My Mentor's Secret Baby - His Secret Baby

Chapter One – Hazel

I was at home, writing on my computer, or trying to, growing more frustrated by the minute. I had been suffering from writer’s block for years, unable to even form a decent thought or idea, let alone write a sentence. Finally, I had to push my keyboard away in frustration. Getting up from the desk, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. After I drank it, I went back to my computer, but I couldn’t bring myself to sit down. Just starring out my window, I bit my lip anxiously.

It was no use. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t write anything. I couldn’t concentrate. It was like I had lost my inspiration or my desire to write. This was supposed to be my next book, the sequel to my first smash hit. I had planned on making this one spectacular, but my ideas just swirled around in my head, resisting the paper.

I kept looking out the window as I remembered my first book with a certain fondness. That book was my baby, my passion. I wrote it five years ago with the help of Alex, my first love. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t been able to write anything since. Writing was something that Alex and I used to do together. It just hasn’t felt the same since then. Nothing has.

Alex Anderson was my father’s best friend and one of the most talented science fiction writers ever. I used to love reading his books. In fact, Alex inspired me to become a writer.

Despite the fifteen-year difference in our ages, we used to sit for hours on the back deck of my childhood home, discussing stories. I would relate to him ideas that I had for my own little books, and he would always praise me, telling me, “What an imagination!” With his help, we turned one of those ideas into my first published book. I was only eighteen at the time.

I remembered how nervous I was when I was waiting to hear back from the publisher. Alex was right there beside me. I still think of his words to this day.

“Relax, it’s going to get published. You’re a brilliant writer, and it’s a great idea. These things just take a lot of time. That’s how it is in this industry.”

I was in awe of the attention and care that he showed me. I was a nobody, and he was famous — almost a god in my eyes.

Things escalated quickly between us. My dad was a doctor and a single parent, often at work. Alex would visit in the afternoons when I was alone in the house. We became closer as we spent more time together. I loved being around such an intelligent, older man, and I loved writing. Even then, I was already planning a second book.

The day my book was published, I received a copy in the mail. Excitedly, I ran into my father’s den. He was having drinks with Alex.

“Congratulations!” my father said proudly as he sipped his scotch.

Alex and I shared a long look before he congratulated me as well. My excitement was at its peak. This was a dream come true for every aspiring writer, and I had Alex, my mentor, to thank for making it happen.

That night, I had already showered and put on my comfy pajamas. I was in the kitchen looking for an after-dinner snack. Hearing footsteps, I turned around with curiosity. It was Alex, putting dishes in the sink.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized. Despite his notoriety, he had always been very kind to my father and me.

I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and shut the door. “That’s okay, I thought you had left already,” I told him as I reached for a spoon from the drawer.

“Nah, just having an intense conversation with your dad,” he explained.

I set my yogurt and spoon on the counter then leaned against it.

“So, still excited about your book?” my mentor asked, teasing me.

“Is it that obvious?” I replied, blushing a little. We both took a few steps closer, so we were leaning across the counter, our faces inches apart. “Actually, I owe it all to you. You are the one who convinced me to go through with everything,” I told him.

Alex smiled, shrugging at my compliment. “I had nothing to do with it. Besides, I already told you what I think about your writing.”

I giggled and said, “That’s what I like about you. Even though you are this big-shot writer, you are so down to earth.”

His deep-brown eyes took on a different sparkle as I said that. “What you like about me?” he prompted curiously.

Looking up, I took in the width of his strong shoulders and the way his torso slanted down to a narrow waist. In his early thirties, Alex was a well-built man and muscular. Many fans commented on his rugged looks, from his square chin to the mop of unruly brown hair that refused to lay straight no matter what he did.