My mother was beautiful, but she had looked sad even when she was smiling. Even in old photos of when she was very young.
“So you knew what my mother looked like,” I said. “That doesn’t mean anything. That doesn’t mean you’re my father.”
“You’re right. That’s not enough proof.” Knight wiped at the corner of his mouth, smearing the almost dried blood. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and drew out a photograph.
I stared at his outstretched hand and with a labored sigh, grasped the photo. It was a picture of Knight with his arm around my mother. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Twenty at the oldest. She’d died young, in her twenties. Frozen in youth. I was older now than she was when she’d died.
In the picture, Mom was looking up at Knight like he hung the moon. He was staring at the camera, full of swagger and youthful arrogance. He was nearly clean-shaven, but he had stubble.
My mind was spinning out of control. How was this possible? What were the chances of this happening? That I was meeting the man who’d sired me. I remember asking my mother about my father but she had given me evasive answers when I was a child, never fully explaining something that perhaps at the time I wouldn’t have been able to grasp anyway. Maybe she’d been waiting to tell me everything until I was older.
But she died before she got the chance.
Grammie had been just as cryptic about my paternity. I wondered if it was because she never knew.
I looked at Colt, whose face was expressionless. He wasn’t going to intervene or stop this conversation from happening. And if it derailed like a train on the tracks, then so be it.
“Did you know about me?” I blurted out.
Knight’s eyes went from grim acceptance that I was going to reject him to flaring with hope. “No. God, know. I had no idea. I swear.”
I got up from the couch, setting aside the photo on the cushion.
“Where are you going?” Colt asked.
“I need a drink. If we’re going to talk about my mother, then I need a drink.”
“Why don’t you guys take the office,” Colt said. “You’ll have more privacy in there.”
Knight nodded. “Thanks, brother.”
Colt rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for what Boxer did. He’s taken to Mia like an older brother. He was just looking out for her.”
Knight smiled. “No apologies needed. I’m glad she found you. Found the Angels.” He held out his hand to Colt who took it immediately.
They shook hands but said no more. Colt led us to the office. “Bottle of bourbon in the file cabinet. Under Z.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you do in your office? Drink?”
He smiled.
I smiled.
Even Knight smiled.
And then I remembered that I’d just found out my absent father was the president of the Coeur d’Alene Blue Angels.
Before Colt headed for the door, he pulled me into his arms and brought his lips close to my ear. “You need me, you call for me. Otherwise, I’m letting you handle this.”
I nodded. “How’d it go with Sanchez?”
“Tell you about it later. You’ve got other things to worry about.” He kissed my lips, sent Knight a look, and then he was gone.
Knight waited to see what I’d do. I wanted distance from him, yet I also wanted him to spill everything he knew about my mother. The mother I hadn’t gotten nearly enough time with.
I took a seat in one of the office chairs, keeping my posture stiff, my body alert. Knight tapped his fingers against his jeans, clearly nervous. Though why he was nervous, I couldn’t imagine. He’d already dropped the bomb that he was my father.
“I always thought my father was older,” I said, breaking the tension. “I mean, when I allowed myself to think about him, I always thought of a man in his sixties. Gray hair, you know? A guy who wore khakis and a polo.”