pregnant with Cam, and I was dating that nurse at the hospital? Brandy?”
This isn’t what I expected, but I scour my mind anyway, trying to pinpoint who he means. Richard spiraled after we split and dated several nurses, so I suppose there could’ve been one named Brandy. “I’m not sure I recall their names as you dated several nurses back then.”
“Yeah, but I dated Brandy for a few months, while you were pregnant specifically,” he says, and his eyes are begging me to remember.
“Wait,” I say, puzzle pieces linking together in my mind. “Do you mean the one who stopped me in the hall that day after my bloodwork and told me even the baby wouldn’t bring you back?”
Richard’s head falls, his chin on his chest, yet I can still see it bob. “Yeah, her.”
I search my mind, willing the scene to replay, desperately needing to remember this moment specifically. When a vague image forms, I zero in and scrutinize until it burns clearer and crisper. The faceless form fades, and in its place, is one of someone familiar.
Someone I’ve seen recently.
“What about her?” Trystan speaks, breaking the silence.
Richard’s tormented eyes lift toward us. “You see, when I dated her, well she …” He trails off, and my heart thunders furiously against my ribcage.
“She what?” Trystan snaps. His body is tense as he leans forward, demanding that Richard finish his thought.
Though I feel as if one simple sentence could blow this moment wide open, I still try to remain calm, to push the darkness away and ignore the face that keeps popping into my mind. I place my hand on Trystan’s arm, intending to settle him, but he’s like a rubber band, stretched to its limits.
“She thought Easy’s baby was mine,” Richard says, and there’s agony in his eyes, in his stance, in his very existence.
“What?” I say, standing and starting to pace.
He walks over and drops to his knees before me. “Easy, please understand, I had no idea.”
“What type of nurse was she?” Trystan spits, moving to glare at the broken and defeated man.
Richard’s head drops, his eyes on the wood floor beneath him. “Labor and Delivery.”
Everything my mind was throwing at me all comes together to form a giant, nauseating picture. I start shaking my head frantically as I try to block the thoughts. It can’t be real. This isn’t happening.
My stomach churns.
My blood races.
My eyes burn.
I open my mouth, but no words come.
Trystan’s hand starts rubbing circuits over my back, and his voice is in my ear, soothing me. “Shhh, calm down, Easy. I’m right here, baby.”
I can’t speak, but I nod as I work to gather my wits.
Once Trystan’s assured I’m back with him, he turns his cold glare back to Richard who’s still positioned at my feet. “And this means? You came here to say something. Spit it the fuck out. You’ve already upset my wife.”
Richard grabs my hands, and his tear-filled eyes lock on mine. “Easy, I swear I had no idea. Just listen to
me, please.”
My nod is faint, but it’s enough of a sign as he starts talking.
“Brandy thought Cameron was mine, and while I knew it wasn’t true, I never corrected her. It made it sorta … more fun that way. She was jealous, and we’d fight and make up … it was hot.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but I can already tell it was a very big deal. “But then when Cam was born”―he shakes his head as tears roll down his cheeks―“I thought she’d lost it. She kept telling me the baby wasn’t mine and I should have a DNA test. We fought about it constantly, and when she wouldn’t stop insisting, I finally broke up with her. I knew he wasn’t mine.”
Trystan starts pacing. His movements are fast and harsh. His hands are trying to tug at his too-short hair, and his eyes are wild. He’s reasoning through what I’ve already come to realize. This woman intentionally switched our children. The same woman who assisted in Violet’s birth only months ago.
Trystan stops and leans down to stare into Richard’s eyes. “So you’re saying that a nurse, who worked for Labor and Delivery when Cam was born, insisted that you―who she thought was his father―was in fact, not his father?”
Richard’s eyes fall back to the floor as his body shakes with sobs. “I didn’t know,” he cries, shaking his head wildly. “I didn’t know.”
As the scene unfolds in front of me, I’m completely numb. I don’t react to Richard’s pleas. I don’t react to my husband’s growing anger.
I just … don’t react.
When Trystan loses his grip and lifts Richard by his collar, I still don’t react. “You sorry sack of shit. I should beat the ever-loving fuck out of you right now!” He shakes him and Richard only quakes in his grip. “How the fuck could you let this happen!”
Richard grips Trystan’s arms in a plea. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” he repeats, over and over.
The pathetic scene propels me into action. I jump up, grabbing Trystan’s arm. “Trystan, you have to stop!”
