Page 5 of Accidental Baby Daddy

“How long have you been off the rig?” Dad asked, and I couldn’t help but grin.

“Too long. I’m itching to go back.”

“You know, now that you own those rigs, you don’t have to physically be there all the time,” my dad drawled. “That’s one of the perks of being an oil magnate.”

“I like being on the rigs. They keep me in shape. Keep me humble.”

Dad hummed in response, but I knew he understood. After all, he owned a few rigs himself, and he’d always gone out to work whether he needed to or not. We were roughnecks through and through. It was in our blood. My grandfather, Dirk, first struck oil in nineteen-forty-five, right here in Wagontown.

Our family has lived here ever since, although Dad and I both did plenty of traveling tooffshore rigs for work. I’d grown up with oil on my hands, following Dad around the rigs, going on multiple business trips with him.

I’d never done without, but I’d also learned the value of hard work. I was grateful for my dad because of that, and grateful to my mom for being gentle and sweet with me. I had great parents growing up and I still do. I’ll tell anyone who asks the same.

That’s one of the reasons why I’m so worried about this separation. Mom seems okay, if a little dimmed, but I know Dad is lost without her, and it shows on his face and in his actions.

“Is she seeing anyone else?” Dad blurted out, and I nearly dropped my bread.

“Dad, no,” I insisted, and I really didn’t think she was. I wasn’t just humoring him or sparing his feelings. “She told you that’s not what it’s about.”

“What is it about, then?” he asked, exasperation evident in his tone as he watched Trent pick apart a roll and eat it. “She won’t talk to me.”

“She won’t talk to me either,” I admitted. “But she has her reasons. Maybe she just needs some space. It’ll come out in time.”

“I miss her.”

I reached across the table to take my father’s hand in mine, squeezing it softly.

“I know you do, Dad. Things will work out. You’ll see.”

Tears filled his brown eyes, so much like mine, but they didn’t fall.

“All right, son. Maybe you’re right.”

Trent began chatting with his grandfather about a new friend he’d made at school, and Dad teased him about having a girlfriend, even though Trent insisted the little girl, Holly, wasn’t his girlfriend but only agirlwho was afriend.

I watched them, smiling fondly, as the food arrived.

I dug into my ribeye, loving the way the blood dripped from the meat as I put it on my fork.

Trent grimaced. “Gross, Dad.”

“Delicious,” I insisted, stuffing my mouth full as he glared at me, slowly eating his burger.

Dad laughed and it sounded genuine. I smiled at him, hoping that this outing was making him better and perhaps a little more connected to family.

As an only child, I was all my parents had until Trent.

“What are your plans for the rest of the night?” I asked. Dad just shrugged, which seemed to be a common answer from him lately.

“Probably just watching television. Being retired isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You could go out with me. We don’t have to order alcohol; we could just go somewhere and have fun.”

Dad scoffed. “What kind of fun? None of those club girls want an old man sullying their experience.”

“You’re not old, Dad.”

“Tell that to my joints,” he joked, and I chuckled.

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