Page 79 of Second Chance Fate

“How did you know that?” Caleb asked, stunned.

“Because that trip was right around spring break, and you spent that whole summer staring at that photo strip you took on the boardwalk. The girl had jet-black hair and bright blue eyes. Really pretty. I asked you about her, and you said you only knew her first name, Rebecca, and you didn’t know how to get in touch with her. You tried social media, but there was no trace of her.”

“Wow. Yeah, that’s right.” Caleb didn’t even remember having that conversation with his mom. He wondered if that made what he was about to tell them better or not. “So, Rebecca and I hooked up that weekend.”

“Hooked up?” his dad repeated.

“We had sex,” Caleb clarified.

Both of his parents’ expressions remained the same.

He took a breath, then forged ahead. “A couple of months later, she found out she was pregnant. She spent her entire life in foster care and never had any support system. She had no way of getting in touch with me. Even though she was young and had only just finished her freshman year of college when she found out, her plan was to have the baby and raise it onher own because she’d never known anyone who had the same DNA as her. But then, when she was five months along, she met a man who was ten years older than her. He was also a police officer.” Caleb did his best to remain calm, but thinking about Owen’s face when he thought that Martin had hurt his mom when she had to go to the hospital had his blood pressure rising. He spread out his fingers and then fisted them as he exhaled. “He owned his own home and offered her stability. She thought she would be giving her child everything she always wanted growing up, so she moved in with him and married him. When she had our son, he was born ten weeks premature, and within the first six months, he was diagnosed with asthma, epilepsy and cardiomyopathy.”

His mom covered her mouth with her hand. Tears began to fall down her cheeks as she sat quietly listening to him. His dad’s expression didn’t change.

“The first few years of his life were very difficult. She said she was basically just in survival mode. It turned out that her husband was not a good man. Unfortunately, once she realized that, she was basically stuck. There were a lot of extenuating circumstances: he’d isolated her, she had a very ill son who needed the medical insurance he offered, and she had no car and no bank account in her name. Thankfully, a neighbor noticed what was happening and helped her and she was able to leave him.”

His mom was nodding her head, and his dad was quiet, staring at him with an expression he could not read.

“They moved here last May. She didn’t approach me or say anything because she wanted to make sure that I was a good person. We’d only spent about thirty-six hours together over a decade ago. She didn’t even tell Owen. She’s doing that now.”

“He doesn’t know?” his mom gasped.

“She’s telling him now,” Caleb repeated.

“Wait? Who is telling Owen?” His dad looked between his mom and him.

“Taylor,” Caleb and his mom said in unison.

His dad’s forehead creased with confusion. “I thought you said the girl from Daytona was named Rebecca and she had jet black hair.”

“Well, it’s obviously Taylor,” his mom emphasized the word, her tone indicating the information could not be more clear.

“How is that obvious?!” his dad stated with exasperation.

“Her hair was black when I met her because she was playing Priscilla Presley in her theater class in school. And her name is Rebecca Taylor. She’s been using her last name here because she just felt safer using it with her ex out there.”

Caleb’s dad sat up straighter. “Where is he? What’s his name?”

His mom dropped her hand from her mouth and went into full-fledged mama bear. “Does he know where they are? When is the last time she’s spoken to him? Who’s with them now? Do we need to go over there?”

Caleb felt a swell of gratitude for his mom and dad. He’d always appreciated them, but in that moment, he could not have felt more lucky for the parents he had. He knew that from this day forward, no matter what happened to him, Taylor and Owen would always be protected, cared for, and loved.

“His name is Martin Watts. He’s in Chicago. That’s where Taylor and Owen lived. No, as far as I know, he doesn’t know where they are. She hasn’t spoken to him since the day she left.” Caleb knew his parents weren’t going to like hearing this next part, and he hated upsetting them, but he knew they’d be even more upset if they found out he’d kept this from them. “He is out on parole right now and has an ankle monitor while he waits for his trial.”

“Parole for what?” his dad interrupted before he had a chance to finish.

“He was arrested a couple months after Taylor and Owen left for false imprisonment and attempted murder. He broke into a woman’s house, who he suspected knew where Taylor and Owen were, and held her at gunpoint, demanding she tell him where they were. The woman’s boyfriend showed up, and Watts shot him.”

“When is the trial?” his dad asked in his deadly calm voice. The voice that used to terrify Caleb as a child because he knew that was the voice that meant he was really in trouble—there was no wiggle room. That was the voice that meant he was going to be grounded or have privileges taken away or have to do volunteer work like picking up trash or getting up at the crack of dawn on the weekend to do manual labor that would have his muscles screaming by eight a.m.

“It was supposed to start today, but that text Taylor got this morning, when you guys were at the house, was notifying her that it had been postponed. Martin’s father is a circuit court judge, and his older brother works in the district attorney’s office, so they know all the tactics to drag this out.”

“That poor thing.” His mom held her hands clutched to her chest. “Have you spoken to Eric or Logan, just to let them know what is going on?”

“No.” Caleb shook his head. He hadn’t even thought about telling his friends on the force, one of whom was the chief of police.

“I think you should,” his dad stated in a way that was more than a suggestion; it was a direction.

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