Secret Daddy: A Second Chance Romance

by Scarlet West

  Secret Daddy

  A Second Chance Romance

  Scarlet West

  Copyright © 2019 by Scarlet West

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Fake It, Baby (Preview)

  Prologue

  Drake

  I let the newspaper fall to the floor. The pages slid over the tiles, making a whispering noise I could hear clearly in the silence.

  So peaceful. A far cry from my Bridgeway home.

  In my hometown – a tiny mining town called Bridgeway, Illinois – the traffic had pounded down the main road outside, grunting and grating. It had filled the place with noise and a fine dust that settled on everything if you left the windows open. Here, in New York, I was on the eighteenth floor. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. It wasn’t just the height, either, the thick walls helped, as did the stylish furnishings and carpets. I felt cushioned in my luxury, screened from the outside world.

  Who would have thought that I would end up here? In New York?

  My acting career had blossomed in the past five years, surprising nobody more than myself. A glance in the mirror on the wall made me frown. With a square jaw, wavy brown hair and green eyes, I wasn’t too bad to look at. But my rise to stardom had been completely unforeseen – at least by me. Who would have thought that a boy from Bridgeway would be staring in the Manhattan Theater District?

  “Come on, Drake. Stop being nostalgic. You’re too young for it.” I was only twenty-nine, after all. But today I felt nostalgic, and it was all because of the newspaper article on my hometown.

  “It’s a mess, Drake. The town is dying.”

  Talking to myself was a new habit, too, I noticed. Probably a result of having lived by myself for too long. Not that I was living celibate; far from it. Plenty of girls went through my apartment – even more when we had a premiere– but I’d never felt like settling down.

  The truth was, I had never met anyone I wanted to settle down with. Nobody since her.

  Trina Clarke.

  I closed my eyes, letting my mind recall the day I met her. It was summer, a sweet, warm day, with the smell of cut grass overriding the stench of gasoline and dust. I was nineteen, about to head off to college. She was eighteen and finishing high school, the twin sister of my best friend Tom.

  I remembered her big blue eyes with the flecks of green in them, her hair that sweet clover-honey shade of brown. Her full-lipped mouth that was so good to kiss that just thinking of it made my body long for her.

  “Stop it, Drake. You’re being ridiculous; that was ten years ago now.”

  I stood up off the couch and went through to the kitchen. Coffee. That was what I needed. We had finished a shoot a week ago and I was still trying to catch up on sleep.

  I made coffee, stirring in a teaspoon of sugar. Suddenly, vividly, Trina was in my thoughts again, this time in the café on Stanley Street, the day of our first date. I remembered the way my stomach had tightened up with nerves as I pulled back her chair, the way she’d smiled up at me as I ordered coffee and laughed when I made a funny joke. I had been so proud to be able to make her smile. And so nervous.

  I had never talked to anyone for four whole hours before, but with Trina everything was so easy and comfortable. I remembered walking her home, and how I’d risked leaning in, right at the end, and kissing her cheek. She had looked into my eyes and then we had really kissed for the first time.

  I fell in love with her quickly.

  I chuckled, though even to me I could hear the sadness in it. Trina and I had made love much later in our relationship. She wasn’t my first lover, but she was the best. And I was her first.

  And then I’d behaved like an ass.

  I sighed again, and looked out the kitchen window, trying not to dwell on that part of the story; the miserable part. I had been full of dreams; college, acting, a career. Trina had chosen to stay and get a job; her family were not exactly rich, though they lived okay.

  I knew I was going to leave, and so I gently cut ties. Started seeing less of her, and less, until I’d all but disappeared. And then I left town.

  “Which means, Mr. Drake Stone,” I told my reflection in the window, “that there’s no route back.”

  I had messed up with Trina, and I might as well forget about her. And the past. And Bridgeway.

  Except the mining-town was dying, the mines dried up, the laborers finding work elsewhere if they could. And I couldn’t let that happen. I owed the place more than that.

  1

  Trina

  “What time do you want to go back?” I asked my daughter Amelia as I looked up from where I scrubbed coffee stains off the floor.

  Sitting at the table, eating a peanut-butter sandwich, Amelia shrugged and swallowed.

  “Don’t know, mom,” she said. “Soon?”

  I chuckled and stood up, stretching my sore back. I tucked a strand of brownish hair behind my ear and wiped my hands on my apron.

  “Two o’ clock?” I asked. I checked the clock on the wall. It was one pm. I had a busy afternoon ahead of me; clients to see, and then my brother planning a visit around five.

  “Is Greer going to be there?” Amelia wanted to know, interrupting my planning.

  I shrugged. “I guess, Millie,” I said, and went to the sink to start washing dishes. I glanced at the clock again. In half an hour I needed to get back to work. I shook my head to clear it. Why was I so tired today?

