Since learning the truth, I’ve felt unsettled and incomplete.
Something is missing.
I’m not entirely alone in this world. I have people to love. People who love me.
Cannon. Ryan. Hannah. Julia. Even Jefferson.
Hannah is blood. The only piece of my sister I have left.
But it’s not the same. I have a father out there somewhere. A man who contributed half of my DNA. This knowledge makes me feel like I don’t know myself. There’s half of me that’s a mystery, completely unknown.
I read through the papers, familiarizing myself with the information again. I’ve repeated his name in my head a million times since I discovered the truth.
Luis Christian Hernandez.
I say his name out loud, the syllables foreign to my tongue.
A curse, or a prayer?
It’s impossible to know without learning more about him. His name has Spanish origins, so I’m assuming he’s of Hispanic descent. It could explain my naturally tan skin and a few of my more prominent features. Physical traits that didn’t come from my blonde, fair-skinned mother, and didn’t match the man I thought was my father.
I don’t have much else to go on, only that he’s from Blackwood.
Since mine and Ryan’s moms grew up together, I went to Julia with what I found, but she was just as surprised as me to learn about my paternity. She didn’t even recognize his name. She offered to ask around, talk to people she and my mother knew back in high school to see if anyone could remember him.
At the time, I wasn’t sure it would be the right move.
Now that I’ve been in Blackwood for more than a few weeks, I’m confident I made the right choice by asking her to hold back.
Let’s just say that word of mouth around here isn’t limited to business recommendations. People here like to talk. I prefer to keep my shit private. I’ve got nothing against the people in town, but they don’t know me, don’t need to know my personal business. Unless they’re talking about my tattoo business, I don’t want my name in their mouths.
Without giving anything away, I’ve kept an ear to the ground, listening for any type of information on the whereabouts of my father. My efforts have been wasted so far. I haven’t heard a single mention of his name.
Scrubbing my hand down my face, I drop the papers onto the desk and grab my phone. Scrolling through my contacts, I stop at the name of the man who should be able to get me the answers I seek. My thumb hesitates over the call icon.
I’ve been back and forth over this decision for months.
As much as I want answers, deep down I fear the truth.
Learning the truth about my sister—how she was a child conceived from rape—almost broke me. What if my truth is like hers? Do I really want to know?
Making my decision, I tap the icon and switch it to speakerphone.
I’ve never let fear of the unknown stop me from making moves before.
I’m not about to start now.
He picks up after two short rings.
“Hey, man. Heard about your sister. I’m sorry.”
I’m not surprised he knows about Elena’s fate. Over the years, he and I developed a friendship of sorts. The man probably knows more about me than I do. He’s the one who helped me find Elena several times and bring her home. Unfortunately, nothing we did ever helped. Our efforts were wasted.
“Thanks, Jake.” I take a deep breath and shake off any lingering doubts. “Look, I called because I need you to find someone for me.”
“Name?” He’s blunt and to the point, not one for bullshit.
“Luis Christian Hernandez.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s my father.”
His silence speaks volumes. I’ve thrown him for a loop, and I know it.
“I thought that loser, Robert, was your father.”
“Yeah, well...so did I. We were both wrong.”
THREE
Presley
Rain pelts my windshield as I drive to Derrick’s house.
Lightning flashes followed by a loud crack of thunder.
I smile.
This storm came out of nowhere it seems, but I’m not complaining. I love thunderstorms. They’ve always been calming for me.
I park in Derrick’s driveway behind his cute little ice blue Mini convertible and slip on my favorite “Nerdy girls have more books than shoes” hoodie. I dart through the rain to his front door, hitting the button on the key fob to lock my car behind me.
Halfway there, the door opening catches my attention and I bark out a laugh, almost stopping in my tracks.
Derrick waits for me at the open door, clad in white, one-piece bunny pajamas and the fluffiest pair of bunny slippers I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s got a wide smile on his face and a glass of wine in his hand.
I hurry inside, dropping my purse on the long bench in the entryway and taking off my wet hoodie. Seconds later, I’ve got a glass of my favorite red in my hand and I’m following Derrick into his living room.
“Pretty, pretty Presley. I’ve got all our favorite carbs. Pizza, pasta, and pastries.”
He waves his arm outward, motioning toward the table as if it’s the holy grail. For us, it is. My eyes drift across the table and my stomach growls in response.
“Bless your heart, you beautiful man. You’re the best.”
“And don’t you forget it!” He boops my nose. “Oh! I have something for you,” he says, hustling down his short hallway before I can ask what it is. He puts a little wiggle in his walk, which draws my attention to the huge fluffy tail on the back of his onesie.
I double over laughing.
It’s so unbelievably Derrick.
I open my mouth to ask how in the hell sitting on that thing is comfortable, but I quickly change my mind and zip my lips. I don’t wanna know.
He sashays towards me, something white and fluffy folded in his hands.
“Here! Go into the bathroom and slip into something a little more comfortable.” The statement comes with a dramatic waggle of his brows which makes me giggle. Derrick is the only one with the ability to get me to lighten up this much, to feel so carefree.
“Hurry! The carbs are calling!”
He trades me for the glass of wine and with a slap to my ass, I’m sent on my way. I walk to the bathroom with a smile on my face and unidentifiable fluff in my hands.
A few short minutes later, I’m suited up in a onesie of my own.
A panda.
When I get back to the living room, Derrick gives me back my glass of wine and nods toward something behind me. I turn around to find a matching pair of fluffy panda slippers waiting for me.
With a little squeal, I slip my feet into them and wiggle my toes.
“I think I’ll keep you,” I tell Derrick, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re my favorite.”
We load up our plates of carbs and settle comfortably onto the couch.
“I’ve been waiting impatiently. Tell me all the things. How was it? Are you terribly traumatized?”