Chapter Thirty-Eight
Stacia
The results from the amnio test came after a week. As expected, the probability of paternity is 99.998 percent.
What a total shocker.
With the test results, combined with the ultrasound images and notarized letter, Colton was able to work his magic and have the accounts moved into West’s possession; as promised, West had my name added the second he could. The whole process, start to finish, took two weeks, which is kind of mind-blowing to me.
However, Colton had one caveat in all of this. He wanted to meet my father before moving forward with full representation, and I get that, I do.
Which brings us to the here and now.
“You okay?” West asks from the driver’s seat of the daddy wagon.
“Just nervous,” I mumble back, sitting on my hands to keep them from shaking.
“Don’t be, baby. I know your dad hasn’t wanted you to come see him, but this is a good thing.”
“But what if he turns us away?”
West and Colton exchange a knowing glance in the front seat. “He won’t,” the latter assures me.
“But—”
“Baby mama,” West soothes, “it’s gonna be okay. I promise you.”
West turns off of the highway onto a long, winding, scenic road. A drab gray box of a building looms in the distance, an angry mark on the otherwise pastoral scenery. It sends chills down my spine to think of my kind and lively father being locked away in here.
We turn into the facility and follow the signs to a secured parking lot, where an armed guard searches our vehicle before granting us entry. The entire time, my knees are knocking with nerves. Not because I think he’ll find anything, but because I haven’t seen my dad in so, so long that silly, superfluous thoughts are crowding my brain, like—what if he doesn’t love me anymore or what if he looks different now. I know I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t seem to shut my brain off.
I’m surprised we have to be searched again upon entering the building, but at the same time, I guess it makes sense. The three of us pass through a metal detector on our way into the sad-looking lobby. It’s gray cinderblock as far as the eye can see. Colton guides us to a check-in desk of sorts, where we all fill out paperwork.
The whole time, I keep expecting a prison official to turn us away, to tell us my dad is refusing our visit, but it never happens.
After an agonizing twenty-minute wait, a stocky guard with an epic mustache calls for us. “Before we head back, I’m going to need to verify your IDs to your paperwork.”
He checks each thoroughly before finally hitting a button on the wall to buzz the door open. We’re led down a long hallway and then into a midsize room full of tables; it’s almost set up like a cafeteria—if a cafeteria served doom and gloom.
My eyes ping all over the room until finally they land on him. He’s a mere two tables away. I draw up short, scrutinizing him from a distance. His usually clean-shaven face is scruffy, and his hair is overgrown. It may be my imagination, but his cheeks seem a little hollow as well.
It only takes a few steps for the guys to notice I’m no longer with them. West gestures for me to follow, but I can’t. My feet are rooted to the spot.
As if he can sense me, Dad looks up, locking eyes with me. A single bead of sweat rolls down my back, and my hands shake. My fight or flight instinct is going hog wild as I stare at my hero, dressed in a generic gray sweatsuit with a name badge clipped to the front.
I can’t help but wonder which of us will break first.
“Stacia.” It’s him. He does. “My sweet wildflower.” The hitch in his voice tells me everything he’s left unsaid. He loves me, he’s missed me, he’s happy to see me—he’s still my dad, and I’m still his little girl.
I want so badly to run to him, to throw myself into his arms—the very same ones that protected me from the boogeyman as a child—but I don’t. It’s against the rules.
Bitterness sweeps through me, cold and slithery, but I fight through it. He’ll be out of here soon enough.
“Daddy!” I take the seat to his left, tears wetting my cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much.”
West claims the seat by me, leaving Colton to take the one on my dad’s right. The two men wait quietly while my father and I catch up in hushed tones.
“Mr. Kellan,” Colton says when there’s a lull in our conversation. “I’m Colton Banks; it’s nice to meet you.”
Dad appraises him in his crisp navy suit, pressed white shirt, and coral tie. “I figured as much. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Since we talked last, I’ve been doing some research. Digging, if you will. I have a few things I’d like to talk to you about more in depth, but we’ll discuss those matters once you’re out.”