For a good chunk of her childhood, Brynn thought that’s what all dads were like. But as she got older she realized that a lot of fathers actually lived at home with their families, and if they didn’t, they often showed up more than once every other year.
After being assigned a family tree as a school project in third grade, Brynn had used the opportunity to question her mom about her father. Shea explained to her that Brynn’s father had another family that he lived with.
At the time, Brynn took her mom’s statement at face value and hadn’t questioned the moral or emotional repercussions of the bomb that her mom had dropped on her. She’d just accepted it. That lasted until she was a teenager and curiosity had gotten the better of her. So she’d Googled him. And with one click of her mouse, her entire life changed. Her rose-colored glasses cleared and any innocence that she’d had was stripped from her.
Her father, Ramsey Wilson III, was a senator from Massachusetts. He had a wife and four kids. One of those kids was a daughter who was born exactly six days before Brynn. She’d sat in her room and clicked through image after image, photo op after photo op of his “perfect” family and reality came crashing in on her.
From that day on, she hadn’t wanted anything to do with the man that she’d inherited half of her DNA from. Within six months of that discovery she was pregnant and married. She didn’t need to use her degree in psychology to figure out the significance in the timing of that. She’d wanted to create what she never had.
A family.
The last time she’d had any contact with her father was when he’d stopped by two days after Ryder was born. She’d told him to stay away from her and her son. He didn’t even put up a fight, he’d just walked out of the apartment, above her mom’s garage, where she, Max and Ryder had lived.
That was thirteen years ago and the time had gone by in a flash. Days, weeks, even months would pass and Brynn wouldn’t think about her father or his family.
Then about a month ago a news story broke. Her father had been a witness to a shooting. The news reported that her father had been having a private after-hours dinner in a five star restaurant with one of his top campaign contributors. He left the table to make a phone call and when he returned not five minutes later he saw the man slumped over the table in a pool of blood. The news services also reported that an unidentified source close to the investigation revealed that Senator Ramsey Wilson III was able to give a description of the shooter and that the FBI was conducting a nationwide manhunt for the fugitive who was a known hit-man and wanted by the FBI.
That same day she’d received a call from Ramsey saying that the FBI would be keeping him and his family off the radar for a while.
His life had turned upside down and she was relieved that she and Ryder had no ties to the man. His name didn’t appear on her birth certificate, and as far as she knew, her mother had never told anyone of her paternal secret.
The only people Brynn had told were her two best friends, Ali and Jess. And that was only recently, since the story broke. She knew neither woman would ever tell a soul, so her secret was safe.
Her mother had been calling regularly to “check-in” with Brynn which always dissolved, rather quickly, into discussing whatever sensational headline had been revealed that day. Brynn would tell her mother she didn’t care and that he had nothing to do with her, which Shea would ignore completely or even defend Ramsey saying he was her father and nothing would ever change that.
It had always seemed strange to Brynn that her mom had no animosity toward the man that had left her to raise a child on her own. But, the truth was, Brynn felt no ill will toward Max, either. Just like her mother, she didn’t hold the man that she shared a child with accountable for anything.
And people wondered why she’d wanted a degree in psychology.
Brynn dipped her toe into the water to test the temperature and a smile tugged on her lips. It was just hot enough to cause a prickling sensation to break out on her skin, but not so hot it actually burned, which was in her estimation, perfect.
“No,” she preemptively chastised Lucy AKA The Destroyer, her adorable, yet highly mischievous pug before slipping into the tub.
Lucy had never grown out of her “puppy stage” of chewing everything in sight. Especially if it was cotton. She’d eaten more towels, shirts, and blankets than Brynn wanted to think about.
As the heat of the water enveloped her, she gave her munchkin-faced mutt the side-eye to make sure she stayed in her designated corner of the small bathroom. The two-by-two square area she was banished to was far from temptations like toilet paper, the trash, and her plush robe.
When she saw the resignation in her pug’s big brown eyes, she relaxed into bubbly heaven. Just as she was reaching for her Kindle, her phone buzzed again. A quick glance told her it was her mother. Again.
I need to talk to you.
She hadn’t checked the headlines today but she assumed it was something related to her father.
Brynn had no interest in following her father or his story. To her, he was little more than a sperm donor. She was done talking about a man that hadn’t been in her life for over a decade. And now she knew more than ever that she’d made the right decision to cut him off all those years ago.
She ignored the message and tapped her Kindle and the cover of her new book filled the screen. Since she hadn’t had anything remotely resembling a love life in years, Brynn lived vicariously through the romantic lives of the characters in her beloved romance novels. The heroes in these stories never let her down and no matter how difficult the heroines’ circumstances might be, they were strong and always just kept swimming.
She set the device in the holder of the bath caddy and lifted up her wine glass. Her fingers wrapped around the thin stem and she tilted her head back as the fruity, sweet liquid filled her mouth before trickling down her throat as she prepared to lose herself in happily-ever-after.
Just as she was about to be transported into another world, her phone rang. A quick glance revealed that it was her mother. Again.
“Oh, for the love of Pete.”
A frustrated sigh fell from her lips as she sank into the water until it was just shy of her nose. She thought about continuing further beneath the bubbled surface, dunking her head and screaming as she stomped her feet Pretty Woman style, except her tantrum would be born of frustration whereas Vivian’s was out of pure, unadulterated glee.
She opted instead to answer the call. She pressed speaker.
“Hi, Mom. I was just taking a b—”