Page 71 of Accidental Dad's Best Friend

There’s no one there. Just a manila envelope on the ground.

I pick it up and quickly close the door. If I remember right, Ethan said the envelope on his desk was manila. I take a shaky breath and open it, pulling out a glossy photo. It’s the baseball game. The kiss on the Jumbotron. If I had to guess, it’s the same photo Ethan got. The only difference is, the one I’m holding in my hand is marked up with a Sharpie. Across my face, in red, is the word ‘slut’. And below that, in all caps, is a threat–

STAY AWAY FROM HIM.

My hand is trembling so bad I drop the photo on the ground and back up. I rush back to the bathroom to find my phone, just in time for it to start buzzing.

Ethan is calling.

“Ethan!” I blurt out, falling to my knees on the tiles. But before I can say anything else, he cuts me off.

“Why does Jaxon have my last name?”

Chapter 26

Ethan

The phone goes dead on the other end. Izzy is completely silent. If it weren’t for the sound of her jagged breathing, I would have thought she hung up on me. So I ask the question again.

“Why does Jaxon have my last name? And don’t you dare fucking say he doesn’t. I found his birth certificate.”

“Ethan I…I was going to tell you. But something happened. Someone was at my house, Ethan.”

“Don’t change the subject!” I bark out. I have been sitting in my office for an hour, ever since I found the photos on my desk. It’s dimly lit, only my desk lamp on, and I may or may not have commandeered the bourbon bottle from Liam’s office too. But I stop at one drink, realizing that no amount of alcohol is going to numb the aching in my heart. I feel like I’ve been drawn and quartered and I’m still alive.

“How did you find his birth certificate?” She asks.

“You lived in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Isabelle. It wasn’t hard to do.”

“But why were you looking him up?!” She snaps back, her voice shaking.

“I wasn’t! There was a photo from the hospital on my desk. I saw his name. Jaxon Ethan Savage. Is it true?”

“I…” she trails off, her words drowning in sobs.

So I reword the question we both know I am asking. “Is. Jaxon. My. Son?”

Her answer is quiet. Meek. Absolute. “Yes.”

“And you’ve known all along? Or were there other men and you just slapped my name on there hoping the dollar signs would be in the fine print?”

“What? No! Jax is your son. I am positive. There was no one else. There couldn’t be anyone else.”

Fuck.

The way she says the last part implies so much more. But I don’t like it running to my head. She lied. She hid the fact she had a kid for five years. And then, even when I found out, even when I met him and spent time with him and grew to care about him, she still kept it from me. Blood boils to anger, flooding out any soft feelings of “maybe” in its wake.

“So what was your plan, Izzy? Were you going to keep it a secret forever? Just string me along and use my money to give him a good life until you found someone else? Pull the single mom card and live your best life?”

“You’re being insane!” She snaps back. Except I don’t think I am. I think I am being pretty damn reasonable right now.

“You hid my child from me.” I bolt each of the words down. Maybe if I drill them to the floor she’ll hear them.

“I was trying to protect him!”

“From his own father?”

“From everyone.”

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