She gave birth to a beautiful girl. We were happy.
Disney princess birthday parties became what I lived for. Tea parties with stuffed animals. Late night snacks when I got home from work and she was supposed to be sleeping.
The three of us. Together. Happy.
Then everything changed.
The diagnosis. The prognosis.
My world ending.
My life from the last decade flashes before my eyes as if I’m the one dying. There was a time I thought Miranda was it for me, but even without Emily dying, we were two different people. We grew up and grew apart. We never even had the same interests.
I fill a plastic cup with coffee, though I barely even remember walking over here. A gentle tap on my arm has me almost dumping the hot liquid all over myself and the little girl.
“Hi, I’m sorry you lost your daughter. What my momma always tells me to make me feel better, is that Daddy is always with me and watching over me. I’m sure she’s with you too.” I smile and lean down to get to eye level.
“It’s Ava, right?” She nods. “Thank you for that, Ava. I needed to hear that today. Your dad would be proud of you.” She smiles and I stand as her mom walks up behind her.
“Sorry, she really wanted to say something and once she forms an idea, it’s game over. This is her first time at one of these group sessions. She doesn’t know any better.”
“No need to apologize. She’s sweet. I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell her.
She smiles. “I’m sorry for yours too.” She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing as she looks at me. She seems ready to ask me something and her mouth even opens, but we’re interrupted.
“Can we go now? I want ice cream.”
I laugh and they leave. Something about her is familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Once the people clear out and I finish my coffee, toss the cup in the trash, and make my way out. I round the corner and my phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out far enough to see the screen, I press the lock button once to silence it.
I haven’t talked to Miranda since her threat to sue me and expose my relationship with Flynn. She doesn’t even know I ended things with Flynn, not yet. But she hasn’t served me with papers yet either, so maybe I have a little more time to formulate a better plan.
I miss Flynn. I miss her smart mouth and I miss when her mouth was focused on other areas. I think about her constantly, even when I shouldn’t—especially when I shouldn’t. I’ve almost called her countless times, but I remember why I can’t.
I have to protect her. Miranda is relentless and she’ll not only ruin my life, but Flynn’s as well and she doesn’t need the unnecessary drama. She doesn’t need the spotlight on her as a person who slept with her therapist.
I climb into my car and head home to drown my sorrows from this shitty fucking day.
I’m useless for the next several days as I’m lost in a haze of booze and depression. I always take time off work around this time of year. I’m no good to help anyone in my current state anyway.
The anniversary of her death is the hardest. This day, her birthday, and the holidays are like a straight knife to the heart and every time I do my damnedest to numb myself to the pain.
Miranda continues to hound me, calling me daily and driving me fucking crazy. It’s no wonder I can’t stop drinking.
I head into my kitchen to refill my glass despite it being the middle of the day. As I sit down on the couch, my phone vibrates again. I’m half tempted to answer the call, if only to ream Miranda, but it’s not her this time.
I do a double take, ensuring my mind isn’t playing tricks on me, but it’s not. The phone really does say Flynn.
Why is she calling me? She hasn’t made any attempt to contact me outside of therapy since I explained I ended things and thoroughly pissed her off. Still, I’m stuck in a moral dilemma. Do I cave to my wants and answer the call or do I stand my ground and keep my distance?
We have a session tomorrow, it can wait.
But if it could wait, wouldn’t she be waiting?
Before I can make up my damn mind, the phone still in my hand ten seconds later, it’s ringing again. Now I’m concerned and my mind is made up.
“Flynn, are you okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Her voice is distressed without even an ounce of sarcasm which shocks me to my core.
“What’s happening? Do I need to come get you?” I cringe. If she’s at home, I can’t go get her. I shouldn’t even be offering. But I’m just being a gentleman, right? Nothing more?
I can’t even tell anymore.
“Actually, can I come to you? I need to get out of my house right now.”
“Flynn—”
“It’s not about that, Liam. I’m not trying to win you back or sleep with you. I…I found something. And it could explain everything.”
“What does that mean?”
A heavy exhale shoots through the phone and into my ear. I can imagine her pacing her room, her fingers tugging through her raven strands. “I think I’m adopted.”
Eighteen
Flynn
“Show me what you found.” Liam opens the door looking like a goddamn mess and reeking of booze, but I don’t have time to worry about him right now.
I walk into his apartment with a bag of evidence to support my theory. I’m about to look like Charlie Day in the conspiracy theory memes.
“It started with comments here and there that my mom was making. How I’m ‘so much like my father it scares her’ when my dad is the human embodiment of a stick in the mud. Then you told me my diagnosis is generally genetic. When I told my mom, she got all weird about it. Like, she was questioning it and then got all tense and quiet. So I started digging.”
I dump out the few items I have from my purse. “It’s harder than I thought it would be, but it’s the little things. Like how I don’t look like my siblings when my brother and sister look so much alike. How they both have my dad’s bright blue eyes but mine are dark brown.” I place a bunch of pictures out, showcasing my tanned skin compared to my siblings’ fair complexions.
Liam picks up one of the pictures of me and my siblings, studying it hard. “Flynn—” he starts, his voice shocked, but I cut him off.
