Surprise Daddy: A Billionaire Doctor Accidental Pregnancy Romance

by Hunter Rose

  At the time, I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see her again. She’s from California; I’m from Chicago. We had a brief intersection in Syria that was incredible, and in some ways, life altering, but I didn’t ever think our paths would cross again, and I didn’t want either of us walking through life in a sort of relationship limbo.

  Are we together? Are we not together? Am I supposed to wait for her? Is she waiting for me? I didn’t want either of us to have to try and answer these questions on our own. Hell, I didn’t want either of us having to answer these questions at all. As far as I was concerned – or at least, what I’d somehow convinced myself to believe – was that what we had in Syria was it for us. That we wouldn’t ever meet again.

  But life sure has a funny way of kicking you in the balls, doesn’t it?

  The silence stretches on between us, and I see Scarlet folding in on herself. As if she regrets asking me to meet her for coffee in the first place. Why she did makes me curious. I mean, after the frosty reception I got the other night, I would have thought the last thing she’d want is to see me again.

  But I’m glad she did. It gives me a chance to get some things off my chest. Things I’ve wanted to say for the last four years but never had the chance. If nothing else, this gives me an opportunity to put some closure on things for myself. After all, given that she’s got a family of her own now, I don’t see that I’ll have a chance for anything else.

  It’s a thought that hits me harder than it should. I mean, shit, it’s been years. Did I really think she was going to remain single? Did I really think she wasn’t going to move on and build a life for herself?

  “So, are you still nursing?” I ask, just as a means to break the ice with her.

  She nods. “Yeah, I’m working at a hospital down in Orange County.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad,” I reply. “You were always a great nurse.”

  Our words are slow and choppy, each of them punctuated with an unspoken tension. It’s the sort of stupid small talk you’d make with a stranger. Not somebody you shared a genuine connection with. But then, I guess that’s what we are to each other after all these years – strangers. It makes me think back to the first night I met her in that crappy little bar.

  Our first words to each other back then were filled with tension, too. But it was a different kind of tension. That had been more of a dance between us, each of us testing each other’s boundaries in a way. I think, even back then, I knew there was something special about her. I didn’t understand it then – I’m not sure I understand it now. But – it doesn’t matter now. I managed to fuck it all up, and I know I’m not getting a second bite at that apple.

  Now, the tension between us is the kind that can only be formed out of the ashes of a ruined intimacy. The sort of tension that can only be earned through hard feelings and resentment.

  “You’ve got a beautiful family,” I offer. “You seem happy.”

  She looks up at me with the strangest expression on her face. But I’m not sure what it is or how to interpret it. She quickly blinks it away and clenches her jaw. I can see that she’s really grappling with something incredibly heavy. I would kill to know what it is.

  “I’m happy for you, Scarlet,” I continue. “Kinsey’s a beautiful little girl. I’m sure you’re proud.”

  She nods. “I am.”

  I know that it’s unlikely I’ll ever be sitting at a table with her again, and this is my only opportunity to say what I want to say. This is going to be my only chance to explain why I didn’t contact her, so I know I need to just bite the bullet and do it.

  “Listen, I know how ridiculous this is going to sound after all this time,” I start. “But I’m sorry I didn’t contact you after I left that hospital in Syria. I wanted to.”

  She finally raises her head and looks at me. Her cheeks are flushed red, and I can see her eyes shimmering with tears she’s fighting like hell to keep from falling. The pain I caused her is obviously still very near the surface.

  “Then why didn’t you?” she finally asks.

  I let out a long breath and take a sip of my coffee. I’m only stalling, though. I know exactly why, but I’m having a hard time actually forming the words. I wear my cool indifference around people like armor. Nobody ever gets inside of the emotional walls I keep around myself. I distance myself from everybody.

  But Scarlet was able to part them with ease. She was able to close the distance I keep people at. Around her, I let myself be open. Vulnerable. And it felt right. It felt good. And as I look into those dazzling jade green eyes, I realize it still does.

  “Honestly, I was afraid to let myself get more attached than I already was,” I admit. “I knew the chances of us meeting again were slim, and I was afraid of – getting hurt.”

  It’s a tough thing to admit. There are few things I genuinely fear in life – when you hold everybody at an arm’s distance and never get too close to anybody, you find there aren’t many things left to be afraid of.

  Scarlet looks at me through narrowed eyes, and I can see the anger in her face building. Clearly, my words aren’t doing anything but pissing her off even more.

  “And you didn’t think that totally ghosting me was going to hurt me?” she hisses. “Oh no, that’s right. Doctor Roman fucking Wheeler only thinks of himself. Fuck my feelings, as long as you didn’t let your fragile little ego get bruised. It’s all about you. Always has been, right, Roman?”

  She isn’t exactly speaking quietly. Given that there are maybe a dozen people in the coffee house, Scarlet’s voice carries more than normal. I can feel the heads turning and eyes falling on us. I clear my throat and lower my voice, hoping that Scarlet follows suit.

  “Scarlet, something you don’t know is that I wanted to call you. I wanted to email you. But I couldn’t –”

  “Because of your delicate little ego,” she spits, cutting me off.

