Illicit: A Novel

by Ava Harrison

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Typical. Your mother was always overly dramatic.”

  “I know, but that’s Mom.”

  “So, what can I do for you, Lynn?” He pulls back from his position and straightens his back.

  “I—” I don’t know how to say what I want. “I want to live with you,” I blurt out, and his mouth drops open. Shock. As if this is something he never in his wildest dreams imagined I would say.

  He lifts his hand and rubs at his eyes, then pulls at his hair before he gets himself together. “Well, that can’t happen.”

  “I-I don’t understand. I know we haven’t been close since, well, since you left.”

  “I had no choice. There is so much you don’t know. Your mom threatened me. She threatened to take you completely out of my life if I didn’t abide by her rules. I couldn’t risk it.”

  “This makes no sense. What could she possibly have to hold over you? You’re my dad. Don’t you have rights?”

  “There is something I need to tell you.” He pauses, and I notice his grip is getting tighter, his knuckles whitening from the tension. “I had hoped your mother would do it, but seeing as she hasn’t, I guess I must.” His hands tremble as he speaks. It makes me grow cold.

  “What are you trying to say?” I feel my throat closing up on each word. His eyes scare me, his unshed tears glistening.

  “I’m not your biological father.”

  My heart stops beating.

  White noise rushes in my ears.

  I feel as if I might faint.

  Instead, a piece of me crumbles as the world I know collapses into a million pieces and smashes to the ground.

  This is too much. My whole life is too much.

  Everything is a lie.

  Nothing is how it seems.

  Not my father. Anger coils in my belly. The pungent taste of bile works its way up my throat. How can this be? How could I never know?

  “What do you mean, you’re not my father?”

  “I’m not.”

  “I don’t understand. Who is my father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I-I don’t get it,” I stutter. The reality of the situation is finally setting in and my eyes well with tears.

  “When you were a few years old, I wanted to try for another child and after years of trying, I went to a doctor. It turns out I’m sterile.” He looks away. There is a deep rooted sadness in his eyes. I don’t know if it’s the fact he was lied to, or that he could never have children, but it’s there. And as much as I’m angry I never knew, I’m also now angry for him.

  “Apparently, I have been since I was a child and acquired measles. It never dawned on me to check because your mother easily got pregnant with you. Looking back, I should have known. Everything at that time was wrong. The way she acted when she found out, her depression. Years later, when I found out, I confronted her. At least she had the decency to not deny having an affair. She told me at the time when she found out she was pregnant she didn’t know who the father was.

  “I was crushed. I would have done the right thing by you, but she made me leave and so I left. I owed you more than that, but I didn’t know how to deal. In some sick twist of fate, I found out there was no way I was your father, that my only child was not mine. How does one deal with that?

  “Your mom is greedy. She hung the truth over my head like a bad secret. She threatened to take you away completely. I’m sorry for the way I treated you, but I couldn’t handle it. I still can’t. It’s not your fault, Lynn, but every time I’m around you, I feel her betrayal. It etches away at my soul.”

  He covers his face with his hands. “It would be one thing if you were my biological daughter, but I just can’t get past it. As much as I want to help you, I-I can’t.”

  There isn’t anything to say to that. I bite my lip and stifle back a cry. “I understand.” And I do. She ruined his life. Her selfish actions killed a part of him, just as they did me. But now I need to know more. I need to know who my father is, and there’s only one person to ask. No matter how painful, I deserve an answer. But before I can talk to her, I need to see Carson. Hopefully he can help me find my strength.

  I knock on his door once, and it flies open before I can place my hand on the heavy wood again.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Yes. No. I’m not sure.”

  “Come here,” he says, and he pulls me into his body. He holds me, the beat of his heart lulling mine to a steadier cadence. “I got you,” he says and it causes a dam to break within me.

  I held strong as I left Dad’s—I mean, Ronnie’s apartment. I held strong all the way through the park. I even stayed strong as I spun the idea that I knew nothing of my life. I held strong all the way past Carson’s doorman, and up in the elevator. But now, in his arms, I don’t have to hold it in anymore.

  I can let go.

  I can fall.

  Because I know he will hold me up, and he does. I feel his hands lifting me. He pulls me into a cradle embrace and then walks me through the foyer, into the living room, and onto the couch. I look up through tear-filled eyes.

  “I’m okay.” I try to smile but my voice gives me away.

  “I know you’re not, but you will be. I promise you, Lynn. Whatever happens, I will be there for you. I will hold your hand. I will protect you.”

  My shoulders sink forward. My eyes close of their own accord. The only sound I hear is breathing.

  His breathing.

  My breathing.

  Finally, as my breath calms to beat in tandem with his, I look up at him again. My chin trembles as I find my words. The words I don’t want to speak. If I say them they are true, but I have to, nonetheless. “The last couple of days have been bad.” The words come out mumbled against the sound of my soft sobs.

  His blue eyes narrow, a small line forming on his brow. “What do you . . . I don’t understand?”