“I know, right? I never noticed it before but…those two are obviously brother and sister. They could almost be freakin’ twins. How could I miss that? It’s so fucking obvious.” I shake my head and Liam’s brows crinkle. “What is it?”
“This is your sister?” I nod, waiting for him to elaborate on why he’s acting so weird. I’d almost be concerned that he fucked her or something, but this is Carson we’re talking about and until recently, Liam was married, so I know they didn’t sleep together. “I just saw her—”
“Okay, that’s cool, but can we get back to my thing now? I’m kinda in the middle of something huge here. We can talk about my sister later.” He puts the photo down, though still scrutinizing it, but I put it away. I need him to focus on me right now.
“But Flynn, listen—”
“No, Liam. Please.” His lips snap shut. Whatever seemingly urgent thing he has to say about Carson can wait. “So, I pulled out my birth certificate and this is also weird. It reminded me of these comments my dad would make, how I was his miracle baby. After my parents had my brother Lucas, my dad got a vasectomy. Yet, here I am. I guess there’s still, like, a chance it could happen? But anyway, I have my birth certificate. Both my parents’ signatures are on it. It felt like a dead end, but I think it’s bigger than that. I just have this gut feeling, you know? Like everything is making sense. Why I’ve always felt different. Why I have all these issues. Everything is falling into place.”
“Do you think you’re just making these conclusions to fit a narrative you’ve created? It’s called confirmation bias. When you find evidence to support a theory you’ve concocted.” He waves his hands over the pictures and the myriad of documents lying across his table.
> “Don’t get all doctor-y on me right now, Liam. This isn’t all in my head.”
“Have you searched for adoption records or anything like that?”
“I did and nothing came up.” His eyes light up at the same time he grimaces. He has an idea, and from the looks of it, he doesn’t want to tell me what it is. “What is it?”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing. It’s far-fetched. We’ll circle back if we reach a dead end.”
“Where do you think I’m at, Liam? Short of buying a goddamn ancestry kit I don’t know what else to do. I can’t talk to my siblings about it. They’re all busy and perfect with their perfect lives and significant others. They’ll think I’m crazier than I apparently already am.”
“It’s just…it’s something you said. Your mom keeps making comments about your dad…what if your dad isn’t your dad?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…your mom making these comments obviously indicates she knows who your dad is. Maybe she’s your mom, but someone else is your dad.”
I throw my head back on a defeated groan. I was thinking the same thing; I just didn’t want to say it. “I think you might be right,” I admit.
Out of everyone in my family, my dad is the person I’m closest to. I’m daddy’s little girl, even with all the shit I’ve done and been through. He’s never wavered in his love and respect for me. Could this be why? Is he overcompensating for the fact I’m not his biological daughter?
“I have to talk to them.” I haphazardly grab all my papers and shove them back into my purse. Liam grabs my arm, stopping me from leaving.
“Maybe you should slow down a little. You’re angry and not thinking clearly. Jumping to conclusions like this is a bit rash.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I need to ask them. If there’s something they’re not telling me…I have a right to know.” I stand and pace. I’m ready to throw shit, shatter glass, break anything and everything in sight. “When the hell are these meds supposed to kick in? Aren’t they supposed to control my anger or something?”
“The medication takes several weeks to stabilize your neurochemical imbalances.”
I stare at him with one brow raised. “First of all, several weeks? What’s the point of this shit if it’s not going to do anything!” I kick a chair at his dinner table, pushing it into another.
“Okay. Take a deep breath. First, come back and sit down and leave my chairs alone. Second, if you run in there accusing them they won’t want to tell you anything.” I understand what he’s saying, but I’m pissed. I demand better than this. I shouldn’t have to piece together my life because my parents lied to me for the last twenty-one years.
But I don’t think Liam is going to let me leave his house until I placate him.
I sigh as I take a seat across from him and force my eyes downcast. “You’re right. I’m not thinking clearly. I have a twenty minute drive home where I can calm down and think of a plan. Thank you. I feel better.” I may be in therapy, but I’m not going to do a complete one-eighty after a few short weeks. I smile and push up, ready to leave, but he stops me. Again.
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” Yeah, actually, I think I did. “I know when you’re lying, Flynn. I’m not just your therapist, you know. I know very intimate details about you.” The way he’s dragging his gaze down my body is doing things to my head.
He shouldn’t be looking at me like that. He broke up with me, in his half-ass, copy-out way. He doesn’t get to look at me like that anymore.
“Let me go, Liam. You don’t get a say in my life anymore.”
“Did I ever get a say in your life?” I smirk. He’s got a point. “Why are you here, Flynn?”
“What do you mean?”
“You called me for a reason. You came to me. This may be a major revelation, but you could’ve waited to tell me in therapy.”
My cheeks heat. “You’re the only person I wanted to talk to about this. You know me. You know…things.” Despite all the drama between us, I feel connected to him more than anyone. I couldn’t go to my friends about this. They wouldn’t get it.
His hazel eyes are stormy, filling with sadness and regret. He opens his mouth and I’m desperate to hear what he has to say, but his phone rings. It’s sitting on the table between us, screaming at me. I can’t help but glance down at the noise; it’s a reflex. I can’t help reading the name on the screen.