  She’s so hostile that I feel my own anger welling up within me. It’s like a defense mechanism or something – somebody comes at me, I come back at them even harder. It’s admittedly not my most flattering trait, but it’s one I haven’t been able to control either.

  “No, because the base I was stationed at after I left Syria was attacked,” I snap. “My tent and all of my belongings along with it – including my phone with all of your contact information – were incinerated by fucking mortar fire. I couldn’t have called you even if I fucking wanted to – which I did, by the way.”

  My words give her pause, and she sits back in her chair. She opens her mouth to say something but then closes it again. Scarlet looks down into the dark liquid filling her cup as if it holds all the answers she’s seeking. Or maybe she’s just giving herself a minute to come up with another rant to unload on me. I have no fucking idea what’s going through her mind.

  When she looks back up at me, something about Scarlet’s expression has changed. The anger is still there, just below the surface, but it’s secondary to the other overwhelming emotion etched into her every feature – fear. I have no idea why she’d be afraid, but the stark terror on her face is undeniable. What could she possibly have to be afraid of?

  Scarlet takes a long swallow of her coffee, still not meeting my eyes. I can see her trying to control her thoughts and emotions, my curiosity more than piqued. She’s obviously got something to say, so since this is her show, I’ll let her play it out how she likes, in her own time.

  But when she finally speaks, she turns my entire world upside down.

  “She’s yours, Roman,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Kinsey. She’s your daughter.”

  My mouth falls open so wide, it practically hits the tabletop. I stare at her in the deepest, most profound shock I’ve ever felt in my life. I give myself a small shake. I can’t possibly have heard her right. It’s just not possible. Three little words – ‘she’s yours, Roman’ – and life as I know it is over. Forever.

  “Come again?” I ask.

  “Kinsey
is your daughter, Roman,” she repeats. “Conceived that night on the rooftop in Syria.”

  Her expression is guarded and fearful. It’s as if she’s waiting for me to have some sort of meltdown or something. And truthfully, I could be on the edge of a breakdown. Honestly, I don’t know what it is I’m feeling right now. Shock doesn’t actually begin to cover it.

  “H – how could that be?” I sputter. “We were safe. We used a –”

  “It obviously didn’t work.”

  I pick up my cup and take a swallow of coffee, trying to buy myself a minute to process the information she just served up for me. My mind is spinning, but I can’t catch a single coherent thread of thought – let alone hold onto it. As I stare into my coffee cup, one thought wriggles to the top of the pile of questions in my head. It’s a thought I’d rather not have, but now that it’s in my head, I can’t seem to shake it.

  “And you’re sure she’s – mine?” I question.

  Her eyes widen. She stares at me with an expression of outrage on her face. I know why she’s upset. It’s an insensitive question to ask. And I know that she’s not the kind of woman who sleeps around. That’s not her thing. At the same time, though, I have to be sure. I have to know. Which means I had to ask the question, whether it upsets her or not.

  “What in the hell kind of question is that?” she hisses. “You son of a bitch. Who do you think you are?”

  “Scarlet, I –”

  “No, what in the hell do you mean by that, Roman?” she spits. “What, did you think, I was out there fucking every guy who showed an interest in me?”

  “No, of course not, I –”

  “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t have asked me that question,” she growls. “Fine. Do you want a DNA test or something?”

  “Scarlet, I –”

  “No, seriously, if it’ll ease your mind and prove that I’m not just trying to screw you out of your money –”

  “Enough!”

  I slam my fist down on the table hard enough that the cups rattle loudly, cutting her off. A spoon that was sitting near the edge falls off and hits the floor with a ringing clatter. The coffee house falls silent, and all heads turn our way. Scarlet looks at me, her gaze unflinching, the fear melting away and being replaced by a white-hot anger.

  I don’t believe for a second that Scarlet is the type who’d try to bilk me out of money by telling me her daughter by somebody else is actually mine. I know she’s not like that. And I know the questions I’m asking her are unfair, and I understand why she’s upset. But in my defense, to have something that heavy dropped on me, out of the blue like that, caught me completely flat-footed. I’m not caught off guard very often – and I’m usually pretty quick on my feet – but this is something totally different. This has left me completely rudderless and adrift, flailing about with no sense of where the shore is.

  Scarlet gets to her feet, her face red and brimming with anger. She slings her bag over her shoulder and glares at me.

  “I told you because you have a right to know and telling you is the right thing to do. That’s it. That’s all. I don’t want a damn thing from you, and I especially don’t want a dime of your money,” she growls. “If you choose to have a relationship with our daughter, that’s your choice. But personally, I’d prefer it if you stayed out of her life – and my life – forever.”

  Scarlet turns on her heel and storms out of the coffee house, slamming the door behind her, rattling the bell above the door violently. My anger and frustration – colored by a powerful fear – swells within me. I look around the coffee house and see everybody turn away quickly, not wanting to catch my eye lest they incur my wrath. Which is smart. In my current state of mind, I’m not sure what I’ll do.

  I lean back in my seat, still trying to process the fact that I have a daughter. I have a daughter. No matter how many times that phrase runs through my mind, it still doesn’t feel real. I don’t know if it ever will.