  “He’s not my dad.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Jesus, Lynn, you didn’t have to stay there. You could have—”

  “I could have, what? Come here? Stayed with you?”

  “Yes.” His words are forceful and I don’t doubt he believes it, but I know better.

  “You know we couldn’t. Not with her there.” It’s one thing for me to stay here when my mom’s away, but with her home, she would ask questions. It wasn’t worth the risk. His eyes, normally the blue of the ocean as it meets the sky, are darker than usual. Chilling. Angry. Troubled.

  “I hate this for you. I hate this for us. I should be able to be with you. To take care of you.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it more than you will ever know.”

  The pads of his fingers draw circles on my back and I relax into him.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I went to my . . .” I catch myself from saying dad again. It hurt too much to refer to him as Dad. Like the name is a dagger in my heart, stabbing me with all the lies. “I went to Ronnie’s house. He told me . . . He told me I wasn’t his daughter.”

  “Lynn.”

  He doesn’t say more, just places a soft, comforting kiss on my forehead as his arm tightens and his fingers trail comforting patterns on the exposed skin of my neck. I let him hold me. I’m not sure how much time passes. I’m not sure of much, but as our breaths become one and the beats of hearts are matched, I find the strength to tell him everything that happened. Everything.

  I tell him how my father left me. How he didn’t fight for custody. I tell him how, over the years, he became more distant. How he’s been a void in my life since I turned eighteen. I tell him and I cry. And as I tell him everything, it becomes obvious. It all makes sense. He might have just told me I wasn’t his daughter, but a part of me always knew. I always felt as if I didn’t belong. That there was something amiss, that I never fit in with him. That he never saw me.

  “How did you leave things?” Carson asks.

  “He doesn’t k
now who my father was. I’ll have to ask my mother.”

  “Do you need me to go with you?”

  I lean in, placing a soft kiss across his lips. “No, this is something I have to do alone.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  I shrug, my lips puckering ever so slightly. “I don’t know.”

  “Stay. Let me take care of you at least for tonight.” I should go home. I shouldn’t risk my mom finding out about us, but I’m not strong enough to confront her right now, so I pull out my phone and shoot off a text. Staying at Bridget’s. I know after our last confrontation she won’t answer. Putting the phone down, my hand shakes. Carson lifts my palm to his lips and places a soft kiss on my skin. “I’ve got you.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here if you need me.”

  I want to lean on him. I want to use his strength as my own. But I won’t. I can’t have a crutch. I need to stand on my own two feet and be strong and brave. If I don’t, I might never conquer the obstacles life has in store for me.

  I UNDERSTAND WHY SHE HAS to do it alone. I don’t like it, but I understand. I wish I could be there. Take her pain. Protect her. I wish I could be everything she needs and shield her from anything unpleasant. But that’s not how it is. I can’t be that for her, and I certainly can’t risk her mother putting two and two together and remembering how she knows me. That would be bad. Life altering bad. Not only would I lose my job, but the damage to Lynn and her reputation could be irreparable.

  In the silence of my room, I can hear the soft inhale of her breath. It took a while for Lynn to fall asleep, but eventually she did. I don’t envy her the shit she’s going through. I understand all too well what it’s like to feel like your world is ripped out from under you. To feel unloved, that you were never good enough. My parents were awful, but I at least cut ties with them completely. Which makes me much better off than Lynn. Or does it?

  How does she do it? After everything that happened to her, how is she strong enough to want to conquer this battle alone?

  In awe, I stare. It takes a lot of to confront this. To confront her mother. I should know. She’s stronger than me, that’s for sure. Here she is dealing with her whole world being rocked and somehow she’s still able to conjure the strength to confront her mom. And me? I pretend my parents don’t exist. It makes sense I don’t talk to my dad, but my mom . . .

  No. I’m not ready to breach that, and I’m not sure I ever will be. Maybe one day I’ll be as strong as her. Maybe one day I’ll get the answers I’ve always looked for. The answer to the why’s that still linger deep down in the darkest crevices of my mind.

  Why did she choose him?

  Why did she abandon me?

  Why wasn’t I enough?

  LIGHTS TRICKLE IN, DANCING ACROSS my lids until I’m forced to open my eyes and the room comes into focus. I’m lying in Carson’s bed. I don’t remember how I got here last night. I only remember crying in his arms.

  “Morning.” His voice is raspy, still laced with sleep. “What time is it?”

  “Eight. Still early. Go back to bed.” He pulls me tighter into his body and places his lips against the top of my head.

  “I can’t. Once I’m up, I’m up.”

  As many times as we’ve been together, this is the first time I’ve ever woken up in bed with him and had no rush to be anywhere. Usually, he leaves super early, the sex fast and frenzied. Always the fear my mom might catch us. But now, in his bed, we have all the time in the world. I’m in no rush to see my mom or tackle that hurdle quite yet.

  “Well, if you’re up . . .” I drawl out.

  His arms bracket me, pulling my body under his. His weight is welcome. I love the comfort I feel beneath him. His lips fan my jaw and then trail up until he places a kiss on my lips.

