Rumor Has It (An Animal Magnetism Novel)

by Shalvis, Jill

  All from Donald’s last heart attack. Nothing new.

  Grif set those aside and skimmed the rest, and then his gaze caught on what should have been an innocuous detail—his dad’s blood type. Grif’s mom was an O. The paper in front of him stated that Donald was an O as well, which was surprising because that meant their children would also be O.

  But Grif was not. He was blood type A.

  And as he knew from the doctor’s lecture at career day, when two people with blood type O mate, the result was always blood type O offspring.

  Always.

  Thing One nudged at him, adding a little let’s-go-out-and-play whine. Thing Two joined in.

  But Grif just stared at the file.

  He wasn’t Donald Reid’s biological child.

  Twenty-four

  Grif didn’t know how long he sat there at his dad’s desk, memories barraging him. Being five years old and standing in front of this very desk, a muddy frog dripping from each hand as his father yelled at him for his “un-Reid-like behavior.”

  Or at age twelve being caught joyriding in his dad’s quad without permission in the middle of the night by a deputy sheriff. Donald Reid’s idea of punishment for that had been to leave Grif in police custody until the next day, in a cell with some serious delinquents five years his senior who’d enjoyed tormenting him during those long hours before dawn.

  At seventeen he’d been pulled over on prom night with a bag of weed in his truck—and the mayor’s daughter. Donald had let the law fully prosecute Grif that time, and six months later when he’d turned eighteen, he’d left Sunshine, still thoroughly pissed off.

  He wasn’t exactly sure what he was now, but pissed off didn’t begin to describe it.

  “What the hell are you doing in here? This is my office.”

  Grif looked up as Donald strode into the room looking pretty pissed off himself.

  Perfect, they were going to start off hot. Worked for Grif, who stood, medical file in hand.

  “Hey,” Donald said. “That’s mine.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Donald’s face went red, the precursor to a full-blown temper. “Get the hell out.”

  “Oh, I intend to. But this first.” Grif tossed the open file on the desk.

  Donald stood on the other side of the desk, hands on hips. “Why are you searching through my things?”

  “I wasn’t searching through your things. I was trying to do payroll, and Holly told me you had the password.”

  “So you just helped yourself to my desk to find it?”

  “You weren’t here and it had to be done. Dad.”

  Donald finally clued in to the fact that he wasn’t the only one running a little temper. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “You,” Grif said.

  Donald narrowed his eyes. “You want to be very careful how you speak to me, boy. I can still take you.”

  Boy. It was always “boy” or “kid,” or on occasion “little asshole punk.” There’d been other nicknames over the years, none flattering. Not that he’d deserved one, Grif could admit.

  But apparently, he’d never deserved “son” either. “You’re careful not to call me son.”

  Donald shook his head. “What the hell are you mumbling about?”

  Grif pointed to the blood work in Donald’s medical file. Tapped the blood type. “This.”

  Donald stared down at the file. “I already told you why I didn’t tell you about my little heart thing.”

  “It was a heart attack, not a little heart thing, and I’m not talking about that.” Grif shoved his fingers through his hair and pushed away from the desk. He went to the window and stared out at the land that he’d actually started to believe could really be his home.

  An illusion. This place wasn’t his, and he sure as hell didn’t belong here.

  “The password’s in the other drawer,” Donald said.

  “Forget the password. Jesus.” Grif turned to face the man who for better or worse had been the only father he’d ever known. “I’m talking about the fact that you’re not my biological father.”

  The high color in Donald’s cheeks drained, and he put a hand out to grip the desk.

  Grif searched for some sympathy for the man but found none. “So you knew.”

  “Yes.”

  Yes. Just like that. Grif was having a hard time breathing. “I had a right to know, too.”

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

  The silence shimmered between them for a moment and, if anything, made Griffin all the more furious. “Bullshit,” he said. “Mom’s gone. Why keep it a secret?”

  Donald said nothing, and Grif could actually feel his blood pressure change. “What the hell, Dad—” He broke off. “Or should I say Donald?”

  The man had the good grace to wince. “I’m still your dad,” he said. “There’s no need for all this melodrama.”

  “Melodrama?” Grif’s head began to drum in tune to his pulse. “I want to know who my real father is.”

  “Was.”

  “He’s dead, then?”

  Donald crossed his arms, his expression going bulldog stubborn. Grif recognized the look from years of butting heads with that expression.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Donald said. “None of it matters. I came into the picture before you were born, and I’m on your birth certificate. That’s all your mom wanted you to know.”

  A variety of scenarios crossed Grif’s mind, not a single one of them good. “Did he get her pregnant and then desert her? Was she . . . raped?”

  Donald turned away. “No.”

  “No? That’s all, just no?”

  Donald sucked in a deep breath and appeared to stare out at nothing for a long moment. “She was just pregnant when I met her. She said she was a package deal or nothing at all. I took the package deal. The end.”

