Page 101 of Baby Daddy

At the mention of my father, my chest tightened painfully.

“He hasn’t disowned me yet?”

“Darling, why on earth would you say that? Your father loves you. He was worried.”

Her heartfelt words genuinely surprised me. I scooped up another spoonful of soup. “How’s Dad?”

“Truthfully, he’s suffering more than you.”

“Because the Saxton deal collapsed?”

“Hardly.”

My brows shot up.

“He feels terrible about that evening. Terrible for that lovely girl who had to endure so much humiliation.”

I was stunned into silence.

“Drake, darling, perhaps you don’t know this, but your father was hoping you might settle down with Dee. While you were away with her in New York, he grew extremely attached to her adorable little girl.”

“He did?”

“I wish you could have seen the two of them together. He doted on her. It was so incredibly sweet. They cuddled together and watched cartoons. He read her bedtime stories every night and acted out all the parts. They played hide-and-seek. He took her to the park after school and taught her how to play checkers. They even baked thumbprint cookies together…something your father used to do with your sister but hasn’t done since she left us. Your sister was the apple of your father’s eye…he adored her and took her loss way harder than I did. I think in many ways Tyson reminded him of Mia and filled the void in his heart that’s burdened him all these years. I haven’t seen him so happy in ages.”

As my mother shared this narrative, I could picture my father doing all these things. Suddenly, I saw him in a new light. A softer, kinder one that only the magic of a little girl like Tyson could turn on. I knew because she’d done the same to me. Dr. Brown was wrong. Broken hearts did run in our family.

I imbibed a few more tablespoons of the soup, each one more fortifying than the one before. Impulsively, I shared my nightmare with my intuitive mother, tweaking it slightly so that it was only Tyson on the boat. With all the drama that had gone down in the past week and my weakened state, this was not the time to tell her about my sperm-donor past.

“What do you think it means, Mom?”

“You can’t let the boat sail away and sink. That little girl was crying out for you. It’s not too late. Go after her. She is meant to be yours.”

Yours. Mine.A new reality was sinking in.

By Friday, I was feeling a lot stronger. At least, physically. While I still had a nagging cough, it was nothing like it had been. My throat and head no longer hurt and my appetite was back. A sharp pain, however, lingered in my chest. Heartache. I’d tried to both call and text Dee, but to my dismay, she’d blocked my number. After taking a shower and shaving for the first time in a week, I decided I would drive over to her house with the hope of seeing her. Scratch that. With the hope of winning her back.

Though Westwood, where I lived on the prestigious Wilshire Corridor, was quite a distance from funky Silverlake, basically the other side of town, I made it to her place in no time because I’d beat rush hour traffic. It was only 7 a.m. I was sure she’d be home with Tyson.

After parking my car in front of her house, I headed to the front door. I was a little surprised her truck wasn’t parked in the driveway. Only her sister’s Mini occupied the space. Maybe it was in the shop for repairs or she had to take Tyson to a doctor’s appointment or something. A mix of nerves and hopefulness coursed through my veins.

I rang the doorbell. I waited. No response. I rang it again, this time twice in succession. No response. One more time and then I banged loudly.

“Dee…are you there? It’s me, Drake.” BANG, BANG, BANG. Desperation set in. “Please, Dee, open up!”

The door finally swung open. But it wasn’t Dee who stood before me. It was her sister, Lulu.

“Drake, what the hell are you doing here?”

With a heavy breath, I met her gaze. Daggers were shooting out of her eyes. Dressed in skimpy boxer shorts and a Mighty Dicks T-shirt, her hair a wild mess, she had that just-fucked look going on. But that enviable look didn’t mask her rage.

“Is Dee home? I need to talk to her.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. Her look became more intimidating. Daggers became poison darts.

“She’s away with Tyson.” She paused for a second. “She needed to get away. Away from you.”

“Where is she?”