Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(70)

I tried to smile. “Thanks.”

Clapping a hand on my shoulder, he grabbed his pizza boxes off the bar. “Take care. Let’s do this again—I’ll get out of movie night next time.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I waved him off, fighting a small pang of envy, which surprised me. I’d never wanted a family at all, let alone a family tradition taking up my Friday night. But watching him walk out of the bar with dinner for his wife and kids while I sat there by myself was pretty fucking depressing.

I paid my bill but I was still sitting there finishing my beer when I heard a loud voice behind me.

“And then that asshole head case Shaw had the nerve to tell me to sit down.”

My jaw clenched. My gut tightened. Bad things were about to go down—I could feel it in my bones.

“I don’t even know why they let that guy near the team. He just fucked up their winning streak with his goddamn yips. There was a college scout there too. He probably blew my kid’s chances at being noticed.”

I got off the stool, went over to Brock’s table, and stood right behind him. “The only thing blowing your kid’s chances of being scouted is you. I guarantee he was noticed—for the wrong fucking reason. Your big mouth.”

The guy got out of his chair and stood chest to chest with me. I had at least five inches on him, and I was in way better shape, but that didn’t mean this idiot wouldn’t throw a punch. Actually, I was hoping he would.

“You need to mind your own business, Shaw.”

“I heard my name. My name is my business.”

He poked my chest. “You jinxed my kid, you fucking loser! You jinxed the whole team! And you need to get the fuck out of here before I show you with my fist how I feel about that!”

I smirked. “Go ahead and show me, if you think you can.”

The guy immediately took a swing at my face, but I blocked it easily and delivered a quick, hard jab to his solar plexus that knocked the wind out of him and sent him sprawling back across the table. It was clear he was not going to get up and fight back.

At that point, the manager of the place came rushing over, but I was already on my way out. “Sorry,” I said to him as I took off for the door.

Adrenaline pumping, I stormed down the street to where I’d parked, got in my car, and slammed the door shut.

Motherfucker. I’d just punched a parent.

He’d deserved it, but still. David was going to kill me. Virgil was going to be disappointed. And given the media attention to my “dark side,” the school board was probably going to ban me from all future events.

Angrily, I banged the heel of my sore hand on the steering wheel and started the engine.

Why couldn’t I get anything right?





I drove over to April’s, stopping on the way to pick up a bottle of whiskey. My anger and self-loathing were at an all-time high, and I needed something to numb it. Using the key she’d given me this morning, I let myself into her condo and went straight to the kitchen, pulling a glass from the cupboard and pouring myself a shot of Templeton Rye.

After tossing it back, I poured another, and I was just lifting it to my mouth when I noticed a photograph on the floor by the kitchen table. Carrying the glass with me, I went over and picked it up.

Right away I recognized Chip Carswell and wondered why the hell April would have a photograph of him. I turned the picture over. On the back was written Charles Andrew, age 17.

Huh, his real name was Charles. I hadn’t realized that. I tossed back the second shot and looked at the front again.

Wait a fucking minute.

I froze and stared at the kid in the photograph.

At his dark eyes. And his long arms and legs. And his big hands. And his cocky grin, complete with dimple.

It was a boy. They named him Charles, after his father and grandfather.

The floor quaked beneath my feet. Sirens went off in my head. My vision clouded over.

My empty glass clattered to the floor. I grabbed the back of a kitchen chair to keep my body from going down next.

I couldn’t believe it. It was too crazy, too out there. Real life couldn’t be this fucked up, could it?

But the proof was right there in front of me.

Chip Carswell was my son.





Twenty-One





April





All day long, I’d been in a state of panic.

What should I do? Tell Tyler right away? Wait until I saw him? Say nothing at all?

No. I had to tell him. But how was he going to take it? Would the realization throw him too far off balance? Would he panic and retreat? Or was I overreacting? Maybe once he got over the shock, he’d see the blessing in knowing his son. After all, he’d matured a lot since the day he’d asked me not to put his name on the birth certificate. He wasn’t that freaked-out kid anymore. Maybe he’d see it as a sign from the universe that it was time to unlock that box and own that part of his identity.

Was it too much to hope for?

As Coco and I set up for that evening’s huge wedding reception, I fretted endlessly. Picked up my phone a thousand times and set it down again without calling or messaging him. Imagined every possible response on his part, from shock and denial to pride and acceptance.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Coco would ask every now and again, looking at me suspiciously.