Page 13 of Offside Devil

The only social worker I know. Cut to the fucking chase, woman!

I swallow the words down. “And?”

“I have the results of the paternity test.” Her voice is clipped, efficient, emotionless.

“And?” I growl. “What are the results?”

“The probability of paternity is calculated by comparing the results of your paternity test to the results of the child’s DNA against an unrelated, random individual,” she rattles off, talking so fast I can barely tell what she’s saying. “Based on the results obtained from the sample you provided?—”

“Stop reading from some script and tell me,” I snap. “Am I his father or not?”

She sighs. “The test puts it at a 99.9998% chance that you are the father.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say.

I don’t know what I expected to feel.

Relief, maybe. Or dread.

But I feel nothing. My chest is hollow and I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How did Paige die?”

“I, er—We—The coroner determined it was an overdose.” Her voice turns gentle. “Aiden wasn’t with her at the time.”

I don’t even know this kid, but I’m glad—so fucking glad—he wasn’t there to see it.

“Is he… okay?” I shove a hand through my still-soapy hair. “Paige never got clean. If she was pregnant, then… Is he okay?”

I only saw the kid for thirty seconds. He seemed shy, but normal enough, whatever “normal” means. He had all of his limbs. He could walk. What else do four-year-olds do?

“Aiden has been through a lot.”

“I know that. I mean, in general. Is he okay?”

Jodie hesitates. When she speaks again, her voice is sharp. “Listen, Mr. Whitaker: your son doesn’t have anyone else. There aren’t any maternal relatives stepping forward and, as the father, you are the agency’s first choice for guardianship. Every case that crosses my desk comes with its own baggage. Kids don’t come to me unless something has gone wrong at home. None of them are ‘okay.’ But they can be—if the right person steps up and takes care of them. It’s my job to find that person.”

The only thing I’ve been able to think about for days is whether I’m the father or not. I didn’t step beyond that. I didn’t think about what the answer would mean.

“It is your choice,” she continues. “Now that paternity has been established, you can take Aiden in. Or you can choose to sign away your rights so he can be adopted by someone who wants to take care of him.”

“I’ll do it,” I blurt.

I can’t believe what I’m doing. None of this feels real. I’m naked with shampoo dripping down my neck, and I’m becoming a father.

“I need to make sure you understand the commitment you’re making, Mr. Whitaker. You are going to have full custody of this child. You will be the only person responsible for his well-being.”

“You said there was no one else,” I grit out.

“There isn’t.”

“Okay. Then there’s nothing else to talk about.” I crack my neck once in each direction. “I’m all he has. I’m his father. So I’m going to take care of my son.”

The only thing left to do is figure out how in the fuck I’m going to do that.

8

MIRA

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