Page 43 of Secret Baby for Mr. Grump

“I’m ready,” she said when she reached me. I turned, and we walked to my car in complete silence.

Throughout the long drive back to her place, she was quiet, holding her son tightly in her arms. The little boy didn’t say a single word, and apart from his initial curious glance, he didn’t look at me again. One hand was curled around his mother’s sweater, clutching it like a lifeline, and he had a fish figurine in another hand.

The boy looked to be about seven or eight years old, but he acted even younger.

Seven, I amended. That would be how old he would be if he were my son.

And I was almost sure he was.

I studied him surreptitiously through the drive. The more I watched, the more the resemblance shone through. He had my eyes, and the little almost-dimple in his left cheek ran in my family too. Even the cautious way he watched his surroundings.

My heart threatened to beat out of my chest.

The boy was my son.

I had a son.

During the ride back, Allie called her sister and let her know that we’d found her son, Caleb. Athena sounded relieved. The two talked right up until I pulled into Allie’s parking lot.

Then Allie shot me a fathomless look and said, “Athena, I’m going to have to call you back.”

I could hear her sister telling her goodbye on the other end right as Allie hung up, still holding my gaze.

She took a deep breath, then glanced down at her son, who was fast asleep on her lap.

“I’ll put him to bed,” she said quietly. “And then we can talk.”

I nodded, getting out of the car and going around to pull the door open for her.

“Thanks,” she murmured as she hoisted Caleb up on her shoulder, walking with him to their home.

It was a small but tastefully decorated cottage full of color and flowers that just screamed Allie. While the building was compact, it had a pretty solid foundation.

I waited downstairs, hearing the tap of her feet as she ascended the stairs to the boy’s room. Two minutes later, she was headed back down.

She stopped at the base of the stairs and held her hands in front of her. She looked around the room for a few seconds before she met my eyes with some difficulty, guilt radiating through her stance.

There was a beat of heavy silence.

“He’s my son,” I said, needing to hear it. Needing to confirm it. “Isn’t he?”

She swallowed once. And then she nodded weakly.

With the confirmation, senseless, hot anger washed through me.

“You never told me.” My voice was a low accusatory growl that had her glancing up at me. “You kept my son from me all this time.”

Temper flashed through her eyes as well. “You didn’t leave me any way to reach you.”

“Bullshit.” My tone was low, but she jerked as if I’d slapped her. I didn’t care. The riot of emotions was making me vicious. “I’ve been in town for weeks. You could have told me at any point.”

Remorse was there in her gaze again, but it only made me angrier. She knew it was wrong, but she did it anyway. “Why?” Why the fuck had she kept him a secret from me?

She rubbed the side of her arm, clearly uncomfortable. “I didn’t know how you would react.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” I demanded.

“He’s very fragile, okay?” she exploded. “I didn’t want him around a mercurial man who is consistently angry and swears at people all the time! I didn’t want you to hurt him.”

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