Accidental Daddy: A Billionaire's Baby Romance

by R. R. Banks

  Her voice trails off, but she doesn't need to finish her statement. I know what she's going to say. It's a feeling I know all too well. And ever since my marriage fell apart and I came back to Sheridan Falls, I felt like I'd been living under a cloud of shame and failure. I felt like I'd somehow let them down and that if they were alive, that they'd see me – differently.

  Once upon a time, I'd been the Golden Child. I was the one who could do no wrong. I was a good student. Didn't get into trouble. Had a plan for my life and was working hard to achieve it. And somehow now, it felt like the roles had been reversed. Brooke was the responsible one. The hard worker. I had no doubt that if they were alive, they'd be beaming with pride when they looked at her. And it's a thought that makes me happy.

  My only fear though, is that if they were alive, they wouldn't look at me that same way anymore. That they'd see me as less than. Or maybe I'm just projecting my own feelings about myself onto them. I have no idea.

  All I know is that I'm proud of my sister and whether she's comfortable with it or not, I'm going to make sure she knows that every chance I get. Brooke gives me an awkward smile and I can tell that she wants this praise-fest to end. I decide to let her off the hook – for now.

  “So,” I say. “I guess I'll get to the inventory.”

  Chapter Ten

  I put on a sweater and head into the cooler. I figure I'm going to get this part out of the way first and then count what's in the store room later, and give myself a chance to thaw out. I'm nothing, if not practical.

  Clipboard in hand, I step into the cooler and start counting. It's cold as hell and my breath is coming out in steamy plumes, but I'm going to suffer through it. Even though it seems to make her deliriously happy, I can't let Brooke do everything around here.

  Counting inventory is a tedious and monotonous task – one that I don't really need to have my brain fully engaged in. Which, of course, gives my brain plenty of time and space to wander off.

  My brain immediately shifts to the conversation I'd had with Dana at the coffee house. About the mental and emotional block inside of me – or as she so colorfully put it, my orgasmic constipation.

  And of course, as I replay the conversation over and over again, my mind immediately goes to – him.

  There is hardly a day that goes by that I don't think of him in some form or fashion. It took me some years, but I finally managed to take away the sting and hurt his memory always wrought inside of me. For the most part, anyway.

  I know that after all this time, bearing even the slightest sting is probably silly. Most people would have probably gotten over it and moved on by now. And for the most part, I have gotten over it and moved on. But I'd be lying if I said there wasn't still a hole in my heart because of him.

  He was my first love. The first man who ever made me feel whole and complete. The man I really thought I'd be spending the rest of my life with. Most people would say I'm ridiculous for actually believing that. Young love never lasts, they'd say. They'd tell me that your first love is usually not the love you end up growing old with.

  But they didn't know us. They didn't know our feelings. Our thoughts. They didn't know our bond. We weren't like other young, immature couples when it came to love. There was a connection between us that was deep and abiding. It was the kind of intense, passionate connection that usually only couples who'd been together forever talked about. There was something about the love we shared that wasn't the normal, angst-filled infatuation of teenagers. When we talked about being together forever, we'd meant it.

  And then he was gone. Like a ghost. Like he'd never been.

  And I was left to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart and my life, wondering what I'd done to drive him off. To make him disappear from my life without a reason, without so much as a goodbye. Why he'd chosen to sever that connection between us so thoughtlessly. So cruelly.

  That bond had been so intense and so real, that when he took it away – the way he took it away – I felt myself break. The hole inside of me was more immense than the Grand Canyon. For so long, I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. It seemed like all I could do was sit in a dark room and cry.

  As ridiculous as it seems to me now, there were more than a few occasions when I thought about ending my life. I'd gone so far as to steal a bottle of sleeping pills from my mom with the intention of climbing into a warm bath and taking all of them.

