Page 69 of Outlaw Heartstrings
He presses ‘play’ on the screen and I watch a video where multiple lab employees admit to messing up test results over the years.
“A bunch of lawyers are even fighting to get the tests pulled off the market completely.” His eyes plead with me. “There are a million ways these home testing kits could go wrong. Lab mix-ups, sample contaminations, inaccurate analyses,” he reads off notes scribbled on the back of a wrinkled envelope.
A spark of hope ignites in me. I don’t care how naive I’m being. Because JaggerisEaston’s son. There’s no two ways about it.
Lincoln steps in, a hand outstretched appeasingly in front of him. “While all that may be true, I think it’s important that nobody gets their hopes up again,” he tries to reason with his younger brother. “I read the back of the box, Easton. It says that the test is over ninety-nine percent accurate. It’s science.”
“Well,thisis that one percent chance where the results are wrong,” Easton says with determination, stabbing his finger into the tabletop. “They have to be wrong.”
Lincoln and I share a look, and I feel my eyes brimming with tears. I have never heard this much desperation in a grown man’s voice. Easton really,reallywants to be Jagger’s dad.
“I’m a father, too. I get it,” Lincoln says. “I would die if some stupid piece of paper said I’m not Cameron’s father anymore. But we’ve got to be reasonable here.” He clears his throat as if trying to chase away the emotions making his voice crack.
Easton drops backward in his chair, dragging a hand through his perfect hair. “Look, I know I sound delusional, but there’s still a chance that these test results are just bogus.”
After a long silence, he flips open his wallet and pulls out a crisp new photo of my nephew that’s tucked inside.
“Have you seen this kid? He looks exactly like me. And he likes all the things I like. From hockey to goofy jokes to spaghetti and meatballs. He’s my kid. That DNA test is wrong. Jagger is my kid.”
I take the photo from Easton’s hand and stare at it for a long moment. It’s the shot my mom took of Easton and Jagger together that day at the grocery store.
My nephew is a literal duplicate of this man. Same hair. Same eyes. Same dimpled smile. The genetics don’t lie.
When Easton’s eyes find mine, they’re weak and desperate, begging me for support. He reaches across the table and holds my hand, his warm, calloused palm closing around my cold, shaky fingers.
“Don’t write me off, Alba,” he begs. “Let me take the test again.”
God. I hate being put in this position. Raya should be dealing with this. It’s her mess. But after weeks of beggingfor her attention, she still hasn’t even bothered to call me. So as usual, I have to be the responsible one.
I purse my lips. “Yes. I…I think there was a mistake.” My eyes shift briefly to Lincoln. “I want the test done again.”
“Thank you.” Easton raises my knuckles to his lips, kissing the back of my hand and making a tingle skitter down to my core. “Thank you.”
Lincoln’s forehead creases with surprise as he observes the interaction between his brother and me. But I pretend not to notice. Right now, there are more important matters at hand.
“Maybe we should get the test done at the hospital this time,” I suggest, self-consciously slipping my fingers from Easton’s grip. “The results might take a little longer to come in because the samples have to be sent to an external lab, but at least we’ll know that we’re dealing with a reputable service.”
Lincoln gives a little nod. “I agree. I’ll call the local hospital and set up an appointment.” Throwing a concerned glance at his brother, he rises to his feet.
Easton stares back with a pleading expression on his face. “Thanks for helping with this,” he says. “Jagger means everything to me. I can’t lose him over a mistake with some stupid testing kit we bought on the internet.”
“I’ve got your back, brother. I’m rooting for you to get the outcome you want.” Lincoln slaps Easton on the shoulder, offers me another nod, and heads out the door, phone already pressed to his ear.
When the oldest Raines brother is gone, Easton waves Tammy over. She approaches the table, her unusually reserved demeanor telling me she senses that something grave is afoot. She takes our order and hustles off to the kitchen without so much as a snarky comment.
I give my full attention to Easton as soon as Tammy leaves. “So what do we do in the meanwhile?” If we tell Jagger there’s a possibility that you’re not his father, it would shatter him.
Easton looks at me, more fire in his eyes than I’ve ever seen before. “We do nothing. Nothing changes. And we absolutely do not tell Jagger about the test results.”
“Are you sure that’s the right decision?” I whisper, uncertain about everything.
“I don’t see him any differently,” Easton pledges. “I still feel the exact same way about my little boy,” he says defiantly.
I want to be as confident as he is about all this. But as usual, I’m so overwhelmed, trying to decide what to do.
My bottom lip trembles. The tears I was struggling to hold back begin to spill over. “I’m just so tired. So fucking tired.” I drop my face into my palms, feeling my shoulders shake jaggedly as I cry.
Grabbing the foot of my chair, Easton pulls me right next to him. I feel his strong, comforting arms come around me. I bury my face against his shoulder, and I just…cry.
