The next morning, they rose early and went to Chad’s house—or their house, Lindsey supposed—to tackle some small projects. When Lindsey’s phone rang a little after nine, she looked up from painting yellow stars on the blue letter S—S is for stars—she’d soon be hanging in Daisy’s nursery. She recognized the DNA clinic’s number on her caller ID, but hesitated to answer. Did she even want to know who had donated the sperm for her child? What if the father wanted custody of Daisy? She didn’t have the financial means to fight a legal battle, and she already knew the best father for Daisy was Chad, DNA-sharing relation or not. Chad wanted to be Daisy’s father. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to make a nursery for her. It was the only room in the entire house that was completely done. He wouldn’t be sitting there painting whimsical letters instead of staining hardwood floors if Daisy didn’t matter to him. Jacob or Adam might not even care that she existed. So did it matter who’d actually gotten Lindsey pregnant? Three months ago, she’d thought it was the most important piece of information in the world, but she felt entirely different now.
“Are you going to answer that?” Chad asked as he painted the white daisy petals on the purple D—D is for daisies—he was working on. They’d started painting right after a breakfast of bagels and cream cheese, which they’d enjoyed on the partially stripped door supported by two sawhorses in the dining room. Now her phone vibrated noisily across the wood of the makeshift table as it continued to ring.
She didn’t want to answer the call—not at all—but knew the clinic would leave a message and she’d have to call them back anyway.
She took a deep breath, pressed a button, and held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Good morning,” a man said. At least it wasn’t that rude woman who’d called the first time. “May I ask who I’m speaking with?”
“This is Lindsey Parker.”
After verifying her identity with her birthdate and the last four digits of her social security number, he said, “We have the results of the paternity test.”
“I’m ready.” But was she? “Go ahead.”
“The sample we received from J. Silverton was negative.”
No. She whimpered and covered her belly with one hand. But that meant . . .
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Daisy was Adam’s.
Fuck.
“Okay,” she managed to say. She disconnected using a shaking finger.
“You okay?” Chad asked. “You’re pale.”
She was glad she’d been sitting down when the news came.
“That was the paternity test results.”
“Oh,” he said flatly. After a moment, he set his paintbrush aside and took her hand. “Do you want to tell me or—”
“It’s not Jacob’s, so that leaves Adam. Adam is Daisy’s father.” Saying it aloud didn’t make it feel any more real.
“I see.” Chad rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand in a soothing, repetitive motion that served only to unnerve her further. “Are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Hot tears leaked from both eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She dashed them away. What good were tears? They didn’t change anything.
Chad slid an arm around her back, and she stiffened. She didn’t want to be comforted. She wanted different test results.
“It’s not so bad,” Chad said, his deep voice soothing. “He’s a good-looking guy. Incredibly talented.”
“He’s a drug addict, Chad. I don’t want him around my daughter.”
“That’s not fair,” he said. “Adam’s been working on getting clean for a couple of years now. You haven’t even given him a chance.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Daisy’s,” he said. “I want whatever is best for her. Whose side are you on?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “My poor baby. Her life is already complicated, and she hasn’t even been born yet.”
“She’ll be loved and cared for, that’s what’s important.”
Lindsey sat quietly, trying to sort through the tangled mess of her thoughts. Chad held her hand and let her stew. She was so glad he was there to support her and to challenge her thinking. She had the tendency to see only from one perspective.
“Do you think Adam will try to take her from me?” She hated to voice that fear aloud, but that was what was really bothering her.
“I honestly think he won’t want anything to do with her, but I hope I’m wrong.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Lindsey said. “That kind of guy has no business being a father.”
“You’re being awfully judgmental,” Chad said.
She scrunched her face up, wishing she could deny the truth in his words. “I’m sorry. I should tell him and see what he says. And then I can deal with any issues that come up.”
“We can deal with them. I’ll be with you through it all, angel. This doesn’t change how I feel about you or her.”
She scooted from her chair into his lap and pressed into him, wrapping both arms around his body. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life. You’re so good to me.”
He kissed her forehead. “You’re good to me too.”
“How can I ever repay—”
“Don’t say it.”
She snuggled closer to him. She’d forgotten that her trying to repay people for helping her was one of his triggers, but she would repay him. By being as good to him as she knew how to be.
“Should I call him?” she asked, shifting to look Chad in the eye. When Chad didn’t answer right away, she nibbled on a fingertip. Unable to take the silence between them, she said, “Or maybe I should tell him in person. If you were in his shoes, what would you prefer?”
“What’s easier for you? I think he’s going to baulk no matter how you deliver the news.”
“Texting would be easiest, but that’s pretty impersonal.”
“I’m not the best person to ask for advice,” Chad said, nuzzling her ear. “I selfishly hope he makes a run for the border, and I’m not exactly known for sharing information with others.”
Understatement of the century. But she understood why he kept certain secrets locked inside.
“I’ll give it a day,” she said. “Let the news sink in a little.” And strengthen her resolve a bit. Bec
ause the thought of telling Adam Taylor that he was going to be a father made her feel sick.
Chad kissed her softly and helped her shift back into her chair. “Have you decided what I’m supposed to paint on the Y yet?” he asked.
She loved him for changing the subject.
“Nothing too complicated. I suck at this.”
His daisies looked remarkably good to her. “Yaks.” She said the first y-word that occurred to her.
“I can’t paint yaks,” he said. “How about yo-yos?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, paint yo-yos or paint yes because it starts with y?”
“Paint yo-yos. That’ll be cute. How about ice cream for I?” She pulled the green letter I toward herself.
He gave her an encouraging smile. “Perfect.”
She was so glad they weren’t talking about the elephant in the room anymore. She needed time to process.
Adam Taylor was going to be a father.
Chapter Sixteen
Chad settled his residual limb into the socket of his newly adjusted prosthetic leg. His prosthetist, Keith, worked Chad’s stump into the silicon sleeve using a plastic sock that he pulled out—one tug at a time—through a little hole near the knee. It felt weird having the flesh of his thigh siphoned into the silicon cuff, but it was the only way to get a secure fit. Chafing—he’d been told—was a serious issue that could result in him not being able to wear the leg until his skin healed again, so the device couldn’t move around.
Once his limb was fitted into the sleeve, Keith showed him how to seal it tight by using a valve near the knee. The prosthesis fit snugly—there was no way that sucker would fall off—but it was no longer too tight, as it had been at Chad’s first fitting.
“Looks good,” Keith said. “How does it feel?”
“Good.” Chad was so eager to try it out, he might have lied even if it hadn’t fit right. “Great. It feels great.” Constrictive and odd, but great. Like freedom. Like opportunity. Like a new beginning.