  But, I obviously hadn't. As painful as life was, I realized that I didn't want to die. But I knew that if I wanted to live, I was going to need to find ways to cope with the hurt and the loss I was feeling. Find ways to overcome my grief and depression. I knew that I was going to have to find a new way to live all over again.

  In a way, he was why I'd become a therapist. In seeking to find answers for myself and ways to put my heart back together, I'd come to love the field. I'd come to want to help others in crisis, as I had been. As others had helped me.

  As I sit there and think about it, I begin to piece a few things together in a way I hadn't before. This blockage within me – this orgasmic constipation as Dana so eloquently calls it – could it be because of him? Could he be the source of this holding pattern Dana believes I'm in? Because of the feelings still within me?

  Of course, the problem went well beyond not being able to orgasm with a man. It was that I could never let myself fully commit to somebody. I could never give myself over to somebody entirely – heart, body, and mind. Dana was right about me always having one foot out the door in any relationship I'm in. I don't mean to and I really do try to commit myself to them. Sometimes, I've even managed to fool myself into thinking that I had.

  But then, reality always sets in and I find myself listless and treading water again. It never fails. I know it's not fair to them. Hell, it's not fair to myself. But, it is what it is. That's where I'm at right now. Deep down, I know myself well enough to know I haven't gotten all the way beyond him. Not even after all these years. But I also know that I've found ways to cope. To deal with it.

  Once upon a time, whenever the mere thought of him crossed my mind, it was enough to reduce me to a puddle of heartbroken tears. Now though, there are days when there is still a dull ache in the very center of me – but those have become increasingly rare.

  Thankfully.

  “How's the inventory going?”

  Brooke's voice cut into my thoughts and gives me a start. My pulse quickens and I spin around quickly.

  “Sorry,” she says. “Didn't mean to startle you.

  I shake my head. “No, sorry,” I reply. “Just lost in my head. I didn't hear you come in. Inventory's good. Just about done.”

  I quickly count the last couple of cases and jot it down on the clipboard and hand it over to my sister. She glances at it and nods – and I get the impression that she already knew what she needed to order and was simply giving me some busywork to appease me. But, that's fine.

  “Great, thanks,” she says. “Listen, there's really not a whole lot to do here. Rhonda's super-efficient and kind of didn't leave much for you to do. And we close in a couple of hours anyway, so you can go ahead and knock off if you want.”

  I look at my watch. “Wow, after a whole hour, huh? I think you're working me too hard, boss.”

  Brooke giggles. “Shut up,” she says. “I'm sorry, I know we both own this place and I've just kind of taken over everything here –”

  I shake my head and cut her off. “No, Brooke,” I say. “I'm actually really happy to see that you've just kind of – flourished here. I mean, before I left for school, I was kind of worried about you. About your future.”

  “Yeah, I didn't take a whole lot very seriously back then.”

  “But now – look at you,” I say. “You've really turned things around and have gotten yourself together. You've really blossomed, Brooke.”

  Her cheeks turn a bright shade of scarlet and she looks away quickly. We're a lot alike in that we don't take compliments or praise very well. But knowing th
at we're a lot alike, I know that deep down, it pleases her immensely.

  “Mom and Dad would be really proud of you, sis,” I say. “Really, really proud.”

  She looks at me and her eyes are shiny with tears. Stepping forward quickly, she pulls me into a tight embrace, so I squeeze her back. After a moment, she steps back, wiping her eyes as she tries to gather herself.

  “Thanks, Abby,” she says after a moment. “That means a lot.”

  I reach out and give her hand a gentle squeeze. We stand together in a silence that's a little bit awkward, but full of emotion.

  “Well,” I say. “I guess I'm going to take off then.”

  She nods. “Sounds good.”

  “Call me,” I say. “If you can squeeze me in, let's have dinner soon.”

  “Definitely,” she replies. “There's a new sushi place that opened up and I'm dying to try it.”