  Grif stared at his stiff spine. “But once I came, you felt differently. You were pissed off that you were stuck with me. You didn’t want to be responsible for me.”

  “Don’t you put words into my mouth.”

  “Then give me your words.”

  Donald didn’t give him any words. He didn’t move a muscle.

  Grif shoved his fingers through his hair in agitation at the exact same moment Donald made the same move. Grif dropped his hand. Apparently, some things didn’t require blood. “We’ve been at each other for as long as I can remember,” he said quickly. “At least now I know why.” He paused. “You don’t know who he was.”

  “No. She never told me.”

  “And you don’t know what happened to him?”

  “I said so, didn’t I?”

  Like banging his head against a brick wall. Grif sank back into the chair. “You have to give me something,” he said hoarsely.

  Donald said nothing.

  “I need to know,” Grif said. “I deserve to know.”

  Donald turned back, eyes shuddered, face hard. “What you deserve to know is that I loved your mom. I’d have done anything for her, would have turned myself inside out for her, but she loved . . . him. Whoever he was. I never got that piece of her, so yeah, maybe when I looked at you, I saw him. Maybe I was hard on you because of it, and maybe I was not the perfect father. But what’s done is done.”

  Donald Reid was as old school as they came, stoic and gruff. The admission came out short and abrupt, like it had cost him.

  Grif didn’t care. He gave the medical file a shove. It slid across the smooth surface and hit the floor, scattering. And then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  Holly stood in the hallway staring at him, eyes wide and filled with tears. “Grif—”

  He’d have stormed right by her except she didn’t deserve that from him. He sighed. “You heard.”

  “You were both shout
ing.” She reached for him. “My God, Grif— Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said. And then gave a short shake of his head. “No.”

  From inside the office came the sound of glass shattering, as if maybe something had just been flung across the room and hit a wall.

  Holly gasped.

  Grif just walked away.

  * * *

  Kate looked at her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. It wasn’t like her to watch the time, but nor was it like Grif to be late.

  Another ten minutes ticked by and she looked at her watch again, just as her phone vibrated with a text from her date.

  Can’t make it.

  She stared at the abrupt words. She was still staring at it when her phone rang.

  “Is Grif there?” Holly asked, sounding off.

  “Hol,” Kate said, straightening. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  “I need to talk to him, and I thought you guys had a date.”

  “We did,” Kate said. “He didn’t show.”

  A weighted silence.

  “Holly,” Kate said softly, a very bad feeling sinking in her gut. “What it is? What’s wrong?”

  Another heavy silence, filled only with a muffled sob.

  “Okay, now you’re scaring me,” Kate said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t,” Holly said. “This . . . it has to come from him. Kate . . . ?”

  “Anything,” Kate said, and meant it.

  “My dad and Adam are out looking for him, and there’s no better trackers . . . except Grif himself. Which actually means—”

  “That he’s not going to be found until he wants to be,” Kate said quietly.

  “Exactly. Do you have any ideas?”

  “I’ll get back to you.” Kate hung up, and with her heart thumping with anxiety and worry in her chest, she drove to her dad’s. He was in his usual place on the couch with his laptop.

  “I’ll have you know,” he said without looking up, “I’ve got dinner cooking and the timer’s on, thank you very much. Also, I did laundry, and no one’s whites turned pink. And,” he went on when Kate started to speak, “I mastered Ashley’s chemistry. She even said, and I quote, ‘Wow, Dad, you’re nicer than Kate,’ end quote.” He beamed.

  “That’s all great, dad. Where’s Tommy?”

  “No, I don’t think you’re listening. You can call UCSD. You’re still within the deadline, right? How many days left?”

  “Three,” she said. “Dad, I need to see Tommy.”

  Her dad looked up, finally clued in by her shaky voice. “He’s cleaning his room. You okay?”

  “Yes.” She stared toward the hall and then stopped. “He’s cleaning his room? How’d you get him to do that?”

  Her dad smiled, but he was already back to typing on his keyboard. “Told him he couldn’t wear any superhero clothes until it was clean. Superheroes do not live in filth.”

  Impressed, Kate knocked on Tommy’s door, and at the annoyed “I’m working in here!” she let herself in.

  Tommy was wearing his new Flash costume, and his room was indeed clean. “Hey,” Kate said. “You remember that app that allows Griffin to find you?”

  “No man left behind,” Tommy said. “It’s genius.”

  “Does it work in reverse?”

  Tommy cocked his head and studied her. “Huh?”

  “Can we find Griffin?”

  “Sure,” Tommy said.

  Sure. Relief filled her as together they leaned over Tommy’s iPod Touch. He brought up the app, waited for it to load, and then tilted the screen her way. “He’s at your place.”

  “No he’s not. I was just there.”

  “Not your house. Your place.”

  Kate stared at the blinking dot on the map. He was at the dam.

  Tommy grinned. “Are you two playing hide-and-go-seek?”

  “Something like that.” She kissed the top of Tommy’s head and ran out, wondering what Griffin was doing and what had happened.

