Fate

  “Ah. You are unworthy of love? So you will not allow yourself such happiness? But consider. If you avoid her, you will hurt her, and make her unhappy, too.”

  Paul was only vaguely aware that he was nodding his agreement with André. He’d definitely drunk, far too much. The reason he knew this was true, was because everything seemed to be making so much sense. It felt right.

  Sometimes, it seemed that the world only made sense when you were wasted.

  It just showed how fucking shit-faced he was.

  André was speaking again, “I tell you now, if you cannot find the courage to be with Emily, then I vow to take her from you. She deserves more.”

  Suddenly Paul sat up straight. “No.” He raised a finger, abruptly realizing that he had something very important to tell him. “When I got the news today about my dad’s Will, it was like everything was gone, you know? I had nothing. It was as if everything I’d thought was important was a lie. And I had a moment there, André. A moment where I saw everything clearly. It was an epiphany.” He drank the last of the Scotch from his glass, and slammed the glass down.

  “You know what?” Paul said very loudly, causing a few heads to turn toward them from around the bar. “I may not know much, but I do know Emily. I know exactly who she is. I’ve always loved Emily. She’s my best friend. That’s what I realized today. I may not have seen her for the last three years, but I’ve continuously kept in touch with her. It’s no surprise that I fell so hard for Candy. I’ve been an idiot. I’ve been a prick. And I swear to God, I’ll make it up to her.”

  Saying ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I’m an idiot,’ just won’t do it, he realized

  What would Emily want? he wondered. The exact manner of how he would make everything right struck him then. It was so obvious!

  Yes! That’s what I’ll do. Paul blinked, certain that he was seeing double. André seem to be blurring in front of him. Holy hell! Just how drunk am I? he wondered.

  That was the last thing he remembered, before he woke up the next morning, in one of the hotel beds of the Holiday Inn.

  Chapter 39. Dad

  “I’m an adult now, Dad,” Paul said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  Paul sat beside his father’s bed, in the cardiac intermediate care unit of the hospital. It was a busy, somewhat open ward. Other patients, nurses and doctors were in the room, but so much was going on, that no one was paying any attention to them. He’d decided not to bring up the subject of the Will. First, he intended to find out what happened on that pivotal day that had changed his life so dramatically.

  The smell of antiseptic and other disgusting odors filled Paul’s nostrils. Who would want to work in a hospital? Surrounded by sick people, blood, vomit, and other bodily secretions and fluids. It was revolting.

  “Why don’t you ask your mother?”

  “I will. I’m going to call mom¸ but right now, I’m talking to you. I remember my eighth birthday like it was yesterday. You came home in a rage. You were mad before you got there. Even before the accident with my new bike.”

  “I told you not to leave it on the driveway!” His father’s anger, which always seemed to simmer just below the surface, became apparent, as his face reddened and his chest puffed up.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Paul said soothingly, keeping a firm rein on his own temper. “It was a stupid thing to do.” He wanted to explain that he’d only been nine years old, and that kids do dumb shit. He wanted to excuse his childish behavior, even now. But with a determine flex of his jaw, he kept his mouth shut.

  André had warned him not to explain, or justify himself. To do that was a trap. If he fell for the bait, it would shift his focus away from where it needed to be. This conversation must not be about him.

  It was about getting answers from this father.

  He had no desire to upset his dad, especially not so soon after his recent open-heart surgery. The poor man looked weak, and old – nothing like the strong younger man he once knew.

  Paul wasn’t sure how he felt. Guilty, for sure. His father had a way about him. It was in his eyes. They were always filled with hurt and distance. Just being near his dad evoked feelings of guilt and shame.

  But it was more than that. Did he also feel sorry for him?

  The guy was pathetic. He was never happy. Shit. Tom wouldn’t know happiness if it bit him on the ass. Yeah. He pitied his dad, but there were other feelings there, too.

  Impulsively, he took his father’s hand. When the older man tried to pull away, Paul retained his hand for a moment longer, then let it go. Remorse. Maybe that was it. But why should he feel bad?

  He thought back to earlier this morning. He’d left his hotel room, only to find André Chevalier, waiting for him. They had breakfast together. André spent time advising Paul, coaching him on the most appropriate way to speak with his father to get the impossibly reticent man to open up to him.

  “You must remain polite, interested and curious,” André had told him, “in face, tone, and manner. You are a Dom. Draw from your experience and training. Hold onto your temper, at all times and be courteous and respectful; attentive and in control. You must be observant and hyperaware of his every response. Your father, he does not open his mouth to communicate, no? Yet his body will not lie. You cannot allow yourself to be self-absorbed or introverted. When you are with a sub, you take charge, yes? How? Do you yell and scream like a child? Non. You are calm and determined.”

  Paul assured André that he could certainly dominate a willing submissive, but that taking the lead with his father would be much more of a challenge. The dynamics were so different. He had so much emotional baggage, when it came to his dad.

