Unexpected Odds (Unexpected Arrivals 5)

“Do they do that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

“I’m sure it’s expensive.”

“Don’t care.”

We sit in silence. Our bowls of chili have long since been emptied, and I’m sure, like me, he’s trying to wrap his head around today. It’s been information overload. I don’t know what to think or what to feel. My mother, I don’t know why she would do this to me. Then there’s my dad. He was always the quiet one. He never said much, but I do remember him standing up for me when Kendrix was born. My mom was angry, and when I say angry, not just “oh woe is me… I’m disappointed in you.” She was pissed and didn’t talk to me for three full days when I named my daughter.

“How long are you here for?”

“Just overseeing the renovations. However long that takes.”

“And Kendrix?” he asks. I swear the way he says her name with reverence, it does something to me. It makes me want to believe him and everything he’s said, but then there’s my mother.

“She’ll be here with me.”

“Where’s home to you? California?”

Home. Again, I’m hit with the fact that I feel more at home here in his kitchen than I have since the day I woke up after the accident. I’m not even going to think about why that might be. “Yeah.”

“You selling once the reno is done? Have you thought about maybe sticking around? Making Tennessee home?”

“I think we’re jumping the gun just a little, don’t you think? I mean, come on. You have a theory that since we were sleeping together, that my daughter is yours. I don’t know you. You could be making all of this up. There will be no discussions of moving or visitation or anything else related to my daughter until your theory is proven.” I wait for him to balk and back down, but he does the opposite.

“Good. I’ll pay them to put a rush on the results. I refuse to lose anymore time with her.” He stands and takes both our empty bowls to the sink and rinses them off. I watch his muscles flex under his tight-fitting long-sleeved T-shirt while he loads them into the dishwasher. When he’s finished his task, he turns and leans against the counter, crossing his ankles and his arms across his broad chest. “There will be visitations, and one of us is going to have to move. I will not lose anymore time with her.” His voice is stern and his jaw is set.

He really believes he’s her father. “I’m ready to go home now.” I stand and push in my chair, taking my glass to the sink. “Thank you for having me.” Turning, I walk toward the living room, slide into my boots and coat, and wait for him to join me.

The ride home is silent and filled with tension. The few times I glanced at Kent, I could see the white of his knuckles from the lights on the dash of his truck. His jaw is set, and I’m sure his mind is racing as he tries to process today. I know mine is.

He pulls up to the front door in the circular drive, and I reach for the door handle. His hand on my arm stops it. Then again, maybe it’s his gravelly voice as he says my name.

“Delaney.”

I freeze as my eyes find his in the dimly lit cab. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” His voice is gruff as he shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I should have been there. That night. I promised you I was going to meet you there and I wasn’t. This is all on me.” He swallows hard, his dark eyes boring into me. “I’m going to make it up to you. To both of you. I want you, both of you in my life. I know you don’t remember me.” He stops as his hand moves from my arm to cradle my cheek, and I can’t seem to stop my body’s reaction to him as I lean into his touch. “I don’t care where I have to go, or what I have to do. I’m going to be there. You hear me, Laney?” He leans in close and presses his forehead to mine. “I’m going to be there for both of you. No matter what.”

“I should go.” I pull away with great effort, and pull on the handle climbing out of the truck. By the time I manage to climb out and get my door shut, he’s there, standing next to me. Hand on the small of my back, he walks me to the door.

“Thank you for letting me talk, to spend time with you. I’m calling first thing tomorrow for a lab. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“How are you so certain? This is all so unexpected. I mean, come on, what are the odds that you, the man I see in my dreams, are the father of my daughter?”