Page 72 of Faking It with a Single Dad

“Did Layla know I took the land before coming to work for me?”

“Open the envelope, Tristan.” Luke points at it, his face expressionless.

It is almost dark now. The moon is out, and I can barely make out Luke’s facial features. The sounds of chattering birds reduce like they can sense my turmoil. I open the envelope with unsteady fingers and remove the single sheet of paper in it. It has Layla’s picture, but what I read makes the paper fall out of my hand. My pulse quickens as I blink in disbelief.

Erin Layla Fisher

“Wait—” I shake my head, “—wait, wait, no, that’s… what?” I laugh without humor. “What the fuck are you playing at, Luke?”

“Layla—or should I say Erin—is your wife’s half-sister, Tristan.”

“NO!” My eyes widen as I take another step back. “No, that’s impossible.”

“That’s her birth certificate, Tristan. I had to pull some major strings, but I was able to—”

I close the distance between us and grab his shirt, our faces inches apart as I seethe. “Shut the fuck up! I said that’s fucking impossible, Luke!”

Luke raises his hands as he waits me out. I let him go and back away. I cover my face with my hands as it all rushes through my head. The night we met, the interview, how she almost always tears up whenever I mention Deanna, the day she defended me at the Fisher’s home, the sister she mentioned who committed suicide.

The Fishers are her parents?

“No, no, no,” I shake my head in disbelief as I run my hands through my hair. “I can’t believe… What the fu— how could she do this to me? To Ruby?”

Layla is Ruby’s aunt?

My phone buzzes, and I remove it from my pocket. It’s Layla. I fling the phone towards Luke, who catches it.

“Ask her where she is,” I say coolly, my blood boiling with anger. “I need to know where she is.”

Luke nods and answers the call.

Chapter twenty-five

Layla

The scent of antiseptic washes over me like a wave as I clutch my phone in my trembling hands, my heart hammering in my chest every passing second. The bed feels too soft against me as I dial Tristan’s number.

I have to tell him everything.

I know I can’t tell him over the phone, but I need to get him here. It’s dark already, and he must be driving himself crazy with worry, wondering where Ruby and I are. The phone rings for a few more seconds before he finally answers.

“Tristan,” I sigh with relief. “Thank goodness you picked. You won’t believe—”

“Layla.”

The voice that says my name over the phone isn’t Tristan. It’s Luke, and his voice is grave with an undertone of tension that sends a shiver of apprehension down my spine. For a second, I imagine something’s happened to Tristan, and I step off the bed.

“Luke, why are you picking up Tristan’s phone?” I straighten out the hospital gown. “Where is he?”

“Where are you?” Luke ignores my questions.

What is going on?

“I’m at the town’s clinic. St. Patrick’s Memorial Clinic,” I explain, putting a hand to my belly as I think of what Dr. Fredson had told me. “Ruby had an attack, and I had to—”

I hear static as Luke removes the phone from his ear and puts a hand over the mouthpiece. Tristan must be there because I can make out Luke muttering something to him. Is he okay? Is everything okay? I feel blood rushing to my head as I try to figure out what’s wrong.

“Tristan’s on his way,” Luke says.

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