  “Oui, oui! I warn you, mon ami, you must remain on guard. Your father will say and do things that will test your control. Who better to disturb you, than the man who has often done so? He has learned to push the buttons, yes? To get the response. For him, you are a child. To learn his secrets, you must be a most persistent adult. Why is he like this? He will deny, pretend, and make many attempts to divert you. You have witnessed this behavior with a submissive, yes? It is instinctive human nature to avoid exposing oneself.”

  Polite interest, Paul reminded himself. He carefully schooled his features. How did the saying go? Sing a happy tune, and you’ll become happy. In his case, he was determined to remain genuinely interested, curious and focused on his father. It wasn’t that difficult since those feelings were genuine.

  The polite part was a bit more difficult.

  Until now, Paul hadn’t really believed André’s confident assertion his dad had a secret. That some event had changed his father, and resulted in his own life taking such a dramatic turn for the worse.

  At this point, Paul was burning to know the answer to this mystery. All of the bodily signs were right there. His dad was hiding something. But, to be totally honest with himself, he was afraid of what he might learn. What didn’t his dad want to tell him? What could be so important to hide? A secret that after all these years, he was still reluctant to share?

  When he first saw his dad today, Paul’s behavior started to follow the older pattern he was used to. He’d been ready to strangle the man, but devoted his attention to remaining calm. With each passing minute, it had become easier.

  Now that he had a string to pull, he’d regained his emotional control and objectivity. He wasn’t going to let go. He could almost see his father beginning to crumble, as he chipped away at his resolve.

  “Did you kill someone?” Paul asked, thinking that question would certainly evoke a response.

  “Don’t be stupid,” his father snapped back.

  “Did you have an affair? Is that what this is about?”

  That was when the walls really began to crumble down around him, and it all came out. It was a Friday afternoon, Paul’s ninth birthday. The morning had started well, with Paul getting his new bike. His father had gone to work, and then visited his doctor. Paul’s father had been tested beca
use he’d been disturbed by his wife’s inability to conceive a second child.

  “I found out I was sterile,” his father said. “I had mumps as a child. It turns out that I’ve always been sterile.”

  Both men just looked at each other, and said nothing.

  What could anyone say after that?

  Countless thoughts flooded through Paul’s mind. ‘Who is my biological father?’ was at the top of the list. “Do you know…”

  “No,” his dad said, before Paul could finish. “Your mother won’t tell me.”

  This turned out to be another conversation stopper.

  Paul’s mind was whirling with questions and possibilities. Somehow, it all made sense. No wonder his dad acted weird toward him from that day on.

  I’m not his son.

  The thought hurt deeply, somehow. Is that why his dad stopped loving him? Every time his father saw him, he saw another man’s child, and his wife’s infidelity.

  Dad never forgave his mother. No wonder he was so mean to her. For years, he’d probably tried to find out the answer. He’d have been suspicious and watchful, probably assuming that she was still cheating on him.

  Dad never trusted mom. All of those awkward silences and uncomfortable moments. Why didn’t she just tell him? How would Paul feel, in the same situation, if his wife had done that?

  No wonder his father was always so grumpy and mad almost all the time. He’d been living a lie. His son, whom he’d raised since birth was now a walking, talking, living reminder of his wife’s infidelity, deception and continual refusal to communicate.

  But why had his dad stayed with his mom?

  Something else suddenly became clear to Paul. “You took me out of your Will to punish her.”

  Paul’s father shrugged, and lay heavily back on the bed, exhausted by the conversation.

  André was right. None of this was about him. Why hadn’t his father gotten a divorce?

  “I don’t care who my biological father is,” Paul said, unexpectedly feeling defensive on his father’s behalf. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the man that raised me. I don’t know anyone else. The other guy was merely a sperm donor. You’ve had your moments where you were an asshole, dad. But I’m not perfect, either.”

  Paul patted his father’s arm. “I’m really glad you told me. Man, I’m sorry. I had no idea. It must’ve been hell for you.”

  Tom shut his eyes, seemingly trying to block everything out. He shifted, and turned away. The man was uncomfortable, which wasn’t a surprise. Paul’s dad had never been a touchy-feely or ‘let’s talk about this’ kind of guy.

  “I don’t care about the Will,” Paul said gruffly. “You’re not dying anytime soon anyway. We’ll work this out.”

  A jumble of images clouded his mind. Paul recalled those few precious times when his father patted him on the back, or told him he was proud of his grades. Moments when he showed Paul how to tie the boat to the dock, or the pleased smile on his dad’s face when his team won the championship.

  A thought struck Paul with the force of jackhammer. A wave of unexpected emotion surged through his chest.

  He stayed for me, Paul realized, abruptly. That awareness altered everything.

  Time stopped. All movement stilled and the beeping sound of electronic devices, and conversations around him muted. There was only him and his dad, shrouded in silence as this new thought rolled over him, opening wounds or closing them, or both. Who could tell?

  Raw and emotional, Paul had an unexpected and overwhelming urge to cry. He didn’t of course, but the sting in his eyes shocked him.

  He never cried. He’d never felt the urge to do so, even when he’d broken his arm during a football game. Paul considered himself to be a tough, no-nonsense, ‘I’ll-deal-with-this’ kind of guy. But his father’s disclosure had hit him in the gut with the force of a freight train.