  16

  Scarlet

  “I can’t believe you’re taking his side,” I growl.

  Tyson shakes his head. “I’m not taking anybody’s side,” he says evenly. “This isn’t a matter of taking sides.”

  “Then what is it you’re saying?”

  The sun is slipping toward the horizon as we’re sitting on a bench in the park watching Kinsey playing in the sand. Tyson has been out of the hospital for a few days, but he hasn’t felt up to getting out of bed until now. So after getting a bite to eat, we took a walk to the park to enjoy a bit of fresh air and what’s left of the dying light of the day.

  It had been a nice evening out – at least until my best friend sided with that arrogant asshole.

  “All I’m saying is put yourself in his shoes for a moment,” he explains. “What would you think if somebody from your past showed and dropped the baby bombshell on you? What would you do, honey?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who told me he has a right to know,” I snap.

  “And he did have a right to know,” Tyson responds. “But he’s also got a right to feel a certain way about it.”

  I sigh and lean back against the bench. I watch my little girl drawing circles in the sand as she sings a song to herself. The logical side of my brain is telling me that Tyson is right. I should have expected some sort of reaction from Roman. I mean, yeah, I guess that is a pretty heavy burden to drop on somebody all at once.

  But the emotional side of my brain is shouting something else. It’s telling me to rage, to yell, to scream, and throw things. It’s telling me that I made a big, fat mistake by telling Roman about Kinsey. It tells me that my first instinct was right, that I should have kept my baby girl close by and hidden from him.

  Basically, my thoughts are completely scattered. I’m a hot, jumbled mess.

  “It’s not that he kind of freaked out about it that bothers me. It’s that his first reaction was that I was trying to scam him that bothers me,” I explain. “It’s the fact that he questions whether or not Kinsey is actually his – like I’m just some whore running around screwing everybody that moves.”

  “I’m sure that’s not what he meant to imply,” Tyson says.

  I look at him. “How would you know what he meant to imply?” I snap. “You don’t even know him.”

  A small frown touches Tyson’s lips, and I feel bad. I know I’m being a bitch and Tyson doesn’t deserve that. He didn’t do anything. I’m just lashing out because I’m pissed off at Roman. I shake my head, feeling miserable.

  “What am I going to do?” I groan.

  “About what?”

  “What if he wants a relationship with her?”

  “Then let him have a relationship with her,” Tyson nods. “It may not seem like it, but I think it would end up being good for both of them. And honestly, I think it might end up being good for you, too.”

  “I told you, I don’t want his mone –”

  “I’m not talking about his money,” Tyson cuts me off. “I’m talking about having somebody who can pitch in and help you. Somebody who can give you a break from time to time.”

  I shift on the hard bench. “Help me?”

  He nods. “Yeah, maybe you don’t have to do everything on your own anymore,” he offers. “Maybe you can even have a life of your own. I mean, when was the last time you had a full weekend to yourself?”

  I hadn’t thought about it like that before – leave it to Tyson to be level-headed about everything. Leave it to him to make some sense of it all. He’s annoyingly good at that. I think about it for a moment, and as appealing as the idea of maybe going out and having a life of my own might be, the thought of Roman being anywhere near my daughter turns my stomach and sours any good feelings I might have initially had about the idea.

  Maybe it’s petty. Maybe it’s irrational. But I just don’t want Kinsey having anything to do with Roman fucking Wheeler. It’s like he’s got a stink I don’t want rubbing off on my little girl.

  “Come on, let me walk you
home,” he says.

  “Kinsey, sweetie,” I call. “Time to go home.”

  She smiles wide and waves at me as she gets to her feet and brushes the sand off her pants. Taking her hand, I guide her out of the park, and we make our way back to the condo, my thoughts continuing to swirl.

  After saying goodbye to Tyson, I get Kinsey ready for bed and say goodnight. I pour myself a glass of wine and walk out onto the balcony and take a seat. The condo is on the fourth floor and overlooks a park. As I sip my wine, I watch some kids playing with their dog and a few couples walking hand in hand as the evening grows darker around them. Without the light on, nobody can see me sitting up here, but I can observe everybody down below.

  There is a cool breeze blowing that carries the salty scent of the ocean just a few blocks away. I enjoy living so close to the ocean. Though I’d much rather have a view of it from my balcony, being able to smell it will suffice. At least for now. I’m bound and determined to have a house on the beach. One day I’ll make it happen.

  Halfway through my third glass of wine, I’m feeling a bit calmer, and somehow, my head is slightly clearer. I feel like I’m starting to relax for the first time since Roman walked into Tyson’s hospital room. There’s nothing like a little wine to settle the frazzled nerves.

  As my body relaxes, though, so too does my mind. And as it relaxes, it unsurprisingly drifts to thoughts of Roman. He seems to be taking up a lot of real estate in my head these days. I have to admit that he looks as good today as he did all those years ago in Syria. He’s still as fit and toned as he was all those years ago. He’s still got the same strong jawline I remember, and the same ice cold blue eyes that send a chill through the core of me. The only difference I can see is that he’s got a touch of gray at the temples he didn’t have before. But I think it makes him look more – distinguished.