Miranda.
“I guess you need to get that.” A mixture of sadness and anger flood through me.
“It’s the absolute last thing I want to do, actually.” I raise an eyebrow, wanting to know more. I assumed since he told me about the kiss that the two of them were working things out, getting back together.
I may be dying for information, but I have more on my mind to worry about than my therapist and his maybe-not-so-ex-wife.
He silences the device and I steer the subject back to me. “What do I do?” The least he can do is offer me some advice since he stopped me from storming out of here like a bat out of hell.
“I’m not telling you not to talk to them. I wanted you to cool off. Talk to them, don’t confront them. Don’t accuse them. Have a conversation.”
“I don’t think I can do that.” I crack a smile. Being rational isn’t exactly what I’m known for. “If this turns out to be true, I think I have a right to be angry.”
“You do. You have a right to all of your feelings, Flynn, but what matters is your reactions to those feelings.”
I take a minute to process everything. What I could really use right now is a drink, but thanks to my medication, I can’t even indulge in that.
“Can I be honest with you for a minute?”
“I’d prefer it.” He smirks.
“I really wish you could come talk to them with me.”
Nineteen
Flynn
I try some of Liam’s bullshit breathing exercises on my drive home. Turns out breathing practices are a total crock of shit. The longer I drive, the more I’m able to think everything over. My thoughts return to their original angry state and there’s a good chance that the minute I get out of this car I’m going to verbally attack my parents.
A very large part of me believes they deserve it.
I pull in my driveway and throw my car door open. I slam it shut and storm into my house. So much for staying calm.
“Hi, sweetheart.” My dad is in the living room, one ankle crossed over his knee, with the newspaper held up wide. He pushes his glasses down his nose to look at me and a smile pulls at his lips.
Part of me wishes I saw my mom first. It’s easier to stay angry with her. Instead, I crack at his warm smile and soft tone. “Hi, Daddy. Where’s Mom?”
“In the kitchen. Are you okay?” He sits up, clearly reading into my tenseness and aggravation.
“I need to speak to both of you.” My dad folds up the paper, his blue eyes narrowing.
“Honey, get in here. Flynn’s pregnant.”
“WHAT?” My mom screeches and runs into the room.
“I’m not pregnant.” I shake my head. My blood pressure returns to boiling when my mom sits on the couch beside my dad. “I need you to tell me the truth.”
“About what?” My mom sits up straighter. She looks nervous. It’s almost as if she has a sixth sense and knows what I’m about to say.
“Am I adopted?”
My dad laughs, a full-on throws-his-head-back, grips-his-stomach belly laugh.
“What? Of course not.” I dig into my purse and pull out my evidence.
“Then explain all of this. Explain how we look nothing alike. Explain how I’m a fucking basket-case with a mood disorder. Tell me, Mom, why do you keep making comments about how I’m just like my dad and it scares you? My dad, as if it’s someone different than Carson’s and Lucas’ dad. How did you get a vasectomy and Mom still got pregnant? Do you know how rare that actually is?” I’m shaking, throwing papers at my parents and with each point, my voice ge
ts louder and more shrill.
“Flynn, where is this coming from?” My dad is searching for an answer, glancing back and forth between my mother and me. My mom is still as a statue with tears building in her brown eyes. “Alice, tell her how ridiculous she sounds.”
“Chris,” my mom’s voice is watery. Something is becoming clear right now, to both me and my father.
“This isn’t—no.” My dad is shaking his head. His forehead is wrinkled as his brows angle into a deep v. He rubs a palm over his face, pulling at his chin.
“You didn’t know.” I fall back into the loveseat behind me. Never in my wildest thoughts did I imagine this outcome. I thought my dad was in on it. I don’t know what I thought happened, was it a one-time fling? Did my dad cheat first? Was my mom assaulted and kept me?
No matter the scenario, I thought he knew. I never imagined this. I never wanted this.
“Is it true?” My mom is crying now, swiping at her cheeks with both hands since my father let go of one of hers. “Dammit, Alice, is it true?”
“Yes.”
The one word that changes everything.
The tension skyrockets. I watch my dad crumble before my eyes. He’s horrified, staring at my mom like he doesn’t even know her. What’s worst of all, he can’t even look at me. He stands and storms to the back of the house, likely to lock himself in his office for the foreseeable future.
“Daddy.” He doesn’t stop. His steps don’t even falter as I call his name. I turn and glare at my mother whose cries are driving me into a murderous rage. She doesn’t get to be upset here. She did this to me, to us.
The only thing she can do is explain herself.
“I want to know everything.”
I follow my mom upstairs to her office. She digs around through her closet and in the back corner finds an unassuming box. If I saw it, I’d think it was old tax documents, not the key to my childhood. She places it on the floor between us and we both kneel down. Her hands are unsteady as they rest on top of the lid.
“Do you remember Jason, your dad’s old business partner?” I wrack my brain but come up empty. When I shake my head, her lips flatten and she nods in understanding. “That makes sense. You were young.”
Reckless (A Carolina Coastal Novel Book 3) Page 10