  It took a few minutes to regain control.

  Paul cleared his throat, and changed the subject for the lighter topic, wanting to leave his father on a pleasant note. He complimented him on the changes he’d made in the store since he’d been gone. Both trying to amuse him, and to set his mind at ease. There was a lot to think about, but he could do that later.

  “I’ll see you again tomorrow,” Paul said when a nurse asked him to leave because his father needed rest. He bent over and kissed his father on the cheek. “I love you, dad,” he said quietly. Paul’s chest felt tight as he realized that he meant it.

  His father nodded, but didn’t look at him as he left.

  Paul wasn’t offended. Dad was a proud man, and this whole subject had been incredibly painful for him. His father was not his father. Dad was sterile, and his wife had cheated on him. Paul was living proof of that.

  But dad stayed. I think he stayed for me.

  With his world tilting on its axis, there was only one person he wanted to see. One person he trusted, who, in this vulnerable time, would really understand.

  I need to talk to Emily.

  Chapter 40. Storm

  Paul got into his dad’s car in the hospital parking lot. Leaving the door open, he pulled out his phone and dialed his mom’s number without thinking.

  “Hi, honey,” she said. “How nice of you to call. Is your father feeling better?”

  “He’s improving,” Paul said. He wondered if he should be calling her right now. He still hadn’t sorted anything out in his own mind, and didn’t know how he felt about his mother, at the moment. Apparently his mother and Emily’s father were apparently overjoyed to be living together.

  “What is it, hon? Are you okay?”

  No, he wasn’t okay. Since he was not much of a talker when it came to personal matters, Paul didn’t know how to start this conversation with his mom. Overwhelmed and confused, he had a huge amount of feelings, tumbling through his mind that simply blew him away.

  Usually, he was controlled and unemotional.

  Right now, he felt raw and exposed. Too much mind-fucking crap had happened, one thing after another. It was a lot to take in. Too many thoughts and feelings were pulling him in different directions. How was he supposed to respond to a question like are you okay?

  I feel like a friggin girl, he mused. Was this the kind of over-emotional shit women had to put up with due to female hormones? Because if so, they were a hell of a lot tougher than he was. Such an overload of feelings felt as if they could tear him apart. He’d be lucky if his head or his heart didn’t explode.

  “Paul, what’s going on? Talk to me. Is everything okay?”

  “I just found out that dad isn’t my father.”

  He heard a little gasp over the phone. “Oh.”

  There was a long moment of silence, and Paul finally asked, “Are you going to tell me who he is? Does the sperm donor even know he has a son?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “I think I should be the judge of what I should and shouldn’t know,” he snarled. “Please tell me that Emily’s dad isn’t my father.”

  “Of course he isn’t your father!” his mom snapped back. “I didn’t even know Simon when you were conceived. Look, all I’m going to tell you is that it was a one-time thing, and an accident. I’m glad it happened though. Otherwise I wouldn’t have you.”

  It took a moment to digest that truth. Paul was silent, because his head was spinning. He needed time to figure this all out. In the scheme of things, did it really make a difference who his father was?

  “Honestly, son,” his mom soothed. “If you really want to know, I did tell him… um, you know, your biological father.” She cleared her throat. Paul could almost hear her licking her lips with anxiety. “He knows about you. I’ve no idea why I did it, except that he asked me, and I felt incapable of lying to him about it.”

  Paul suddenly decided that he didn’t really want to know who his father was. He also didn’t feel like chatting to his mom.

  “All right,” Paul said. “I guess it’s a good thing, or I wouldn’t be here
right now.”

  “That’s the way I look at it. I think it was fate. You were meant to be, Paul.”

  Jesus.

  “Okay, mom. I’ll talk to you later.” They said their goodbyes, and he hung up. He used his speed dial, and managed to get a couple of extra staff to come into work. That way, he and Emily could have the day off… if she was still speaking to him.

  He shut the car door, put on his seatbelt, and then laid back with his eyes shut. What next? He should call André and thank him. He’d mended things with his father. He’d never have been able to do that without André’s insights and help.

  Paul felt like he was in the middle of a snowstorm or a blizzard. His mind was swirling with a perplexing torrent of emotions, memories, and ideas. He wasn’t who he’d thought he was. He hadn’t been the cause of his dad’s disappointment and anger all of these years. His dad loved him.

  But his dad wasn’t his real father. Some stranger was.

  The man who raised him had good reasons to be angry. Paul had thought that he hated his dad. He always blamed him for pushing his mom and him away. But his beliefs about himself and his family were all based on the egocentric misinterpretations of a child. His father had stayed in a hellish marriage for a kid that wasn’t even his. Stayed for him.

  Another obvious truth abruptly smacked Paul right between the eyes.

  Fuck! Mom stayed for me, too.

  Paul never appreciated how incredibly fortunate he’d been with his father, and his mother. He had considered his family false and dysfunctional, judging them so harshly. He criticized them, and felt that they’d betrayed him, somehow. Yet now, he could see that they were both doing what they felt was best, for him.

  They stayed together, for me. Sacrificing their happiness because they both love me.