  Skyler had better be here soon, or I’m going to have to call Mrs. Harris to drive Millie over to her place. I really didn’t like Mrs. Harris. She was well-meaning, but a real busybody sometimes. And I didn’t like busybodies. My daughter’s paternity was something I kept hidden from everyone, even my brother, Tom. I wasn’t about to divulge the story of her conception to anyone, especially not Mrs. Harris. No matter how much she insisted on asking pointed questions.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?” I rinsed a pot and slid it into the dishwasher, wondering if I’d made enough stew for dinner tonight.

  “Can I go to Greer’s party?”

  I tensed. Parties meant expenses; a new dress for Millie, and a present for whoever’s birthday it was. But Greer was Millie’s best friend. And Skyler – my best friend – was her mom. We could work something out between us.

  “Sure,” I said. “I don’t see why not.”

  “Whee!” She wiggled in her seat, nine-year-old face lit up with joy. Jumping up to put her plate aside, she came and hugged me around the waist. “I love you, mom.”

  I swallowed hard, wrapping my arms around her and holding her close. I could make her day bright with a few words. It made me feel good.

  “I love you too, baby.”

  She grinned up at me, all blond
e flyaway hair and big soulful green eyes. I kissed her forehead and turned sharply away, feeling my throat tighten with tears.

  She looks exactly like her father.

  It was weird but the more Millie grew up, the more obvious the resemblance to her father became. At birth, nine years ago, it had just been her eyes that signaled her as Drake’s baby. But now, with her face a softened heart-shape, her jaw determined, just like his, she was his spitting image.

  “What’s wrong, mommy?” she asked, looking up at me, a small frown on her brow.

  “Nothing, honey.” I sniffed, turning away so that she wouldn’t notice I was tearing up again. “I was just thinking, is all.”

  “Stop thinking sad things, mommy,” she said authoritatively. “It’s too nice outside for being sad.”

  I grinned. “You’re right,” I said. What would I do without her? In so many ways, she was my salvation.

  “Yes,” she said, knowingly, then ran out of the kitchen to go and get ready.

  I heard her scampering up the hallway, and her feet heading up the wooden stairs to the room that had been an attic but was now her bedroom. She giggled and flopped onto the bed. I heard the mattress squeak and I smiled to myself, glad that she at last had her own pink and purple painted space.

  It had been hard to find our place, but I was proud of it. Our new flat had three rooms and the attic, and it was snug and cozy and reasonably quiet and safe.

  I finished with the dishes and went through to the sitting-room, checking the windows were closed and the safety bars slid across. It was sad, but Bridgeway was starting to become dangerous. When I was a kid, theft and muggings were rare. Now, they were an everyday thing.

  At least, I thought, bending to plump up a cushion and move a small pink cardigan off the couch, the neighborhood around us was a safe one. Tom had been relieved too, when I finally moved from the small, cramped place on Stirling Avenue.

  “Tom worries too much.”

  “What, mommy?”

  Amelia had reappeared, dressed in the white-and-blue dress Tom had bought for her. My twin brother treated Amelia like his own daughter. He’d never asked me questions, never probed or challenged my choice. Even when Dad had threatened to disown me, when I’d gotten pregnant, Tom had stood by me, quiet and supportive.

  “Nothing, baby,” I said, smiling. “You look so cute.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Cute is for babies,” she said dismissively. “I look pretty.”

  “Well, yes,” I said, stepping around the couch to stand before her, my hands on her shoulders. “You do. Very pretty.”

  “I wonder if Gray will be there.”

  “Who?” I stared.

  She blushed. “Gray Stanton. He’s a boy.”

  I bit my lip, trying hard not to smile. Something in my chest melted a bit. My daughter was becoming interested in boys?

  “What, mom?” she sounded defensive. I saw her green eyes squinting up mistrustfully.

  “Nothing, sweetie,” I said, letting my grin loose at last. “I’m sure Gray will be there. Is he a friend of Greer’s?”

  “No!” she sounded cross. “Or, not really.”

  I studied my fingers carefully. Greer might be Millie’s best friend, but where boys were concerned, the girls would probably be rivals soon enough. I tried to think of something neutral to say.

  “Will you wear that to the party?”

  She blushed. “Maybe,” she said. Her fingers twisted in the hem of the dress and she moved from side to side, shyly.

  “Great!” I said, smiling sincerely. The ringing of the phone interrupted the conversation.

  I ran to the hallway, grabbed my purse and took out my phone. My best friend Skyler’s voice came through the airwaves, with the sound of traffic in the background.

  “Hi, Trina! I’m outside waiting for Millie. Is she ready?”

  I frowned at Millie. “You ready to go?”

  “Yes!” she said, jubilant. I grinned and nodded.

  “Yes,” I said. “In case you didn’t hear that, she’s ready. Are you at the corner?”

  “Yes,” Skyler called. “I’ve just pulled off. Engine’s still running.”

  “I can hear that,” I called. “Millie? I’ll walk down with you, okay?”

