Page 79 of Secret Triplets for Christmas

“Oliver.” She smiled and for a moment, it short-circuited my brain. Her brow furrowed and then her expression morphed into worry. “What are you doing here?”

“Is it true?” I’d never been an aggressive man, but I pushed my way into her home, wanting to see the living embodiment of my brother.

“Is what true?”

The house was quiet. Clean and tidy. There were no signs of children. Had Donovan been wrong?

I turned to her. “Your kids. Are they Liam’s?”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted, but no words came out. She hesitated, and that was all the confirmation I needed. The truth etched itself across her face like a map of betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell me? Jesus, fuck, Lindsay. I lost all my family. Liam was all I had and then he was gone. But he had children? A part of him lives, and you didn’t say anything?” I realized that I’d been fucking her, the mother of Liam’s children, and it made me sick to my stomach.

She looked stricken, shaking her head slowly. "No, Oliver. They’re not Liam’s.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, and when they did, my anger morphed into sadness and embarrassment. “I’m sorry… I, uh… I was told they were Liam’s.”

She swallowed. “Everyone thinks that.”

That was an odd statement. Why wouldn’t she correct that if it was wrong?

Her hands shook as she stepped toward me. “The truth is, Oliver, you’re their father.”

When I was eight years old, my father, pissed that I’d poured his bottle of bourbon down the drain, put me outside in the bitter winter cold and dumped water on me and made me stand there until it froze. The water had felt like daggers slicing my skin, but the cold made me numb. That was what I felt right now. Daggers piercing my heart, my soul, the pain so fierce everything inside me went numb. The world as I understood it, or perhaps wished it would be, crumbled. Shock and disbelief filled me. Who was this woman? How could she have kept this from me? Why did she keep it from me?

My pain and anger grew as I realized that despite our time together over the last week, she was never going to tell me.

“How could you be so cruel? You’re truly evil.”

23

Lindsay

No, no, no. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Not that I hadn’t anticipated hurt and anger, but he was supposed to hear about the girls from me.

I was blindsided by Oliver showing up at my house. When I first saw him on my doorstep, my heart filled with happiness to see him. But quickly, I panicked, wondering if he could see into the house and notice that children lived here. And of course, that was followed by guilt because I needed to tell him about the girls. But somebody had beaten me to it, and now, pushed back on my heels, I had to answer for the secret I'd been keeping for five years.

“How could you be so cruel? You’re truly evil.”

His words didn't impact me as much as the expression on his face. The man was completely gutted, and it was my fault. Not only that, but he also looked at me as if he didn't know me. Like I was a monster.

I scanned my brain, desperately searching for words that could make this right and knowing there were none.

"I'm sorry, Oliver, but I can explain—"

"Explain? What possible reason could there be for you to keep the fact that I'd fathered children from me? Is something wrong with me? All I ever did was love you, and you do this?"

Love? I couldn't imagine the depth of my guilt getting any worse, but to hear that he loved me ratcheted it up to a whole new level.

"Love her? You've been gone for five years."

I turned as Mira walked into the room, concern etched on her face.

"It's okay, Mira." I turned back to Oliver, his expression blazing with heat. I wanted to reach out and hug him, to comfort him, but since I was the source of the torment, I kept my hands to myself.

I took a breath and did my best to gather my thoughts. "You left here, trying to escape all the pain—"

"And because of that, I forfeit my rights as a father?"

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