Who's Your Daddy? (2 page)

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “You sure you’re all right?”

I nodded. “Anyway, what was it you asked me?”

“I asked what you’re going to do.”

“I don’t know.” I rested my elbows on the table and rubbed the back of my neck. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

Rose put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Are you going to tell them?”

My blood turned cold. On some level, I knew that was a conversation that would have to happen, but her question brought its inevitability to the forefront of my mind.

“I have to tell them,” I whispered. “But, my God, what if this hurts their relationship? I mean, only one of them can be the actual father, and—”

“Carmen, hon.” She squeezed my arm. “Breathe. Don’t work yourself up over all the what-ifs until you actually talk to the guys.”

“I just can’t help worrying.”

“I know you can’t,” she said. “But I would go talk to them. Sooner than later. Then you can worry about real concerns, not the ones your mind is creating.”

“Good point,” I whispered.

“So, before you work yourself into a panic over it all,” she said, “I’d suggest talking to them. It’ll be easier to figure out where to go from here if you’ve got their support.” She paused. “They’ll be supportive, won’t they?”

I chewed my lip. They were my two closest friends in the world. I couldn’t imagine either of them turning their back on me now. Then again, I’d never put them in this kind of position before.

“Carmen?”

I looked at her and nodded. “Yeah, I think they will be. I hope they will be, anyway.”

“I’m sure they will. They’re both good guys, hon.” She glanced at the clock. “Do you need me to stay, or—”

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll call them. Maybe I can talk to one of them one-on-one.”

She patted my arm. “Good luck. And if you need anything, or just need to talk, you know I’m here too.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

She stood and hugged me gently. “Any time, kiddo. And I’ll pray for you.”

After she’d left, I went into the living room and sat on the sofa, staring at my cell phone. She was right. I needed to call them. If I didn’t, and even if I did, I really would spend an inordinate amount of time coming up with every possible what-if scenario until I’d worked myself into a panic attack or something.

What if they resented me? What if this damaged their relationship? What if this screwed up our friendship, assuming having sex hadn’t already taken its toll? What if? What if? What if?

There was only one way to find out, and Rose was right. It was better to tell them than sit here and worry myself sick. Well, sicker.

I pulled up Isaac’s number on my phone. Don was probably on duty at the firehouse, but Isaac would be at his office, so I’d try him first. I wasn’t sure I had the nerve to try twice. That, and push came to shove, if Don was on duty, I could speak to Isaac one-on-one. Hopefully Don would forgive me for that. He was reasonable enough and knew me well enough to chalk it up to the need to not be outnumbered, or to just get it off my chest sooner than later, whatever.

In fact, he was probably reasonable enough to be less concerned about who I told and when, and more concerned about the more pressing issue of
what
I’d said.

I cringed inwardly and hit Send.

Isaac’s receptionist answered. “Family Counseling Services, Angela speaking.”

I cleared my throat. “Hi, um, is Isaac in the office?”

“He’s with a client,” she said. “Can I give him a message?”

I hesitated, but then said, “Yes, please. Would you have him call Carmen? He knows the number.” I considered adding that it was urgent, but that would only make him worry. Might as well save his blood pressure until I dropped the bomb.

“I’ll give him the message,” Angela said.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

We hung up, and I stared at my phone, wondering if it was the anticipation of his call or these damned hormones that made my stomach twist and turn.

Not that it mattered. I shoved the phone in my pocket and hurried down the hall.

Chapter Two

Isaac

My client shifted uncomfortably on the pastel sofa.

“Have you discussed this with your husband?” I folded my hands on top of the file folder in my lap.

She uncrossed her legs, then recrossed them and watched her fingers idly play with the seam on her skirt. “Not yet.”

“Marie,” I said gently. “We’ve discussed this the last few times you and David have been here together. He can’t do anything about it if he doesn’t know.”

“I know.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I know, and…”

“Are you concerned he’ll be angry?” I carefully kept my voice gentle and inquisitive so I didn’t come across as interrogative or confrontational.

“Not really,” she said, almost whispering. “I guess I…” Then she forced out a breath. “He just has so much on his mind. You know, with his job and everything. I don’t want to give him something else to worry about.”

“I understand,” I said with a slow nod. “But you need to keep in mind, you’re both Aiden’s parents. You shouldn’t have to shoulder that entire burden on your own, and especially if you’re concerned about your son getting involved in any kind of alcohol use or anything like that; you need to be able to share this with your husband. And he needs to know about it. Maybe he can offer a solution or talk to Aiden.”

Marie chewed her lip.

“When’s your next appointment with David and me?” I flipped open the folder to see if I’d written it down in here.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “Four o’clock.”

Closing the folder again, I said, “Would you like me to bring it up then? Get the conversation rolling?”

She exhaled, and her shoulders dropped a little, relaxing. “You don’t mind?”

I smiled. “Of course not.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It looks like our time is up for now, though.”

“Already?” She pulled back her sleeve and looked at her watch. “I suppose it is.” She rose, as did I, and, as she always did before she left, she hugged me.

“Thank you, Isaac,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “This is what I’m here for.”

She let me go, smiled, then gathered her coat and purse and left. After she’d gone, I checked my schedule. No more appointments for another hour. Good a time as any to go out and grab something to eat.

On my way out, Angela, my receptionist, stopped me. “Donovan called a little while ago. Also, someone named Carmen asked for you to give her a call.”

I furrowed my brow. “Carmen?”

Angela cocked her head. “She said you’d have the number—”

“What? Oh, yes, I have it. Thanks.” I gestured at the waiting-area door. “I’ll call her on my cell while I’m at lunch. Thanks, Angie.”

