Page 11 of Who's Your Daddy
“Right, well, I’ll be here if you need me,” I tell Murphy.
He nods. “Okay, Cal, I’ll see you later.”
And then my son disappears with Lola again, and even though I’ve only just met him, I feel like a piece of me is walking away.
Chapter 5
Cal
“Home sweet home,” I mumble to myself as I walk around the disaster that is our new flat.
Brian and Sully look far more subdued than I feel. Can’t imagine why they’re not more excited about the move. How could anyone not be thrilled when they see the broken glass littering the kitchen from what appears to be an ancient baseball through the window, or the clumps of dust that have accumulated in every corner of the space?
The ceilings are ridiculously low. It’ll be bad enough for Brian and me. But for Sully? It’s a literal hazard. Already, he’s hit his head on a doorframe. If he’s concussion-free by the end of the day, I’ll consider that a win.
Though we’ll probably all need tetanus shots if we want to leave this place without lockjaw and painful muscle spasms. “I can’t fathom Dad really setting this up. Are you sure this is the place?”
Brian must be pulling one over on us. Or maybe it’s Lola. I’ve pissed her off enough over the years to warrant it. I could see her giving us the wrong address. Bloody hell, it’s probably a ruse. Lips twitching, I turn to hit the men with another joke.
Before I can, Sully lets out a low curse and grips the back of his head.
Shit. That’s the second time he’s hit his head. The no-concussion thing isnotlooking promising.
“This is definitely the place,” Brian says, his tone flat. “The office is downstairs. Your father brought me here when he signed the trust.”
Sully gives him a murderous glare. Like me, my brother is upset about the way our father turned to Brian with the details of this situation, yet never brought it up to either of us.
There are so many questions we’ll never get answers to. While Brian is stuck in this situation like we are, he at least had the opportunity to discuss it with Dad.
It feels an awful lot like everything in my life is tilting and twirling and I can’t quite catch my bearings. It all started with the loss of my father. It’s still hard to comprehend. The man was always so commanding. Always so in control.
I lived to push at those constraints, and now that he’s gone, I have no one to push against. If he can see me now, I’m sure he’s laughing. He truly did get the last word because if I don’t do exactly what he has instructed, then I lose everything.
A bit ironic considering the way he died—while in bed with a woman who wasn’t even half his age. Not sure he should be the one telling us how to live our lives.
As if his death and the stipulations of the trust haven’t been hard enough on me, discovering that I have a kid, who I now have to drag into this mess, really has me lost. I want him here with me—it was nearly impossible watching Lola and him leave yesterday, but the rules are the rules, and until the court hears Brian’s complaint, the law requires Murphy to stay with Lola as emergency guardian.
It’s probably for the best considering the dump we’ve found ourselves in. At least I have another forty-eight hours to make it habitable.
“Knock, knock,” a woman calls from the front of the flat. The three of us look from oneto another, dumbstruck.
“You didn’t set up appointments for today, did you?” Sully asks Brian.
Neither bothers to check with me. They know I avoid meeting with clients like it’s my business. Avoidance should be my middle name.
But there’s no avoiding the woman standing in the center of our living room, her dark black curls covered partially with a golden silk scarf. Beads jangle at her wrists with every step she takes. She’s wearing layers of clothing draped loosely over her body, each a different color.
The lines on her face deepen as she smiles at us.
“You must be Terry’s sons.” She holds out her hand and a gold snake around her pinky finger grabs my attention as I return the greeting, its green eyes mesmerizing me in an almost trance-like way.
“We are,” Sully says. “And who are you?”
Brian is less suspicious. He nods and gives her a professional smile, as if he recognizes her.
The air shifts, and my brother looks at me. Once again, Sully and I have been left in the dark.
“You must be Madame Esmeralda?” Brian shakes her hand, then darts a look at us over his shoulder. “Your father’s psychic,” he explains, his brows lifted.
