“Bowie Holmes.”
“He’s Austin’s best friend, Carly. He would never betray him like that.”
“He was in love with Brooklyn—even I saw that.”
“Are you going to ask Brooklyn?”
She turned and looked at her friend. “No. I have a friend who works at a clinic in Seattle. We’re going to take Brystol there; he’ll test her.”
“Carly, I don’t think you should do this.”
“I have to know, Simone.”
“And how do you plan to get Bowie’s DNA?”
“Bowie used to spend nights here when he and Austin were out late together or drinking, and he had a drawer of things in the bathroom. A toothbrush, hairbrush. After Austin died, he never came back for them. It should be enough, especially with my DNA.”
Simone stood and went to her friend. “Please rethink what you’re about to do. I know you love that little girl, and she loves you. If you get the results you’re expecting, it will change you forever. Sometimes, it’s just best not to know. You could go the rest of your life feeling as if you have a piece of Austin, or you can break your own heart.” Simone left her standing there with her thoughts.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Bowie yawned as he put his truck into park and turned the key to shut off the engine. He sat there in the driveway, staring at Carly’s house, thinking about the events from the past couple of days. He had gone from being hopeful with Brooklyn, feeling as if they’d finally overcome the imaginary wall between them, to heartbroken and feeling desperate because Carly was sick and there wasn’t anything he could do to help.
When he left the hospital last night, it was late. He stayed long past visiting hours, hoping to see Brooklyn one last time after she went to be with Carly in her room. When the nurses’ station dimmed the lights, he finally drove home, surprised to find Luke waiting for him. He went to call Graham to thank him, only to find a text from his friend telling him that he had dropped his dog off and if he needed anything to call him.
As much as he wanted to see Brooklyn now, he knew she wouldn’t be at work. He was going to pull double duty and make sure every part of the project was meeting deadlines. They had an inn to finish, with or without Brooklyn and Carly.
The door to the inn swung open, and a group of guys walked out, then picked up shiplap, loaded their work belts with supplies, and carried in loads of drywall. He had learned from Brooklyn that he wasn’t managing his crew very well, which embarrassed him. Because of his divorce, he had slacked as a boss, and it had showed when they started on the inn. He could see now why Brooklyn shut herself off, especially while she worked. Job first, emotions later. A motto now instilled in him.
He pulled out his phone to call her to make sure she didn’t need anything. He scrolled through his contacts, not once, twice, but three times looking for her number. His brow furrowed in confusion. He was certain he had added her number, but where was it? Not under the b’s and nothing under the h’s. He reached across the bench of his truck and pulled the clipboard Luke sat on. Flipping through the work orders, he scanned every inch of paper, looking. Nothing.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He looked at the carriage house, wondering if Simone was home. He’d have to ask her for it and couldn’t even imagine how awkward that was going to be.
He finally got out of his truck, and as with every day when he arrived, Luke jumped out of his truck and ran directly to the main house, where his pooch sat at the door, waiting for Brystol. Never in his life had he seen an animal become so attached to someone and so quickly. Sure, he had pets when he was younger, but they never favored him over his father or mother. Luke was different, though. It was like he yearned to be with Brystol, or maybe he knew she was going to need the comfort that only a dog could provide.
When the door swung open, Bowie smiled at the sight of the girl. More and more, he thought she was a carbon copy of Brooklyn with a very little hint of Austin. He stood there, watching as she crouched down to greet Luke, burying her face in his scruff. His dog basked in the attention. He thought about Austin and how he would have been with a daughter. He wanted to give his friend the benefit of the doubt but wasn’t sure he could. Austin was a rough-and-tumbler, “a man’s man,” as the saying went, and would’ve likely had trouble raising a girl. Although he was incredibly close to his mother, so some of their bond would surely have transferred over to his relationship with his daughter. He hated even thinking Austin wasn’t around to raise his child. If he hadn’t died, he and Brooklyn would’ve ended up married and would’ve probably had enough children to man a fishing vessel.