Headstrong Like Us (Like Us 6)

“What is it?” I ask.

He’s gone pale. “They want me to come back.” He’s not an idiot. He knows, if the test came back negative, they would have told him over the phone.

Maximoff’s already on his feet. “Let’s go.”

We’re ushered into an office in the hospital, but no one sits down. The doctor who met with us last night is here again, but this time he’s accompanied by a petite white woman with auburn hair. She holds a clipboard tight to her chest.

Maximoff and I stand side-by-side. His fingers brush against mine, and I take his hand. Donnelly leans against a bookshelf, a few steps back from us. I think he might be hoping this can all go away if he disappears in the shadows.

“This is Amanda Sheffield,” Dr. Turner introduces. “She’s the social worker here tonight.”

She rotates to Donnelly. “You must be Paul. Could we have a minute alone with you?”

Blood drains from Donnelly’s face, and he glances at me. “They have to stay. Farrow is my legal counsel.”

My brows spike. “Man—”

“Legal advisor.”

“Better.”

Dr. Turner looks between us and concedes. “We have the results from your lab work.” He hands me the paper, probably figuring I’m the only other person in the room who can read it. I scan the data quickly, while he continues. “The paternity test came back negative.”

“Holy shit,” Donnelly says into a relieved exhale, burying his face into his hands.

My brows are knotted as I keep reading the paper. “Donnelly,” I whisper.

He lifts his head, frowning.

Dr. Turner clears his throat. “The DNA test did show that you share around 12% DNA with the child. Do you have any siblings?”

“Nah, it’s just me. I’m an only child.” He glances at me again, confused. I just want to cut to the chase. I know Donnelly’s family history, and I don’t need this doctor asking him a million questions.

“He has one uncle. So that’s most likely the father.” I look to Donnelly. “Knowing your family history, and how much DNA you share with the kid…you two are cousins.”

12

MAXIMOFF HALE

Dear World, what the fuck? Sincerely, a stupefied human.

We receive more information, and Donnelly’s world sounds more bizarre and fucked up than even mine. Just to be clear, I’m aware my problems aren’t that significant compared to most. I have a hefty trust fund, great parents, and I’m engaged to the guy I love.

I’m processing.

How Donnelly’s Uncle Scottie is only thirty. How Scottie got a twenty-five-year-old woman pregnant before he was sent to prison.

Tina Ripley was at the hospital tonight after an OD. Once she gained consciousness and answered a few questions—including giving the hospital staff Donnelly’s name and number—she snuck out the back door. Disappeared and left behind the four-month-old baby she was wheeled in with. Police have been searching but they can’t find Tina.

After delivering all the details, the doctor and social worker leave the office to let us discuss everything.

Legal documents line a mahogany desk, and I’ve already called my family’s lawyers to help. No one’s made any decisions, but there are only two living relatives able to care for the baby, Paul Donnelly and his dad Sean.

Since Sean was just released from prison and no one’s been able to get ahold of him, the social worker already ruled him out.

The way it’s been explained to us, both parents—Scottie and Tina—still have parental rights. Until the police find Tina or until Scottie gets released from his five-year sentence (for manufacturing meth), the baby needs a guardian to take over all legal rights.

That person will be responsible for all of the child’s needs. Shelter, food, education…every little thing.

The three of us sit in chairs: me, Farrow, Donnelly. We face a desk, an empty plush leather seat tucked against it. My stomach hasn’t stopped clenching since we got here.

“So maybe I take the kid?” Donnelly says, talking it out. “The mom could come around and want him back. It’d be like babysitting.”

Farrow gives him a serious look. “What if she doesn’t come back?”

Donnelly’s knees bounce and he clicks a pen open and closed. Open and closed. He slips the pen behind his ear. “You know after my parents got sent away, I spent a month in a group home.” His voice cracks on the last words.

I didn’t know.

Farrow puts a hand on his back.

Donnelly shakes his head. “How could I do that to him? When I have the money. When my grandmom took me in with less.”

Farrow’s eyes redden. “Could you give Maximoff and me a minute alone?” That question is like facing a head-on collision. I know what’s coming. I see the aftermath.

But I’m still holding my breath.

Donnelly rubs at his face, exhaustion behind blue eyes. “Yeah, I need somethin’ to eat anyway.” Farrow gives him directions to the nearest vending machine, and when he leaves, Farrow turns to me with grave, serious eyes. I know him well enough to see what’s ahead.