Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I swallowed. “I just got a really weird email.”
“Don’t send any money to Nigeria.”
“It’s not that.” My throat was dry and scratchy, and my vision was a little gray at the edges. I glanced down at my phone again, and the words were all still there.
“What is it?” Jackson came into the conference room, his forehead wrinkled with concern. “Did you get bad news?”
“I’m not sure what kind of news it is.”
“Barrett, quit fucking with me.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but . . .” I met his eyes again. “I think I might have a son.”
The voicemail was brief. “Hey Zach, just wanted to confirm that we’re all set for lunch tomorrow. I made a reservation at noon, and I’ll text you the restaurant name and location. Hope Italian is okay. Lori and I are really looking forward to meeting you. Safe travels.”
I wrote a quick reply, saying I heard the message and lunch sounded good. I’d see him at noon tomorrow.
Setting my phone aside, I packed up the charger and added it to my carry-on bag. Sure, Italian is okay, I thought. What better occasion was there to enjoy spaghetti and meatballs than when meeting your grown son for the first time?
My stomach muscles clenched up the way they always did when I thought about sitting across the table from him. Having to make conversation. Having to make an excuse for myself. Did I owe him an apology if I’d never known of his existence?
As I pulled the pieces of my suit from the closet and packed them in a garment bag, I thought about the day the results of the paternity test came back indicating Mason Holt was my son.
Although I’d had a gut feeling that was the case, I still felt panicked. That wasn’t a feeling I was used to. Years of having to keep calm and stay focused in situations that could derail in a hurry meant I was equipped to deal with surprise. I always knew what to do—put myself aside and protect others.
But who needed protecting here?
Mason Holt was a complication I didn’t need in my life. I’d never wanted children, and now I’d have to feel guilty about having one I’d never known about. I’d have to feel shitty for abandoning Andi without even a goodbye. I’d have to grapple with the knowledge that her life had been forever altered by what we’d done—her dreams abandoned—while my life had gone on as planned.
I’d spent my entire life wanting to fight bad guys. Was I one of them?
After one sleepless night, I called Mason the next day. That initial conversation was awkward as hell, mostly just me giving stiff, automatic answers to his questions, which were pretty basic.
Where’d you grow up? Cleveland.
What was your family like? Parents divorced when I was ten. I lived with my mom.
Did you like being a SEAL? Yes.
Why’d you quit? Got wounded.
Where do you live now? San Diego.
Are you married? I was. Didn’t last long.
Do you have kids? No.
What do you do? Work private security.
My only hesitation came when he asked if I had brothers or sisters. After a second of silence, I said no.
Then I glanced out the window of my apartment, and for a moment, I saw her standing there, a little girl with pigtails and chubby cheeks, a butterfly T-shirt and huge, trusting eyes.
I blinked and she was gone.
“Me neither,” he said. “I was an only child too. We have that in common.”
I’m not sure what was said after that, but we began emailing back and forth a couple times a week and talking by phone every Sunday.
In the beginning, I was doing it out of obligation, but after our first few talks, I found myself genuinely interested in him. I relaxed enough to ask him about his childhood, his hobbies, his job, the girl he was going to marry. He said he’d always been close to his mom, who had always worked two jobs and made sure he didn’t lack for things. He’d put himself through college. I liked that.
He didn’t press me for details about my relationship with Andi, and I wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t want to scare me off or he didn’t want the answers. Mostly he seemed interested in talking about the present.
During our third or fourth conversation, he told me more about his fiancée, Lori. How outgoing and smart she was, how much she knew about wine, how she was always volunteering for things, what a good mom she would be. “She’s really amazing,” he said. “I’m just glad I had my shit together when I met her. If I’d met her sooner, I wouldn’t have been ready. I had so much baggage to work through.”
“Sounds like you have a good therapist.” Mason had mentioned therapy a few times, and it seemed like it had helped him. I’d had the opposite experience, but then again, I’d never liked talking about my feelings. My parents got tired of paying for me to sit in silence for an hour.