Poor Hope. I’ve been kind of shitty to her in the past—thank you, mother issues—but I’ve grown to love and respect her a lot. And now, she’ll probably resent the fuck out of me.
“Christ, we’ve joked about you being Dad for years.” And don’t all those jokes Murphy and I made sound a lot different now.
“Well, I knew who Murphy’s mother was, so I’m definitely not his father too.”
Murphy’s the one who deserves to have Rock as his father. Not me.
I push the thought away. “You think Carla knew and that’s why she was always such a bitch to us?”
Rock blinks at the mention of his ex-wife. “I think she was just jealous of anyone else who had my attention.”
“Hope’s not like that,” I say. “Shit, this is the worst timing. You’re finally about to have your first kid and now this. Christ, this is so fucked up. Do you want me to leave? Take off for a while so I’m not in your face?”
“What the fuck for?”
“I don’t want to be in the way or fuck stuff up for you guys when this is supposed to be—”
“Stop right there. You’re not in the way. You’re my son.”
It still sounds so unnatural, no matter how hard Rock’s trying to normalize this situation.
“The question you should be asking is are you ready to be a big brother again when you’re about to settle down and have your own family?” Rock seems to be reaching for a light, kidding tone but I’m not feeling it.
The reminder that Charlotte and I have our own secret we’ve been waiting to share punches me in the stomach. Then there’s the reminder of all the shady things I had to do as a kid to keep Heidi safe. That won’t be an issue with Rock’s kid…my little sister. “Yeah, at least I won’t have to break into garages and steal shit to feed the baby waitin’ at home for me. You sure you’re having a girl? I don’t know if I can handle another little hellraiser like Heidi.” Aw, fuck. How am I going to explain this to Heidi?
“I don’t want to explain this to Heidi right now,” I say. She’s matured a lot in the last few years, but the damage done by our family always lingers, waiting to rise from the ashes and cause chaos. “I can’t tell you how many times she said she wished you were her dad when she was growing up. Things are going good for her. I don’t want to—”
“I get it,” Rock says.
“And I don’t want to say anything to Murphy either. There’s no point making his life awkward by keepin’ stuff from Heidi.” That’s only one of many reasons I want to keep this from my best friend.
“You gonna talk to Charlotte?” he asks with a bit of presidential authority creeping into his tone.
Hell, Charlotte’s the only person I want to talk this over with. “She won’t say anything.”
“Good.” His gaze turns distant. While wallowing in my own confusion and worrying about everyone else, I haven’t given a lot of attention to how Rock is handling this. “Are you okay, Rock? This must be really fucking weird for you.”
He lets out a sad laugh. “It’s such a long time ago.”
“But you remember what happened?” I ask. Not that I want details.
“Some of it,” he answers carefully, as if he’s concerned it’s the nitty-gritty story I’m after.
I’m done. I slap the table. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you. Right now, I want… I don’t know.”
“Whatever you need. I’m always here for you.”
And that right there is one of the only truths that matters. “You’re one of the few people who’ve always been there for me, Rock. I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked you for that.”
“You don’t have to thank me for anything. I’m proud to have you as my son. You need to know that. So whenever, if ever, you want to tell anyone and go public—I’m leaving it up to you.”
That’s an awfully big decision with many possible consequences that he’s thrown in my lap.
Go public.
An uncomfortable sensation crawls over my skin. No one can know about this. For now, the truth about my paternity needs to remain a secret.
But in the back of my mind a red warning light blinks.
Secrets always have an expiration date.
CHAPTER TWO
Charlotte
The rumble of Marcel’s bike echoing down our driveway draws me out of the house and onto the front porch. As soon as he parks, I rush down the stairs to meet him.
“Happy not-the-father day—” The silly greeting dies in my throat. A heavy cloud of despair seems to surround Marcel. Fear thrums through my veins. “What’s wrong?”
He drops his head for a second, then turns and faces me. “Let’s go inside.”
My stomach cramps with apprehension. He said the test cleared him. None of the Lost Kings fathered that woman’s kid. “What—”
He curls his cold fingers around mine. “Please. I need to talk to you.”
“Okay.” I rub my palms over his hands in an effort to warm his skin. His lips pull into a half smile.
“I’m fine, Sunshine.”
Dreading whatever he has to tell me, I follow him into the house. He stops in the kitchen and flips the faucet on, pouring a glass of water and drinking it in a few quick swallows.
A thousand questions scream through my brain but somehow, I remain calm on the outside, waiting patiently.
He sets the glass on the counter with a soft clink and jerks his chin toward our kitchen table.
My hard wooden chair scrapes against the tile as I pull it out and slide onto its unforgiving seat. “You’re scaring me, Marcel.”
“Sorry.” He leans over and kisses my forehead. “I’m a bit rattled.”
“I can see that. Talk to me.”
Instead of sitting at the table, he curls his fingers over the back of his chair and leans on it like a crutch. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s so absurd.”
Marcel’s stood by my side through some of my darkest moments. There is nothing we can’t handle together. “I’m right here,” I say.
Finally, he turns his troubled teal eyes my way. Someone or something hurt him. My inner demon prepares to come out swinging. To decimate whoever caused the man I love an ounce of pain.
“Rock is my father.”
Individually, I know what all those words mean. Lined up in that order, they don’t make any sense. “Says who?”
“The lab. Well, Hope read the lab results to us.”
“How is that even possible?”
His lips quirk again. “That’s what I said.”
“No, Marcel. Seriously, how is that even possible? He’s not…old enough to be your father.” Is he?
“Well, apparently all those jokes Grinder used to make about Rock trying to romance every fucking woman he met as a kid were based in truth.” A hint of anger seeps into Marcel’s voice as he recounts the bits and pieces he learned from Rock.
“Whoa.” When he finishes, I sit back and blow out a breath. My temples throb. “Your mother—”