Page 118 of Kept

“It can wait,” Maverick says gently. “If you’re not ready.”

His eyes are full of understanding, but I force the words out past the lump in my throat. “No, it can’t.”

This isn’t just about me. There are far more people than me waiting for the answers in this envelope. I’m not going to let my own hesitation leave them waiting any longer.

Taking a deep breath, I slide my finger under the tacky strip keeping it closed, ripping it in a jagged slash as I pull out and unfold the cream paper.

It takes me a few seconds to scan the first page, full of tables and numbers that make no sense to me. When I flip to the next page, my eyes drag down to a line.

Probability of paternity: 99%

I expected to feel shock, fear even, but all I feel is numb. I glance up at Maverick. He’s hovering, clearly desperate to know.

“It’s true,” I whisper. “I… Emerson is my father.”

And my name, myrealname, is Aria Cooper.

My father is Emerson Cooper.

My mother was Maria Cooper.

I am Maverick’s shadow girl.

He catches me before my knees hit the ground, lifting me up and cradling me gently as he carries me out of the art studio. Enzo and Ryder are close behind, their voices bleeding into one cacophony of noise that sounds like the rush of water on the river.

Maverick’s arms are strong around me, and I press my ear to his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat drown everything out. When I look up, he’s staring down at me, his eyes traveling across my face as though he’s seeing me for the very first time.

His eyes are damp, and he closes them when I reach up, catching a tear on my finger.

“Sorry,” he says roughly.

“Don’t.” I swallow. “Don’t apologize, Maverick. This is… good news.”

“Is it?” He searches my face, his forehead creasing. “Good news?”

My mother is dead, but I have a father. A living, breathing father who desperately wants to see me.

And I still have Maverick. I have Ryder. I have Enzo.

I’ve gone from having no-one, to havingthis.

Slowly, I nod, and take a breath, letting my lungs fill with oxygen. “Call him. Call Emerson.”

If this is a new beginning, I want it to be the best possible start it can be.

***

I’m sitting on the bottom step, gripping Ryder’s hand when a pounding sound comes from the front door. Three large bangs make me jump, and I freeze in place as Maverick steps forward to answer it.

His hand pauses on the handle as he turns to face me. “Are you ready?”

Am I?

I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for this. But I nod anyway, keeping hold of Ryder’s hand as I stand upright, brushing off my jeans and straightening my top. I drag my braid to the front, playing with it as Maverick pulls the door open. “Emerson.”

“Maverick.” I can hear the emotion in his voice, the choked sound, and it draws up an answering tightness in my own chest, a burning in my throat. “Is it true?”

Fear roots my feet to the floor, preventing me from moving as Maverick answers him.

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