Page 2 of Under Ground

“Here you go.” I stand, swinging Casey onto my hip, and then hand her off to her mother. All Casey does is let out a louder cry and kick her legs.

“I’m so sorry. She’s just a little confused. Thank you for not getting too upset.”

I shrug. “She’s only young. I’d love to know why she’s calling me Daddy, though. There’s a story, I’m sure.”

But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone so mortified. Her mouth drops open, and her eyes dart from me to Casey and back again. While her cheeks aren’t quite as red as they were, they’re still a shade of crimson.

“She’s just got it really wrong. Sorry to have bothered you.”

She turns and walks away, heading toward a large building in the corner of the park. I guess that’s where day care is.

I’m glued to the spot, unable to take my eyes off the two blonde angels walking away. Why does that little girl think I’m her father?

She’s almost a park length away from me before her cries become inaudible. She’s inconsolable, thrashing in her mother’s arms all the way.

What the hell is going on?

I stretch my hamstring and break into a light jog once again.

That was weird, but I don’t have time for distractions, beautiful or otherwise.

I have a job to do—and I’m going to nail the hell out of it.

2

Lana

If I could force the earth to open up right now and swallow me whole, I’d do it.

I want to die.

Never in a million years did I ever think we’d ever meet Alex Stone in real life. Of all the celebrities in the world, it just had to be him.

“Casey, I told you before. The man in the magazine is not your father,” I say as we walk toward the day care.

“No, no, no! Daddy!” she wails and I cringe. Who would have ever thought letting her believe that little white lie—even for a little while—could turn into such a disaster.

But when she picked up the magazine and pointed to the man in the photo and said “Daddy,” it had been too hard to correct her.

Her father has never played any part in her life. For some reason, she claimed the man in the article as her father and wouldn’t let it go.

At first, I tried to talk to her and tell her that it wasn’t her father. But unfortunately, she has all the stubbornness of a three-year-old—one who sees the other kids at day care with their dads and knows hers doesn’t live with us.

In the end, I gave up. There wasn’t any chance of us ever meeting this random man—the one who was starring in some movie.

Alex Stone.

And yet this morning, there he was in the park we walk through to get to day care.

“Daddy,” Casey wails.

I take a deep breath and keep marching toward the big yellow building with the colourful play equipment out the front. I’m filled with regret, but not sure what else I’m supposed to have done.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I see the confused look on Alex’s face in my mind—over and over again.

It’ll be one of those humiliating things I’ll think about for years. Maybe when Casey turns twenty-one, we’ll look back and laugh. But right now, there’s nothing funny about any of this.

Casey thrashes about in my arms, but I know if I let her go, she’ll run back to the park and him. I don’t need that. What just happened is humiliating enough.

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