Page 47 of Filthy Secret

I tip my chin. The obvious change in subject needed, for me, for Nash, for Grover, doesn’t matter… it was just needed.

“This is my son, Adam.” I place my hand on top of Adam’s head.

Nash holds out his hand, and I watch as they shake. “I’m Nash,” he offers, speaking low and clear.

“Nice to meet you.”

Adam’s little-boy voice surprises me. Not because he’s being polite but because I can tell he’s trying to be a grown-up. He’s trying to be manly, like Nash and Grover. I didn’t know he was missing that. I didn’t think he needed a man in his life yet. I figured I had a few more years until it was a true need. But it’s clear to me in this moment that he needs a man to look up to.

He needs his father. And I need to come straight out and tell him the truth of it all. He needs to know that Adam is his, and Adam needs to know that he belongs to someone, not just me, but to Grover, too.

“Made pancakes. You want some?” Grover asks with a grunt.

Nash turns his head to look up at Grover, but before he answers him, his gaze shifts back quickly to Adam.

“Well, you look exactly like your daddy, especially when he was your age,” Nash announces.

My heart stops.

My breath stops.

My secret is out.

Oh. My. God.

I can feel Grover’s gaze on me. His eyes are burning my skin, but I don’t look at him. I can’t. Nash slowly stands to his feet, oblivious to the sudden change in the atmosphere. He moves past me, patting my shoulder as he does, and makes his way somewhere behind me, presumably into the kitchen or dining room, but I can’t move—I can’t even blink.

ATOMIC

My entire body jerks as my eyes fly up to look at the woman standing across from me. The way Nash says that Adam looks exactly like me at that age makes me pause. I’ve suspected since the moment I knew of his existence. The time line matches up, but then again, so does her story.

I don’t know if I was living in denial, not wanting to believe that it could be true, but now that he’s said it and she’s not denying it… is it true?

Is Adam Turner my son?

My flesh and blood?

“Ryan,” I rasp when she doesn’t look at me.

I’m staring right at her, unable to blink as I wait for her to lift her gaze to meet mine. I need her to look at me. Right fucking now. Slowly, almost as if she’s lifting her eyelids through molasses, her eyes find mine.

I realize in this moment as if I’m finally seeing clearly, for the first time since she walked back into my life, that she’s been keeping this from me. This is a secret that I’m not sure she was ever planning on telling me.

“Ryan,” I repeat, my voice a little harder.

Adam senses the tension, and without a word, he slowly melts into the background, no doubt to find some cars to play with or maybe to talk to Nash. Or maybe he’s scared shitless and running off to hide. I’m not sure, but I can’t tear my gaze away from this woman long enough to see where he’s run off.

“He’s yours,” she whispers.

My heart races, then it grows and practically explodes in my chest. I’m filled with pride, at the same time, rage flows through my veins as well. I’m a mix of about a hundred different emotions. I’m not sure what to say or where to begin.

“Please say something,” she says, pleading and begging all at the same time.

Three little words have never sounded so strained, and yet I can’t oblige her request. I take a step backward, lifting my hand and running my fingers through my hair. I’m not sure what to say about any of this.

What I want to say will no doubt send her off crying, but maybe that’s what she needs. I’m trying to be a better man, a better president, by thinking before I speak or react, but the only things I can think right now are laced with anger.

“You don’t want to know what I have to say, Ryan.”