  She sighed. “Yes, mom.”

  I said my goodbye to Skyler, then slipped on a light coat and unlocked the door. Millie was starting to chafe at my being protective, seeing it as babying her. I didn’t feel like I was being anymore than necessarily careful. Together, we walked down to the car.

  “Auntie Skyler!” my daughter greeted her. “Hi! Is Greer there?” She was peering hopefully through the windows of the truck.

  “Greer’s at home, sweetie,” Skyler said, getting out and opening the door to the passenger seat. “You look pretty.”

  My daughter blushed and turned away. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She climbed up into the pickup and shut the door.

  Blonde hair scraped back, piercing blue eyes fixed on me, Skyler gave me a grin.

  “See you on Saturday for the party?”

  “Probably,” I said. I had six clients to see on Saturday morning, so I wasn’t sure if I could make it.

  “Great,” Skyler nodded. “You look stressed, Trina.”

  I shifted position, feeling self-conscious. “I’m just tired,” I said.

  “You work too hard,” she said.

  “And you?”

  She giggled. “I like working hard. It’s good for me.”

  I grinned at her. “Don’t keep it up too long, huh? You need a rest.”

  “I’ll get a day off on Saturday. For the party.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. The idea of having fifteen ten-year-old kids running around my house was not my idea of a relaxing day off. She grinned and nodded.

  “See you Saturday,” she called, then went around to the driver’s door and climbed in. “Bye!”

  “Bye! Bye, Millie!” I yelled, waving as the pickup lurched and then pulled away from the curb, heading briskly out of sight.

  When they’d gone, I went back to my house, feeling strangely lonely. I walked briskly to my bedroom, heart thudding with fresh stress, dragged a brush through my hair and quickly touched up my makeup. I drew fresh dark eyeliner around my blue eyes; just a touch, nothing too garish.

  When I was done, I headed swiftly down the street toward the salon. Seen from the street, it looked just a little shabby. It was still called “Gina’s”, though nobody named Gina owned it now. My boss, Sloane, owned it. I liked working for her, though sometimes I found her demands stifling.

  I wish I could own my own salon one day.

  That was my dream. I could see the place in my mind’s eye; cream and brown, with proper padded seats for the clients, and nice modern décor. The cutting capes would be bright colors and the cuts we offered would be modern and cool.

  “Trina!” I saw Sloane appear in the doorway.

  “Sorry,” I puffed, pausing in the doorway to catch my breath quickly. “I had to drop Millie off at a friend’s.”

  “I know, Trina,” my boss looked upset. “But you have a client waiting. I need you to be here on time.” ”

  I sighed. Feeling embarrassed, I looked at my shoes a moment.

  “Yes, Sloane,” I said.

  “Great,” she said firmly. “Now, let’s get going. Mrs. Parkhurst?” she called to our client. “This way, please.”

  I went to get to work.

  While I cut, I found myself daydreaming. Millie’s face swam before my thoughts, overlaid with the face of her father. I sniffed, surprised by the effect that it still had. Drake was someone I tried not to think about too often. It was getting harder, though, as Millie grew.

  I wondered if he ever thought about me?

  I could have been mad at Drake for what he’d done; leaving town and leaving me, without even thinking about the fact that our relationship might have had results. But somehow I’d never quite managed it.

  Drake didn’t th
ink about it because it’s not his nature. He doesn’t really think much. Not because he didn’t care for me.

  I wanted to believe it. I didn’t want to think badly of him. I didn’t want to believe that all the times he’d said he loved me forever were a lie. I think that’s why I never told Tom.

  If he’d known Drake was the father, he’d have killed him. So now nobody knows the story. Except me.

  And now each day I saw him in his daughter’s face.

  “Trina?”

  I blinked, coming into sharp focus. My client had turned to ask me a question and I’d barely heard her. I swallowed, glancing towards Sloane.

  “Yes?” I asked, relieved Sloane hadn’t seen me.

  “You think I should keep dyeing my hair? Or let my natural grey take over?”

  I shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of a good answer for the question I dreaded. “Um, well, I think that your hair is still in excellent condition,” I began my answer carefully, “but if you want to stop dyeing it, I think you’d look great.”

  I fumbled my way through an answer, scarcely aware of what I was saying.

  My client left shortly after, seeming pleased with the results and the advice. I cut two other client’s hair after that, and we were getting around to closing time.

  “Trina?” Sloane called, coming in from the back room with a broom. “Could you tidy up in here? I have to take stock this evening.”

  “Sure,” I said, and glanced at the clock. It was ten past five.

  My mind suddenly flashed to my plans. Tom, calling me on the phone this morning, asking if I was going to be home at five because he had a surprise.

  “Oh, for…”

  I managed to stifle the expletive that came to my mind, grabbed the broom and hastily swept up the hair that littered the floor. Then I ran to the storeroom to find Sloane, heart thudding.