“Yes.” She took a deep breath.
Alyssa grabbed the envelope. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. The back of her neck was clammy and her stomach was churning with nausea. She’d never been so nervous in all her life. The black inked envelope between her fingers held her daughter’s future, and that is what scared her most.
Would John leave if he wasn’t the father?
Would he think differently of her?
Would he tell her to leave?
Would he have regrets? Did he have them now?
If Ben was the father, would she be able to get full custody of Brooke?
Would he still feel the same way about Brooke?
So many thoughts were running through her head and she was thinking the worst case scenario. She was working herself up into a panic attack at this rate.
Stepping back into the living room, John had his arms propped behind his head staring up at the ceiling. At the sound of her, he looked over and straightened.
Alyssa released a loud breath and swallowed. “Ready?”
Before she could say another word, John placed a hand on hers. He looked into her frightened eyes and said, “I’m sorry for lashing out. You have just as much going on as I do, but I want you to know this doesn’t change a thing. That paper won’t change anything between us. I’m always going to be here, okay?”
Her eyes watered. “Okay, but …” she stammered. “But why?”
John took a deep breath. She needed to hear this before she opened the envelope. “Because I want to. There is nothing I’ve wanted more in my life than to be her father. The moment I saw that baby, Alyssa, I was wholly hers. That was it.” He swiped his hands as if washing them clean. “I think I was hers since your pregnant belly …” he laughed wretchedly. “Aside from promising God over and over that I’d do anything to bring Jace back, I would do anything for her and you, too. I mean it. I love her. She’s too cute not to love.”
A tear trickled down her cheek as shaky hands flipped over the envelope. She tasted the saltiness as she slipped a finger underneath, slowly ripping the letter open. Her stomach was doing back flips and her mouth was dry as sandpaper. John didn’t look over her shoulder or breathe down her neck, he just sat stoically as she took her time.
She flipped the top half up, then the bottom half down. John felt like everything was going in slow motion.
This was the moment of truth.
Alyssa’s eyes were blurry with tears as she read the intro and scanned the fine print. She looked over the chart where it showed a match in her and her daughter, and then to where the probability of John and Ben being Brooke’s father. Being that Ben was in jail, his mouth was swabbed and his DNA was collected and put into the system months ago.
There were two more papers, one for Brooke and John, the other for Brooke and Ben. Her breathing deepened, her chest dipping in and out fast as it burned with each breath. Her whole body was shaking. She swiped away the wetness under her eyes and read the results again making sure she read correctly and wasn’t seeing things.
She wasn’t.
Alyssa sat motionless. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was barely breathing as the paper slipped through her fingers and floated to the floor like a feather.
“Alyssa?” John said softly. He went to rub her back, but she stood before he could and walked into another room. Were they happy tears or sad tears?
Reaching down, John picked up the results and read his destiny.
Judging by the feeling in his gut, he was so sure Brooke was his that he didn’t need to read the paper, but he did. In fact, he almost didn’t want to. He didn’t need a paper to prove it.
Brooke … Was not his.
Not his … What?
How could this be?
The results had to be wrong. The probability was wrong, it had to be. He was going to demand another test, because that baby was his–in his heart and in the flesh. Every time he looked at his little cupcake, his heart softened at her slobbery smile.
John was sick to his stomach. There was no way this was right.
Glancing up at Alyssa, tears pooled in her eyes. He didn’t want to see her cry, but at the moment he was too heartbroken over the results that he couldn’t console her. He should be fuming, but he was hurting too. Devastation hit him hard, almost as bad as when Jace died. It felt like the same thing; his heart being ripped from his chest with a bare hand over something that could never be changed. The ache that took residence in him hurt like a mother fucker. Why did Ben have to be the father? How was this fair? Life was so unfair—and unpredictable.