Page 5 of Eleven of a Kind

“She never married?”

“No. She didn’t have great taste in guys. No offense. They were all pretty much losers.”

“How did she make a living?”

“She was a waitress mostly. She did get a job once as a secretary, but that didn’t last long. Her boss wanted her to do more than secretarial work, if you know what I mean. We didn’t have much money, but we didn’t need it. We had each other.” Tears filled her eyes as she looked away from me.

“Hey.” I reached over to place my hand on hers, and she pulled it away.

“It’s cool. Like I said, shit happens.”

The sliding door opened, and Grayson walked in.

“Hey, bro. I got here as soon as I could. “Who’s this?” His brows furrowed.

“This is Riley. She says she’s my daughter.”

“Excuse me? What did you just say?”

“Riley, this is my twin brother, Grayson.”

“Hey, Uncle Grayson.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Grayson asked as he took a seat at the table.

“Her mother is Ariana Livingston,” I said.

“Oh shit. How old are you, Riley?” Grayson asked.

“I just turned fifteen.”

Grayson’s eyes widened as he looked at me. Riley reached into her backpack, pulled out a picture, and slid it across the table.

“She kept this all these years.”

I picked it up and stared at Ariana and me with our arms around each other on the beach in Hawaii.

“I took that picture,” Grayson said.

“Riley, why don’t you go check out the pool or go down to the beach while my brother and I talk.”

“Okay,” she said as she stood up and walked out the sliding door.

“Bro, what the fuck?” Grayson said. “There’s no denying she’s yours. I cannot believe how much she looks like Ariana.”

“I know.” I sighed.

“You told me that night after the two of you had sex that the condom broke, and you were worried.”

“Yeah, but she left two days later, and I never heard from her again. So, I stopped worrying about it.” I ran my hand down my face. “What the fuck am I going to do, Grayson?” I stared at him with panic in my eyes.

“Where’s Ariana? How did Riley even find you?”

I told him everything Riley had told me.

“Shit. Just to make one hundred percent sure that she’s your kid, you’ll have to do a paternity test. But you and I both know the outcome already,” he said.

I stood up from my chair, poured myself a scotch, and downed it.