As I walked down the stairs from my third-floor office to the building’s lobby, a knot tightened beneath my rib cage. That was odd. Carmen had my work number, but she didn’t usually call me during the day. And neither Donovan nor I had heard from her much over the last few weeks. I’d tried to chalk up the silence to her ironing everything out after her divorce, but deep down, I had a feeling it had more to do with the last time we saw her.

Why now? Why in the middle of the day?

Only one way to find out.

As soon as I was outside, I pulled out my cell phone and speed-dialed her.

“Hey, Isaac,” she said when she picked up. And it was hard to tell from two words, but I swore she sounded relieved.

“Hey,” I said. “Um, you called?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “I…do you have a little time this afternoon? Maybe I could come by?”

My heart pounded. “Yeah, sure. I mean, I have a couple of appointments, but I’ll be around. What’s up?”

“I’d rather talk face-to-face,” she whispered, and my blood pressure shot up.

“Okay, sure, we can do that. When do you think you can be here? I’ve got another window between clients from about one to two; would that work?”

“That’d be fine.” Definitely relief this time. “I’ll see you then.”

“You sure you’re okay, Carmen?”

I swore I could hear an unspoken “No, I’m not” coming down the line, but she just said, “I’m fine. I’ll see you at one.”

“All right. See you soon.”

After Carmen hung up, I looked at my phone, furrowing my brow at the now darkened screen. I made my living figuring out what was bothering people, or at least helping them figure it out. Over the phone, there was no body language to read, no darting gazes or nervous fidgeting like I saw every day in my office, but there was no mistaking her tone. Something was wrong, even if I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I was fairly certain I could narrow it down, though. We’d barely heard from her since the night a little too much wine got us into bed together. The morning after had been awkward and quiet, all of us probably wondering what the hell we’d been thinking. There were hangovers all around, which hadn’t encouraged much conversation, and before any of us worked up the nerve to broach the subject, Carmen had to leave and Donovan had to get to work.

Much like Donovan, Carmen was the type who sometimes needed to process things on her own before discussing them. He nearly always needed to be alone until he’d had a chance to think things over on his own, as aggravating as it was for someone like me who preferred to discuss problems sooner than later.

Now that she’d had some time, Carmen probably wanted to sit down with us and settle things. Get everything out on the table, discuss it, and put it to rest so we could move on without any awkwardness.

Hopefully she really had the nerve to bring it up. I was adept at asking the right questions to get a married couple talking to each other or lead them to the problems hiding beneath the surface, but I was an objective third party in those situations. Addressing the elephant in my own living room with my boyfriend and one of my best friends? Different story.

I also didn’t want to embarrass her or make her uncomfortable.

I didn’t regret it, though. I’d had a thing for Carmen for a long time. Though I’d never touched a woman before that night, I’d done my share of looking over the years, and plenty of that looking had been directed at her. She was an amazing woman, the kind who had a contagious zest for life and a wicked sense of humor that rivaled Donovan’s. The last few years of her marriage had eroded away a lot of that zest for life, but ever since she left Paul’s sorry ass, the spark in her eye had come back, and she was more attractive than ever.

And after she’d detached herself from Paul, we’d all had a little liquid courage, and before I knew it, I’d lost what was left of my virginity.

Now that I’d been with her, I wasn’t just bi-curious. I was definitely bisexual, and I definitely still wanted her. She was even more beautiful undressed, and in bed, she was playful and passionate, not to mention just as insatiable as the two of us. It was a wonder any of us could move the next day.

I didn’t regret that it happened, but like Donovan, I regretted
how
it had happened. Being drunk left too much room for someone to wake up the next morning and wonder what the fuck they’d been thinking. It left her a chance to drive home, coffee in hand and sunglasses on, second-guessing every touch, every kiss, every orgasm, and wondering if we’d really wanted her or if it had just been the alcohol. We hadn’t been too intoxicated to negate consent, but we’d certainly consumed enough to lower our inhibitions.

The fantasy had been there for a long, long time. Donovan and I had discussed it plenty of times, both wishing we could find a way to invite her into a threesome without screwing up our friendship. No, it wasn’t just the alcohol. The only thing the wine had done was drawn out the words. I wondered if I’d need to tap into that to work up the courage to tell her we didn’t regret it and
did
want to do it again.

Donovan had gone back and forth on it. He enjoyed it, he was thrilled to see me indulge my curiosity about women, but, like me, wasn’t sure if the ramifications to our friendship with Carmen would be worth it. I agreed with him. As much as I wanted to do it again, I wouldn’t think of it if it meant risking our friendship.

No sense analyzing it to death before she got here, though. I’d see how she felt about what had happened, and from there, figure out if we should broach the subject of a rematch.

That, and I’d see what was on her mind that had her so wound up on the phone and needing to talk in my office.

I continued down the block to a deli I frequented. Once I had my lunch, I took a seat by the window, and my mind wandered right back to Carmen.

Whatever was on her mind, I hoped she didn’t regret that night. Even if she didn’t want to do it again, I didn’t want her to regret it.

And I couldn’t deny I wanted to do a little more exploring with a woman. Before we’d slept with her, I’d thought Carmen would be the ideal woman because I knew her, I was comfortable with her, and I wouldn’t be as nervous with her. In hindsight, maybe a stranger would have been a better idea. Then again, I didn’t particularly like the idea of hooking up with someone to indulge some curiosity, then cutting her loose. Even if she was completely game, it smacked of using someone, and I couldn’t quite stomach that.