Page 23 of Freedom's Kiss
They’d lied to her. For twenty-eight years they’d perpetuated and lived a lie. Her entire life was one big deceit. Unless the test results were wrong somehow. That was still a possibility, right? Lily might have made a mistake. The samples she’d used to run the test against—or however genetics people figured this stuff out—might have been wrong. That could have happened.Couldn’t it?
She walked in circles, a palm pressed to her forehead. She felt like someone had just made her swallow the red pill fromThe Matrix,depriving her of her blissful, ignorant security. Reality was too brutal to swallow and came crashing down around her feet. What was she supposed to believe? Who was she supposed to trust? What else about her life was really just a euphoric mirage, a hologram that would disappear as soon as she worked up enough courage to step through it? Was her name really Olivia? If the test results were right and her parents weren’t her parents, then had they named her or had her birth mother?
Her birth mother…
Who was she? What was her name? What did she look like? Why didn’t she want her baby girl?
Olivia’s knees wobbled as her breath grew shallower and more frequent. She shook her head, the pressure building against her ribs needing an outlet. She turned, thinking this time she’d run. Literally run until her legs gave out and the buzzing inside her head subsided enough so she could actuallythink.
She did run. Straight into Adam’s broad chest. His arms wrapped around her back, loose enough that she didn’t feel suffocated but tight enough that she knew he held her. Not held her likeI’m hugging youbut held her likeI’ve got youwhile you work through this. His chest rumbled beneath her ear in a deep, soothing sound as his hand covered the back of her head. She stood motionless for a moment, still feeling the need to move, and then he began to sway. Back and forth with her in his arms, he held her and swayed and cooed words her buzzing brain didn’t register.
Like an unplugged drain, her emotions siphoned away from her, leaving her empty and depleted. She felt his kiss on the top of her head, knew it for the gesture of support it was, and allowed herself to be filled with the strength he offered.
Fists trapped between their chests, she exerted slight pressure to push him back. His arms fell away, but instead of feeling bereft of his touch, she felt buoyed by his confidence in her. Warmth seeped into her numb limbs at his belief in her resilience. Too bad she felt as if a feather on a slight breeze could knock her over.
Working her tongue around a dry mouth, she looked up at him and found the courage to voice the question repeating in her mind more times than a toddler askingwhy. “Who am I, Adam? If I’m not—” She paused and looked down at herself. Same leather strappy sandals, same pinstriped shorts and navy tank top she’d been wearing all day. Same—and yet she felt so completely different. Looking back up into his steady gaze, she blinked several times. “If I’m not me, who am I?”
He lifted his hand and settled it against her neck, dipping his head to look into her eyes. “You’re still you. You’re the same audacious person who stormed into my food truck with her beautiful chaos. You’re still the crazy-talented cook who’s about to take the pedestrian dining scene by storm. You’re still the quick-witted woman who can make anyone laugh with a horrible pun.” He paused for her chuckle. “And no matter what, I know you are and always will be loved by your parents, David and Eileen Arroyo, whom I just met but would swear on a Bible in a court of law adore you to the moon and back.”
She swallowed, her throat working against his thumb. “But what if they aren’t my parents?” She whispered the question, afraid saying it any louder would somehow make it irrevocably true.
“Sweetheart…” His voice was a soothing caress. “Whether your parents gave you life or not, they will always be your parents.”
“But—”
“Do you want me to take you home so you can talk to them about it?”
Did she? Part of her wanted to hear what they had to say, even imagined them laughing at her fears and pulling out a never-before-seen picture of her being held in the arms of her mother, who had without a doubt spent hours in agonizing labor. Disquiet clenched Olivia’s abdomen, and she squeezed her eyes against what was more likely to happen—her mom and dad admitting she wasn’t a product of their love. Because now that she thought about it, therewasan alarming gap in both photos and stories surrounding her mother’s pregnancy and Olivia’s birth. She remembered a specific mother/daughter event at church where all the moms had huddled around and shared stories of their labor and delivery while their daughters crafted hairbows with hot glue guns. Instead of participating in the conversation, Eileen had shimmied next to Olivia and folded a ribbon into a flower and glued it onto a headband. Olivia had thought how lucky she was that her mom would rather spend time with her at the craft table than with the other moms talking about disgusting mom stuff, but now she felt stupid. Of course her mom couldn’t stand around with the other moms and compare her hours of painful labor…because she had never been pregnant, had never experienced giving birth. How could Olivia have missed it?
“I don’t—” She hugged her arms around her middle. “Is it okay if I’m not ready to face them yet?”
The hand on her neck slid across her shoulder and tugged her to his side. After a kiss to her temple, he said, “It’s more than okay.”