  That's just another of the many changes in my sister. I remember a time when she would have rather died than try sushi. She used to say that she'd rather eat warm cat vomit than raw fish. It was a stance she refused to budge on even after I explained that not all sushi was made up of raw fish.

  Just another example of my little sister growing and maturing.

  “Oh hey,” she said. “Are you going to Rick's funeral on Saturday?”

  I shrug. “I don't know,” I say. “It's not like we were good friends or anything. We didn't run in the same circles. I feel like I might be intruding if I show up.”

  “It might be weird if you don't show up,” she says. “Maybe you weren't good friends, but you were still friends.”

  “Rick was friends with everybody in town,” I say. “I really doubt my attendance is going to be noticed one way or the other.”

  She shrugs. “Sheridan Falls may be growing, but we're still a small town,” she says. “People notice things like this. You don't show up and that's when all the rumors start. You know how some of these old biddies are.”

  That much was true. Sheridan Falls had almost doubled in size between the time I'd left and the time I'd come back. But it still retained that small-town feel. And one of the big features of small town life was everybody being in everybody else's business, gossip, rumors, and innuendo. It was entirely possible that if I didn't show up, one of the town gossips would conclude that I'd been having an affair with Rick and couldn't bear to be there at the same time as his wife.

  Rumors don't need to be logical – or even accurate. They simply need ears to listen and mouths to pass it along. Which, some people were more than willing to do. But then, the other factor was that I didn't really care what people thought of me.

  “I don't know,” I say. “I might.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Caleb

  I crest the hill on Miller's Road and get my first glimpse of Sheridan Falls as it is today. A dozen years had passed since I last set eyes on the town and it's barely recognizable to me now. I see some of the old landmark buildings, of course. I still recognize large parts of the town I grew up in. But now, it's easily two or three times the size it was back then.

  Sheridan Falls has quite obviously boomed while I've been gone.

  Miller's road lets me off onto the appropriately – yet incredibly cliched – Main Street, which cut through the center of town. Back in the day, Main ran from one end of town to the other. Sheridan Falls wasn't dinky, not even back then. But it certainly hadn't been a major city. Not that it is now, but it's much larger than I recall. And with all the new growth, I can't say for sure where Main ultimately leads to now.

  I drive slowly down Main, looking at all the new shops that line the street. There had been a time when everything on Main was a Mom and Pop shop. All local stores owned by local business owners. And while there were still many local shops, Main was now littered with a lot of the big-name chains you see anywhere else in America.

  Granted, I no longer have a dog in the fight here, but I hate seeing Sheridan Falls go corporate. Part of the charm of living in this place was the small town feel of it. Back then, it seemed like one of the only places in the country the corporations hadn't been able to infest. So, seeing the big-name chains replacing some of the small-town stores, was a little bit depressing. No place was safe from the infection of corporate America.

  I hate to admit it, but as I drive along the street and take in some of the old scenery, there is a part of me that misses Sheridan Falls. A small part of me, anyway. It's sometimes tough to recall, but I do have some good, fond memories of life here. They're buried under the avalanche of terrible memories, but they're there.

  Turning down a small side street, I pull to the curb and kill the engine. I sit for a minute, just reflecting on life in Sheridan Falls – and still not believing I was back. Especially after vowing that I never would be. But then, that brings to mind the reason I'm here – and I suddenly feel my heart grow heavy once more.

  “Dammit, Rick,” I say softly. “You know I don't want to be here. Especially if you're not.”

  I get out of the car and make sure to feed the meter. I figure that since I'm back, I might as well soak in the town a bit again. I have plans to meet up with Mikey and some of the guys, but that's not until later. I sort of want to get acclimated to the place again. Not that I'm going to be here all that long or anything. But as long as I'm here, I figure that I might as well take the nostalgia tour.

  I walk down Main and peer in some of the shop windows, glad to see that there are still some old places I recognize. Across the street is the burger place I used to hang out at after school and after games. I smile as I remember that I had my first kiss in that joint, actually – freshmen year, after a football game. I strain my mind but can't come up with her name though.

