“As far as Brystol goes, and you being involved in her life, all this time I thought you were. Brystol and I had an understanding that we didn’t talk about Cape Harbor because the wounds were still so fresh for me. I would ask her how her grandmother and Simone were, and she’d answer. That was it. It was selfish of me to try and forget the life I had here, but had I known what was going on, I could’ve made a change. Not that it would’ve mattered anyway, because none of you were even visiting Carly.” Brooklyn paused and took a deep breath.
“Brystol would love to do all those things with you, as long as you bring Luke along. She’s infatuated with your dog, which leaves me no choice but to get her a puppy since apparently, we’re staying here. But as far as a DNA test goes, we don’t need one because Carly had one done already.”
“What?” Bowie croaked out. It seemed he could focus only on the last part of her dissertation.
“Graham isn’t the only one questioning the paternity of my daughter. Her grandmother did as well, unbeknownst to me. Earlier this morning, she told me some nonsense, as you put it, which I blew off thinking she wasn’t lucid enough to know what she was saying. Turns out . . .” She paused and tilted her head toward the sky. Was she looking to Austin for guidance?
“I want you to know that never in a million years would I have ever kept Brystol from you if I had known. I have spent the last fifteen years thinking she was Austin’s. Feeling deep in my heart that despite everything, we had a child. And today, I was proven wrong. Carly had a DNA test done when Brystol was about three. What made her do this, I don’t think I’ll ever know. We’ll never know. But, as of today, what I do know is that you’re her father, and I can’t even begin to explain how sorry I am that you’ve missed her life.”
Bowie sat back on his haunches, letting go of Brooklyn’s hands. She had tears streaming down her face, and her eyes were sad. They weren’t pleading with him for forgiveness or acceptance. She looked heartbroken and devastated. Was she devastated because Austin wasn’t the father of her daughter or because Bowie was?
“Carly knew?”
“It seems so. I don’t know why she never said anything to me. I think it’s because in her heart, Brystol was Austin’s, and now that she’s dying . . .”
“A deathbed confession.”
“We would’ve found out eventually,” she said. “The test is right in her desk drawer.”
“Does Brystol know?”
Her head went back and forth slowly. “No, she doesn’t. When you found me trying to be washed away by the waves, I had just found out myself. I figured you’d want to know first.”
Bowie pulled on his lower lip. Brooklyn reached out to calm his hand. “How will she react?”
She sighed and pulled her legs in toward her. “Brystol’s a pretty amazing kid. I think she’ll like the idea of having a dad around. That’s if you want the job. If not, then I beg you to leave things as they are.”
“Hell yeah, I want the job,” he answered immediately. He wanted more than just the job of being Brystol’s father. He wanted to be in Brooklyn’s life as well. He had no idea where they stood, but in that moment, he didn’t care. He propelled himself forward with so much force Brooklyn had no choice but to lie back in the sand. “I want to be with you too,” he said before pressing his lips to hers. Without hesitation, he deepened the kiss and welcomed the warm sensation of what it felt like to kiss someone for the first time . . . all over again.
THIRTY
Kissing was something Brooklyn hadn’t done in a while, and she had forgotten how much she enjoyed it. After a few dates that went nowhere and a failed relationship with one of the guys from her construction team, which turned out to be a complete and utter disaster, she had sworn off dating altogether to focus on taking her career to the next level and raising Brystol. Sure, she had missed the attention a man could bring, but the time it took to build a relationship that wasn’t based on sex was more of a hassle for her than anything else.
With Bowie kissing her, she felt like a teenager all over again, like they were doing something they shouldn’t, and some adult was going to tell them to knock it off . . . or stop them to preach about the proper use of a condom and explain that it was more appropriate to express themselves physically in private. Basically, the same things she would say to Brystol if she found her daughter and some boy making out in the sand. Only they weren’t teenagers anymore, and everything between them felt different—from the way he was kissing her, to the way he angled his body, to how he was holding her like he was never going to let her go. They weren’t the couple who had fumbled through anger, tears, and disappointment to find each other years ago; they were two people who had longed for each other well into adulthood, and finally had a chance to be together.