The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men 7)

Murphy’s hand fluttered to his mouth as he stared at Pick with a sudden intensity. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured, blinking as if tears were clouding his eyes.

“Do you remember him?” Pick asked softly, but eagerly stepping forward because it was obvious Murphy did remember Chaz.

After clearing his throat, Murphy answered, “Chaz was short for Charles. Charles Edward Murphy...Junior.”

When Pick sucked in a breath I glanced at him, but he was busy staring at his old boss. “You mean...are you saying he was your son?”

With a nod, Murphy said, “He was. Why’re you asking about him?”

My brother turned to me, and I think he was too stunned to talk, so I tried to smile at Murphy. “He, uh...well, we just discovered my mom, Polly Ruddick, was also Pick’s mom.”

“My God,” Murphy croaked, unable to take his eyes off Pick. “I thought you looked like him. The first day you came here, looking for a job, I could see so much of Chaz in your eyes. Probably why I hired you without a reference to your name, but I...I never would’ve dreamed you were that baby.”

Pick blew out a shuddered breath before shaking his head and asking, “So you knew...you were aware my mother was pregnant with Chaz’s—”

He broke off when Murphy nodded. “Sure. They were shacked up together, living in my garage while she was pregnant with you. She’d come into the kitchen every morning, and I’d feed her a hearty breakfast so you’d grow nice and strong.”

“Did you know she gave birth to me the same day—”

“I did,” Murphy said on a choked nod. “Took me a couple days, after the funeral, before I got around to go see you. Polly had already taken off by then, but they let me look at you through a window.”

“And you didn’t...” Pick shook his head, his eyes glazed with shock. “You didn’t try to get custody of me?”

Guilt lined Murphy’s eyes before he glanced away. “Shit, Pick. I’d just lost my son. My wife had been gone for years. I was trying to run my own business by myself; there was no way I was equipped to take care of an infant.”

Both Murphy and I watched as devastation lit Pick’s features. But he gave a noisy swallow and nodded. “I understand, Murphy. It would’ve been tough.”

As if realizing what a mistake he’d made, Murphy’s face took on a pleading expression. “They told me they’d find a real nice foster home for you, people who’d gone through classes and been trained on how to take care of a baby. I thought...I knew it’d be the best thing for you.” A wavering smile lit his face. “And hell, look at you now. You turned out just fine.”

With another nod, Pick mumbled, “Yeah. Just fine.”

I kicked at a spot on the floor, nearly biting my tongue in half because I wanted to tell Murphy so bad that Pick had not been fine...not for many, many years. But I figured if Pick had wanted him to know that, he would’ve said something himself. It wasn’t my place.

“If it’s any consolation,” Murphy went on. “Your mama loved you something fierce.”

I glanced up and watched the fond smile on the older man’s face as he nodded to Pick. “She was young—shit, they were both too young, but her in particular. And yet...none of that mattered. She talked and dreamed and envisioned the day you were going to arrive. She would’ve made a damn fine mama for you if Chaz hadn’t...” After another clearing of the throat, Murphy went on. “They were going to name you Dugger.”

“Dugger?” Pick murmured, glancing me with a slight wince. “Dugger Murphy.”

“Nice.” I flashed him two thumbs-up, refraining from telling him what our mother had actually named me.

Pick flipped me off before turning back to his grandfather.

Even as I chuckled, I tried not to let the bitter jealousy in, but it stirred within me, anyway.

I wanted so bad to tell Pick what a gift it was that our mother had loved him. Because she’d never loved me. She’d hated me, and told me so often. She’d gone on and on numerous times, complaining how much she’d wished I had died, how she resented Miller Hart for making her keep me, how she wanted her true baby boy back. I’d always known she’d loved Pick and not me, but listening to his grandfather back that fact up only dug the pain in deeper.

“I think we’re done here,” Pick said, tapping my elbow to get my attention. Then he nodded stoically to his former boss...his grandfather. “Murphy, thank you for your information. I’m going to...I’m just going to mull this over awhile, then I’ll probably be back to catch up on...things, if that’s all right with you.”

Murphy nodded immediately, and a smile lit his face. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

As Pick turned away abruptly and strode off, needing space, or to think, or whatever, his grandfather glanced at me. After a long blink, he said, “Now you...you have your mother’s eyes.”

Then he smiled fondly as if that was something I should’ve been proud of.

I nodded, twitching my lips to make him think I was smiling, but all I could remember was how much Polly had hated the fact I’d gotten her eyes. Almost as much as she’d hated me.

When Pick returned home, I was done being an insecure coward. If maturity was what Pick was calling this, then I was going to do the mature thing and just call Remy. Besides, I wanted to kill zombies with my friend again.