  Still, it's a fond memory and I can't help but smile at the thought of it.

  I stop in front of Douglas' Sweets Shop – my favorite ice cream shop in all the world. Honestly, I haven't found a place with better ice cream or dessert treats. And frankly, I'm surprised it's still around. Old Man Douglas was pushing seventy when I still lived here. He had no kids – none that I knew of, anyway. Maybe there was some other family member I didn't know about who took over the shop. Hell, for all I knew, maybe Old Man Douglas was still alive and running the store.

  One way to find out. The old bells over the door still tinkle when I stepped inside – just like they had way back when. And just like it had back then, the shop was filled with the most delicious aromas imaginable. My mouth was watering just standing inside the store – just like it had all those years ago.

  I look around the shop in wonder. Barely anything has changed. It's like Douglas' was preserved in a time capsule or something. It has the same dark wood, the same glass cases, and of course, the same outstanding array of sweet treats.

  Talk about a wave of nostalgia smacking you in the face

  A young woman with a dark ponytail, soft pale skin, and a t-shirt that's probably a couple of sizes too small, comes out of the back and flashes me a warm smile. She's probably either still in high school or just out of it. She was about the only thing that was different inside the store – that and the rock music playing over the speakers. Old Man Douglas always believed that kids shouldn't be working – that they should be out having fun being kids. And so, he very rarely hired anybody still in school.

  “What can I get you?” she asks.

  I look around at the cases, stuffed full of amazing looking goodies and realize that I've been so caught up in my reverie that I wasn't really paying attention. I give my head a small shake and look at the girl again.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yeah,” I reply. “Sorry. I used to live here and was just kind of taking a trip down memory lane.”

  She nods as if she understands, though she's so young, I doubt she can actually relate. For her, a trip down memory lane isn't likely going to go any further back than her prom or something like that.

  “The man who used to own this shop – M
r. Douglas,” I say. “Is he still around?”

  The girl gives me a soft smile. “No, unfortunately, he passed away about five years ago,” she says. “Before he did though, he sold the shop to my dad.”

  I nod and feel a twinge of sadness about the old man's passing. He could be gruff sometimes, but he was a good man. Honest. Kind. He frequently handed out treats to the kids for one reason or another. I know I'd been the recipient of the old man's treats on far more than one occasion – probably because he felt sorry for me. It's not like I had some mystical bond with the old man or anything, but he was always pretty cool to me and I appreciated him for that.

  I motion around the shop. “But you guys didn't change anything in here,” I say. “It looks exactly like it did back in the day. Even the name.”

  The girl shrugs. “My dad said it was best to not screw up a good thing,” she says. “He said that the shop had thrived for forty years, so there was no need to fix something that wasn't broken.”

  I chuckle softly. “Your dad is a wise man.”

  “Sometimes, I guess,” she says and smiles – and I can tell that she might put up a front, but she's an absolute daddy's girl.

  “Well,” I say. “How about a double scoop of mint chip ice cream on a sugar cone?”

  “Comin' right up.”

  I walk around and look inside some of the cases as the girl gets my cone ready. I can't help but smile as the memories come flooding back to me. Memories of good times. With good friends.

  “Cone's up,” she says.

  I pay for my cone and thank the girl before heading back out onto the street. I taste the ice cream and laugh out loud – making a pair of elderly women passing by give me a strange look. The ice cream is every bit as good as I remember.

  “It's the simple things in life, ladies,” I say to the old women. “The simple things.”

  They shake their heads and mutter to each other as they hurry on by. I continue walking down the street, munching on my treat, letting the nostalgia and memories wash over me. It's surprising to me – all of the fond recollections. When I left, it was with a sour, bitter taste in my mouth and nothing but anger clouding my mind. I was sure there was nothing for me in Sheridan Falls but hurtful, painful memories.