  “Don’t kiss me. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

  “I’ll do what I want.” He plunders my lips once again.

  I don’t go straight to my mom’s and confront her. I don’t ask her right away. I basically hide in Carson’s apartment for the rest of the holiday break. I know I have to talk to her, but I’m scared. I’m scared of what I’ll find out. Who is my father? Does she even know? I’m scared she won’t tell me. Or even worse—that she will.

  What if she tells me and he wants nothing to do with me? What if he has his own family? What if he’s dead? I’m starting to sound insane.

  “What are you thinking over there?” Carson presses a hand on my knee and gives me a little squeeze. I don’t look up, though; my vision is trained across the room, my brain still drifting to all my fears and neuroses.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have that line.” I turn my head toward him and wrinkle my nose.

  “What line?”

  “The little frown line you get when you’re thinking too hard.”

  My stomach warms at his words. I didn’t even know I had a “tell,” but he knows. The idea that Carson knows these things—that he pays attention—makes me smile.

  “I’m contemplating when I should confront my mom.”

  His stunning blue eyes cannot hide all the thoughts playing out in his mind that he doesn’t want me to see. I see them. I see all the despair he thinks he’s hiding, and it’s heartbreaking.

  “I wish I could be there for you. I wish I could go with you.”

  “I know.”

  He gets up and crosses the space that separates us to lift me into his arms. “Do you?”

  “Yes, it’s in every look you give me, every kiss, every touch of your hand.”

  “Like this . . .” He plants soft kisses at the hollow of my neck, trailing up my jaw. No words need be spoken. Everything, every action, shows how much I mean to him, how much he loves me, even if he has yet to say the words. Even if I have yet to say them . . .

  “Yes, like that,” I pant.

  “What about this?” He places a kiss on my lips, and then consumes my mouth.

  “Like that,” I mumble and he gives me a hearty laugh. His hands work on my blouse, loosening the buttons one by one until I am bare.

  “You are so unbelievably beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. My gaze doesn’t meet his, and his finger lifts my jaw.

  “No matter what happens, from now until forever, I’m here for you.”

  My eyes fill with tears. Although our time together has been short, I know he means every word he utters. No matter what happens, no matter what we find out, he will be there. We will do this together. We will hold each other up.

  He stands with me in his arms and walks us to his room, stretching me out on the bed. I watch him undress, then remove the rest of my clothes. When we are both naked, Carson crawls up my body and places soft kisses until he reaches my mouth. I cradle him between my legs, the evidence of his arousal teasing my seam.

  With a breathtaking movement, our eyes meet and he pushes in. Our bodies move together in a perfect symphony. When we’re finished, we lay in each other’s arms until the beat of our hearts calms.

  “Today,” I whisper.

  “Today?”

  “I’ll talk to her today.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but I have to. I need to know. And knowing you’ll be here afterward is all the strength I need.”

  He takes my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine. “I love you.”

  Those are the only words I’ll ever need to hear.

  “I love you, too.”

  The words fill us up, giving us both the strength to let me leave and conquer this hurdle.

  The sound of the door opening to the brownstone feels like a painfully brutal song to my ear, but I replay it this morning and push through.

  I find my mother in the kitchen. She’s disheveled and not like her usual pristine self. “Where have you been?” She glares at me while she props a hand on her right hip and waits impatiently for me to answer.

  “I needed some space.”

  “Space. Yo
u needed space? You’re nineteen years old. What is so terrible in your life that you need space?”

  “I had to think.” I close my eyes and reopen them. She has already dismissed me, and is reaching for a mug in an upper cabinet.

  “I saw Dad. Or should I say, Ronnie.”

  I watch as understanding crosses her face and descends down on her, leaving her hand shaking. The mug slips to the floor in a thunderous crash. She looks down to the ground and then shakes her head.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. You damn well know.” My voice rises higher than I want, but my anger is palpable. My whole life is a lie, and I’m sick and tired of pretending it’s not. “He told me everything. How you cheated on him, how you made him raise a daughter he knew wasn’t his. He told me everything.”

  “I-I,” she stutters, and for the first time she has no snarky comeback. For the first time in nineteen years, I have rendered my mom speechless. “I—”

  “Nothing to say? Well, at least you aren’t going to deny it.”

  She turns her back to me.

  “So, who is he?” I maneuver my body to block her retreat, caging her in so she has nowhere to go. She looks like a trapped and wounded animal, but I can’t find it in me to care. I need answers and I need them now. “No, you don’t get to walk away. Not this time. Who is he? Who is my father?”

  “I can’t,” she whispers. Her words are barely audible over the beat of my heart. “I can’t.” Her head shakes repeatedly and tears well in her eyes.

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t choose me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He went back to her. He didn’t choose me. They never choose me. Not even you choose me. You’re always with her, with Bridget . . . with them. With him.”

  A gasp escapes my mouth. “Mom. Please. Please tell me Sam Miller is not my father.” The silence is devastating. She doesn’t have to answer. The truth stretches between us, filling in the missing words. “Tell me,” I plead. “I need you to say the words.”