Page 30 of Secret Triplets for Christmas

“No.”

He frowned. “Why would they think you had it? You and Liam had been kaput by then.”

“Probably because of where he’d been when he died.”

Duncan winced. “Right. Sorry to mention it.”

“No. It’s okay.”

“You don’t suppose this has to do with the girls, do you?” He voiced the fear that I’d been working to not think about.

“I don’t think so. They went through everything in my house. Plus, I didn’t know I was pregnant when Liam died.” There I was, lying to people I loved again. Not about not knowing I was pregnant. The truth was, I wasn’t pregnant when Liam died. I was lying about Liam being the father of my girls.

“Right. Good. Have you talked to Oliver?”

His question caught me off guard. I was sure Duncan was aware of Oliver, but his comment made it seem like he knew Oliver.

“I know he got a text like I did, and he’s come back to Boston.”

“Poor guy to have to be dragged into all of this again. Well, poor you too, but Oliver, that kid had it rough.”

“I didn’t realize you knew him.”

“Sure. Years ago, I hired him to help with some computer issues at the gym. The guy was working his ass off to care for Liam, as you know. He didn’t want Liam to have too much college debt. His dedication to Liam was admirable, and so whenever I had computer issues or could refer him to someone, I did.”

How did I not know this?

We chatted a bit longer and then parted, Duncan home to wrap presents for Aiden and me to get my girls from school.

Later that night, after the girls were in bed, I discussed Christmas plans with my father and Mira for our yearly trip to the cabin. I had a moment to wonder whether Oliver would still be here then. The idea of his being alone on Christmas made me sad. Was he always alone on Christmas now that Liam was gone? A yearning to invite him to Christmas with me and my family welled in my chest. Oliver was a good person who deserved love and family. But of course, I couldn’t invite him. Not if I didn’t want him to know about the girls.

Guilt flared hot and piercing in my gut. What sort of woman was I to keep Oliver in the dark about his daughters? I began to doubt my strong reasonings about my choice. What had made perfect sense now felt wrong, and I didn’t like the type of woman it suggested that I was.

Should I tell him the truth? To what end? Would he stay in Boston and be a father to them? Would he want them to come to California? Would he be angry and try to take them from me? Or would he look at the girls as a mistake?

It was cowardly of me, but now more than ever, I wished Oliver would go back to California and never look back again.

10

Oliver

Having sexy fantasies about Lindsay wasn’t helping my situation. It was time to get to the bottom of what was going on and then return to my life in California. The first stop was the old neighborhood. It didn’t matter if we were home with our parents or in foster care, Liam and I had always been in or around this area of Boston. This was where the quintessential working-class poor, adjacent to the poorest of the poor, lived. My impression was that it was filled with heartache and pain, but it was entirely possible that it was just my life.

While money could make life easier, it wasn’t the source of happiness. I imagined there were people in the neighborhood who were perfectly happy.

My family hadn’t been that. Our father drifted in and out of jail, leaving scars on our mother each time he came home. When he finally got locked up for life, we were left with our broken mother. But she didn't last long either. She found another asshole to knock her around, and he ended up killing her when I was ten and Liam was six. I spent my life trying to shield Liam from the darkness of this place, but in the end, I couldn't save him.

“You sure you want to come here?” my rideshare driver asked as he pulled up in front of the neighborhood pool hall.

“Yes. Thanks.”

My driver pulled to the curb, his eyes scanning the area as if he expected to be carjacked. I gave him a tip to help offset the discomfort. Then I exited the car, looking at the tired building with the flickering neon sign. I sighed as the memories continued to roll in, one after the other. When I was just a kid, my mother would send me here to find my father when he wasn't in jail. As teenagers, Liam and I found ourselves drawn back to this place, maybe because it was the only interesting thing going on in the area. It was far from the ideal hangout for teenage boys.

Taking a breath to shore up my resolve, I entered the pool hall, glancing around at the familiar sights and sounds—dim lighting and the smells of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The place was mostly empty. One person was at a pool table, surveying his last shot. Another man sat back in the corner as if he was trying to hide from the world.

Behind the bar stood Frankie, who’d been the bartender for as long as I could remember.

I stepped up to the bar.

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