  And hating the knot in her gut that told her it was bad.

  Twenty-five

  Griffin had driven off-road for a while before going it on foot. He was ignoring his phone and the flurry of texts coming from Holly, each more demanding than the last.

  Call me.

  Dammit, Grif . . . I want to talk to you.

  You’re still my brother, you stubborn ass, CALL ME.

  He lost track of time. He’d have preferred to lose track of where he was, but he never got lost. At least not physically.

  Mentally was another thing altogether. He was definitely lost. Only yesterday he’d believed he could belong here.

  But he’d never belonged here.

  Only yesterday he’d known exactly who he was and what he wanted. He’d even thought maybe he was falling in love.

  He hadn’t known shit.

  Now he was someone else entirely, with no real idea of who that person even was. So how could he be home? How could he be in love?

  And yet here he was, sitting on a dead tree that wasn’t even his place. It was Kate’s. But Kate was his comfort right now, and this was as close to her as he could get.

  He had no idea how long he sat there before he heard running footsteps.

  Kate came up the path at a dead run, skidding to a stop at the sight of him.

  “Hey,” she said, breathless, clapping a hand to her heart. “It’s true, you’re here.”

  He knew on some level he’d wanted her to find him, or he’d have simply climbed the condemned tree house behind him. She was afraid of heights; she’d never have even looked up there.

  When he didn’t speak, she sank down next to him. “Holly called,” she said. “Looking for you. Everyone’s looking for you. Adam, your dad—”

  Grif made an involuntary sound, which pissed him off. He was good at being stoic, good at holding his shit in.

  Except with her.

  When the fuck had that happened?

  She’d gone quiet at the sound he made, and when she spoke again, it was softly and with great care. “I got worried,” she said. “And went to see Tommy. We used that app you loaded for him.”

  “Smart,” he said, impressed in spite of himself. “But Holly shouldn’t have called you.”

  “We’re best friends, Griffin. She was scared. Crying actually.”

  Guilt hit him. Holly was just as shocked as he’d been and just as confused and hurt—and he’d been deleting her texts.

  “Griffin.” Kate reached for his hand. “What happened?”

  “Holly didn’t tell you?”

  “No. She said it was your story to tell.”

  He let out a low breath. “I found a medical file at the ranch office earlier. The blood types of my parents didn’t match up to mine.” He met her gaze. “They’re both blood type O. Their baby would be an O also. But I’m an A.”

  She absorbed the unexpected shock of that. “But you look just like your mom.”

  “I’m hers,” he said.

  She turned her head and met his gaze. “But not Donald’s.”

  He shook his head.

  “You two talked?”

  “More like yelled.” He scraped a hand over his jaw. “He says he doesn’t know much, that my mom was pregnant when they got together.”

  “So he took you on as his.”

  “No.” Griffin shook his head. “He never really did that.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, but he held himself still. He didn’t want to be comforted. He didn’t want to be touched.

  Kate did both anyway. Crawling into his lap, she straddled him and cupped his face. She met his eyes, and he realized he already was touched, to the bone, by her. And nothing was going to change that.

  Leaning in, she kissed him with de
vastating softness. “I’m so sorry, Griffin,” she whispered against his mouth, and kissed him again, just a sweet, warm, loving brush of her lips to his.

  “Don’t.” Her gentleness was going to undo him. He was vibrating with emotions and pumping adrenaline, and when she looked at him like that, the signals in his brain crossed because he wanted to strip her and take her right here, losing himself in her.

  Holding his gaze captive, Kate stood up, pulling him with her. She kept tugging until he was wrapped in her arms.

  Ah hell. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he pulled her in tight, because this, this was what he’d come for, and for the first time in his recent memory he let himself take comfort from someone.

  From her.

  She pressed her lips to his jaw and whispered, “Come with me.” She led him along the path. Back through the park, past a sleeping Larry. Then through the woods, along the path to her townhouse, never letting go of his hand.

  She could take away his pain, if he let her, at least for a little while. But only a real asshole would let her do that.

  And yet when she entangled their fingers and pulled him along like one of her errant pupils, he went inside her townhouse.

  And then inside her.

  * * *

  He was gone when Kate woke up. She knew it before she even opened her eyes because when he was in bed with her, his energy took up all space and then some.

  She loved that, loved being surrounded by him.

  But that energy was gone now. She was alone, and there was a terrifying finality to the feeling. Anxious, she showered quickly and then dove for her phone when it rang. “Griffin.”

  “Nope,” Ryan said. “And you sound way too eager. Do we need to have a how-to-play-hard-to-get discussion?”

  Kate blew out a sigh and dressed while holding the phone in the crook of her neck. “What’s up?”

  “Two days left.”

  “I know that! I know that better than you!”

  “Then what’s the hold up?” he asked.

  “What’s with wanting to get rid of me so badly?” she countered.

  “Hey, I don’t want to get rid of you. The loss of your presence for a year will leave a huge hole in my heart.”