It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and I wanted more of it. Why not? I wrapped an arm around his back to keep his slim body pressed against mine while I tasted his lips again and again. The heat would come later. Thoughts of exploring his freckled skin swam through my mind amid memories of how good his body felt under mine.
These kisses spread warmth and the type of good feelings that I missed so much whenever he wasn’t around. Evie smacked my cheek, and we pulled apart laughing.
“I guess she doesn’t want me to steal your attention. Right, sweet pea? You need your Sam time?” I tickled her bare foot before Sam spun away to dance her across the room.
Even with the undercurrent of abject fear and the uncertainty of the future, I knew one thing for certain. I wanted Sam Burkhart in my life – our lives – for as long as I could have him.
Chapter 9
Sam
Classes started up the following week, and I wasn’t prepared for them. With the full-time nannying position at the inn and how it morphed into some sort of relationship with Gil, I’d neglected my studying and project work. Bundled up against the harsh winds and fitful bursts of snow, I hurried to the university library clutching my laptop bag against my side.
Unless the paternity clinic lied about how soon Gil could expect the results, which would be a cruel trick to play, he’d get the news that day. Over chicken and pasta the night before, I told him I’d come the moment he called. Good news or bad, I wanted to be at his side if he needed me. I wanted him to needme because I was already so far down the road of needing him in my life. Him and Evie both.
While popping Evie into her purple pajamas the night before, he told me he called Talisha to set up another childcare provider. It took a weight off my mind. I couldn’t accept pay to watch the daughter of the man I wanted to be with, of course. If I got my wish and stayed with Gil long-term, Talisha would probably figure out I hadn’t been the most professional of nannies during my time working for him. Hopefully, she wouldn’t hold it against me if I needed work in the future before I found a permanent counseling position.
I pushed into the library and relaxed as the warm air hit my face. Five minutes later, I settled into my usual study carrel with my laptop humming and a huge book open on the desk.
Cognitive development. Childhood neurodivergence diagnoses. Potential psychological or emotional responses to maternal abandonment immediately following birth. None of my current projects centered on that topic, but I clicked and scrolled through studies anyway.
As a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I’d heard it all. A child needs a mother. Gay couples shouldn’t raise babies. Hiring a surrogate is wrong. The kid will grow up feeling abandoned if they don’t have that genetic bond with their parent.
It was all bullshit, of course. People of all genders and sexualities adopted babies or raised children not related to them by DNA all the time. As long as they had proper care and nurturing, they grew up with no more issues than anyone else did. Still, I found myself poring through research from various sources – some biased, some not – and worrying about Evie.
Not because I thought Gilbert was a bad parent. Every single thing I saw showed exactly the opposite. What would happen if Evie lost him, though? How would she grow up if put in thehands of a person who didn’t even want to look at her after bringing her into the world?
I scrubbed my hands over my face and took a deep breath. One of the most important things in counseling or therapy practices was impartiality. I couldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of either diagnosis or help. Gil and Evie weren’t my patients, of course, but I cared about them. A lot.
Was Paige a bad person? I knew people made mistakes that they regretted later. People could overcome past issues and grow into better versions of themselves. We’d studied tons of instances of family court situations that improved when parents got counseling and took parenting classes. Maybe Evie’s mother could take on a positive role in her life after a supervised reintroduction plan.
I turned to the next page in the book even though I hadn’t read the last one. I couldn’t concentrate on the arguments between medication and behavioral therapy for ADHD diagnoses. I thumped the book closed and sat back in the chair. All I cared about was Gilbert, Evie, and the test results that would prove he was biologically and legally bound to her.
My phone vibrated with a low buzz in the pocket of my bag, and I nearly fell out of my chair lunging for it.
Gil:The results came. I can’t open them. Sam, I need you.
I typed back a quick OMW and bolted out of the library fast enough to make the woman behind the desk scowl at me. After breaking a few traffic laws in my hurry to get to Gil’s apartment, I knocked on his door less than fifteen minutes later.
It swung open, and Gil pushed into my arms before I had a chance to put my bag down or take off my coat. I wiggled out of it and let it drop to the floor before wrapping around him and holding him tight. “It’ll be okay, Gil. We’ll get through this.” I didn’t know if it would be okay, but it was the only thing I could think of to say.
He trembled against me so hard I worried he’d collapse. Without letting go, I steered us toward his couch and eased down onto the cushions. Minutes passed as I carded my fingers through his hair and rubbed his back in an effort to calm the shaking. With one last deep breath, he sat back and rubbed his fingers over his red eyes.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay, I have to know. I have to look.”
I nodded and wrapped my arms around him as he tapped his phone screen. A standard professional message appeared recounting the test procedure and the certification of the clinic. Then, he swiped to the results page and began to shake again.
His full name sat next to Evie’s at the top followed by some official jargon. Below that, a row of incomprehensible DNA codes ranged down the left-hand side. Numbers, some circled and some not, filled the next columns in the chart. More were circled than not. His finger trembled as he scrolled lower.
“The alleged father…” His voice broke on those words, but he took a deep breath and continued. “… is not excluded as the biological father of the tested child.” He choked down a sob as he skimmed ahead. “Probability of paternity is 99.998%.”
Gil’s phone fell to the floor, and he fell into my arms. Horrible sobs wracked his body, and he clutched at me as if I could somehow save him from the raw emotion pouring through him. “She’s mine,” he whispered. “She’s mine.” Over and over again, the words tumbled from his mouth as tears streamed down his face.
I shifted on the couch and pulled him against my chest. He rested there, hot cheek burning through my shirt and tears soaking the fabric. I didn’t care. The undeniable proof that Evie was his biological daughter lifted a weight off my heart, too. I held him and pressed kisses to his hair as he calmed.
After several long moments, he shifted onto his elbow and met my eyes. “Sam, thank you. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d do without you here.” He leaned closer to press his lips against mine, the salt of his tears tinging his usual cinnamon taste.
Before the accustomed heat could grow between us, a fussy cry from Evie’s room interrupted. Gil sat up and swiped at his eyes. We shared one last kiss before he climbed off the couch and headed to fetch his daughter.
