Page 60 of Red Flag Bull

He tosses two more pamphlets aside and declares that he only wants me to have necessary medical care and none of that model-babies-only bullshit. “Whatever the fuck comes out of you, I’ll love it, I swear. It could look like fucking Daryl, and I’d still love it.” He pauses and then points an accusatory finger at me. “If it looks like Daryl, you and I are going to have words. I’ll also realign Daryl’s features with my fist, so nobody can note any similarities he has to my fucking kid.”

I laugh quietly, drop my pencil, and get to my feet. I walk over to Jason, step a foot either side of him, and then lower myself onto his lap. “You keep being this adorable, and I’m going to forget why I was moody.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” he says, sliding his hands under my painting shirt, to grip my bare ass.

“Oh, it is,” I assure him, before leaning in to kiss his sexy fucking mouth.

His phone chimes, and he stiffens beneath me.

I look at him sideways, trying to interpret the slightly alarmed look on his face. “I thought you silenced all your contacts and notifications for the day?”

“I did.” He locks me in place with one hand and tilts us both, so he can grab the phone from his back pocket. “All but one,” he adds, holding up the screen for me to see.

It’s a message-approval response from the DNA-registry site.

My heart goes a mile a minute. My breathing too. ID:63294 is agreeing to communication!

Jason grips my throat and shakes his head. “No need to panic, Princess. We’re in this together, and we’re going to make it work. We’re his parents, and we will act like it. We’re patient, and we’re open to all possibilities. Pace yourself.”

A calm washes through me, and I nod.

He releases me slowly, and kisses my lips. “Good girl. Now let’s just sit here and eat some jar-chocolate, while we craft an eloquent message that’ll convince our estranged son to meet us. I’m thinking we offer him candy and puppies.” His eyes are warm and sparkling.

I gaze at the man I love, who knows exactly how to handle me and give me all I need to know everything’s going to be okay. “You’re going to be an excellent father, Jason King.”

23

JASON

Mandi watches the door of the café and spins her wedding ring around and around on her finger.

I cover her hand with mine and give her a gentle squeeze. “Just breathe, Princess.”

I keep my tone calm and even, my posture sturdy, but intentionally relaxed. For her.

If she had any idea how hard I’m working to take my own fucking advice, she’d be a hundred times more nervous, but she takes her cues from me, and I’ll be sure to give her as much stability as I can.

After weeks of intentionally restrained communication, we’re finally going to meet our grown son.

Caleb.

He hasn’t trusted us with his last name yet, so I already know he’s fucking smart. It eases my mind some. As does the fact that Caleb was on our list of baby names — something we’d choose for our child — so his adoptive parents can’t be total assholes.

I’m curious about why he wants to leave them out of this historical moment. He reported his childhood was good, but he has been incredibly selective and minimalist in his messages, and I’m trying really hard not to fill all the blanks with any worst-case scenarios of him being raised by abusive jerks. There’s nothing I can do about it now. Not until I learn their fucking names.

I inhale deeply, spread my hand over Mandi’s belly, and let the gentle bump-bump of our baby’s movement soothe the vengeful beast inside me. I don’t want to scare anyone today. Best behavior.

The door opens, and a young man walks in.

Mandi and I stand.

I have never seen this stranger, but I know him. I know him with every cell I shared in his creation, and I know Mandi feels it too.

She grips my hand even more tightly, and glues herself to my arm, as the strapping boy looks our way and locks gazes first with me, and then with the woman who brought him into this world.

“He’s beautiful.”

I don’t know if Mandi meant to say it out loud, but I can’t disagree. “Yeah,” I whisper back, seeing so much of her in him. His dark hair and hazel eyes soften the sharper features he so clearly inherited from me. It’s like looking at the younger version of us both, if we somehow morphed into one person.

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