Page 8 of Wild Love
CHAPTER THREE
FORD
Coraand I have spent the last hour on the front steps of the dilapidated barn, looking over our Kindred DNA results. While I scoured the internet for reliable assessments of Kindred’s testing accuracy, she sat quietly beside me, waiting. I saw her eyes roll when I typed the same question, only worded differently.
In my defense,how accurate is Kindred testing?might bring up different results thanis Kindred testing ever wrong?
“So you’re pretty sure I’m your biological dad?” The question sounds stupid to my own ears, but I’m having a hard time processing this news.
“Pretty sure.” Cora fiddles with her shoelaces, and I stare at the scribbles she’s made in black marker over the white toe of her sneakers. I used to do that too. “Just recently found out my parents used a sperm donor. And this links us.”
Am I supposed to hug her or something? Seems kind ofcreepy, considering I don’t know her at all. I opt to find out more information instead.
“Are you… Do you…” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my loss for words. “Do you have a home?”
Her responding sigh is so dramatic, so exasperated, I feel my lips twitch. It reminds me of my sister, Willa.
“So you came to find me?—”
“Yup. And I found you. Your name is in the news because of your new production company and shit. Kids these days are pretty good with the internet.”
“I just… I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time processing this. I didn’t expect, well, you.”
Her chipped, black-polished nails trace the scribble-covered rubber toe of her shoes. “You donated sperm. What did you expect?”
“To walk out of that building with a much needed one hundred dollars in my pocket.”
An awkward silence descends between us. And guilt creeps in. I need to rein in my attitude, not be a dick to a child. “I was nineteen. Wasn’t really thinking beyond that. Never imagined there could be a kid out there.”
She scoffs. “Did you forget donating?”
I shrug, elbows propped on my knees. “Sort of.” My eyes slice in Cora’s direction. “Sorry.”
Her eyes roll again, but her cheek hitches up for a beat too. “It’s okay. I thought you were loaded or some shit. Your dad is a famous rock star. Why did you need a hundred bucks?”
A chuckle rumbles in my chest, and I drop my head. “Iwas dying to see Rage Against the Machine on their reunion tour. But my dad, rich and famous as he might be, didn’t fund my—or my sister’s—lifestyle. He was big on teaching us life lessons and avoiding the silver-spoon effect. At that point, I’d just started university and was broke. My tuition was paid, but I worked at a bar to pay rent and eat.” I shake my head as I think back on that conversation with my dad. “He wouldn’t spot me the hundred bucks for tickets. Told me that hardworking people prioritize necessities and sometimes go without the extras.”
Her lips twitch, and she looks away. “Wow. You really showed him.”
I don’t respond to that as it hits me—I’ll have to tell my parents about Cora. I think? I’m not sure why she’s here or what she wants.
“It’s almost like Zack de la Rocha played a part in my conception, and I guess that’s pretty cool. And they haven’t been on tour since, so who can blame you, really? Decent investment.”
I laugh now because how can I not? “I appreciate your logic on that one.”
Cora cracks a smile, but it’s a sad one. She told me she’s twelve. But she seems wise beyond her years, world-weary in a way a twelve-year-old shouldn’t be.
My voice comes out rough when I say, “Okay, let’s pretend I really am your biological parent. What brings you here to my doorstep?”
“What doorstep? This place is a dump,” she mutters sullenly, and I glance over my shoulder to confirm that it is indeed a dump without a doorstep.
“Actually, that’s the house.” I point to the craftsman-style house beyond the barn. It’s not perfect, but it’s close. New and rustic all at once. The barn though? Yeah, it needs some work.
But I know it will be worth the effort. The view of the lake, the smell of pine on the breeze. Spring is in the air, and as soon as everything greens up, this place will be impressive.
“My dad died.”
That one sentence stops me in my tracks. Her fingers are still fidgeting, eyes still downcast, but I’m motionless as I watch her.
