Love You More(73)

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Yeah. He insists he’s not the father. Erin said the same in her journal. She slept with someone else around the same time—some guy she always said was Phoebe’s father.”

“So Mick never took a paternity test?”

“Correct,” I say.

“Well, that needs to happen. Immediately.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. But the certainty in his voice stings. I feel the door already closing.

“You agree, don’t you?” Dean says.

“I guess…”

“Billie, I know this situation is tough.” His eyes skim across the room before landing back on me. “But if you still want to be her guardian, we need to know for sure.”

“I do want that. And more important, I know she wants that.”

“Then we have to get those results.”

“And if she’s his?”

“Then she’s his.”

“And you wouldn’t…want her anymore?”

“It’s not a question of want. It’s a question of legality. If Phoebe has a living parent, the law recognizes that person. Not you. Not us.”

“What if we don’t get the test?” I say. “And we just assume Erin was right—that Phoebe’s not his?”

Dean looks at me like I’ve suggested something totally off the wall. And maybe I have.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says. “I can’t live in that uncertainty. You might be able to. But I can’t.”



* * *



— The next morning, I stare at Mick’s name on my phone. My thumb hovers, then I hit call. The line rings three times before he answers.

“Hello.” His voice is careful.

“Hi,” I say. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.”

I walk to the window and look out at the gray, rain-streaked city.

“I just don’t understand how you could let this whole thing go on,” I say. “The conversation with Joan, looking for the will, all the talk about where Phoebe will live—you let me fight for her while you were carrying this lie.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you—”

“You had more than a decade to figure that out.”

“I know,” he says. “I was wrong. So wrong.”

I take a breath. “I talked to Dean. I told him everything.”

“What did he say?”

“That we need a paternity test.”

“Okay,” he says. “We’ll get the test.”

“Thank you.”

“Billie?”

“Yes?”

“I promise I’ll make this right.”

I close my eyes. “Just get the test, Mick.”



* * *



— Later that morning, I’m in the break room with Greer and Lesli, three mugs of coffee steaming between us. I’ve just given them the blow-by-blow of the weekend.

“It’s like the ground shifted under me,” I say.

“Wow,” Greer says. “You’re living in a full-on season finale.”

I smile. “If that’s the case, I better fire the writers.”

“Yeah,” Greer says. “This show sucks.”

“What will you do if she’s his?” Lesli asks, her face pinched with worry.

“Dean made it clear we couldn’t be her guardians.”

“Can you blame him?” Greer asks.

“No,” I say. “But part of me wishes he’d leave it alone, and we could just wait until Phoebe’s eighteen to talk to her. Then it would be up to her.”

“I get that,” Lesli says. “But from Dean’s perspective, I think that’s probably too much to ask. I mean—he could be raising another man’s child. A man who is still very much in the picture.”

“I know,” I say. “But she’s Erin’s child. That doesn’t just vanish if Mick’s her father.”

“Look,” Lesli says, touching my arm. “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back.”

“One hundred percent.” Greer takes a sip of coffee, smirking over her mug. “Just let me know if you need me to key his car.”

I laugh. “Mick drives a truck.”

“There’s a slight upcharge for trucks.” Greer grins.



* * *



— Later, as I’m shutting down my office for the evening, my phone buzzes. Mick’s name flashes on the screen.


Mick: The appointment is next Wednesday. They said they will do a cheek swab on both of us. How should I explain this to Phoebe?


Me: Tell her the doctor wants to run a quick test to help answer some family health questions. Keep it simple. Don’t lie.


Mick: Great advice. Thank you.

I set my phone down and press my palms to my eyes, wishing there were a version of this where no one else had to get hurt.





Chapter 43


Over the next week, life becomes a quiet countdown, a low pulse of waiting beneath everything I do.

Every night, I talk to Phoebe before she goes to bed, sometimes catching Mick’s voice in the background. He texts me only once—letting me know that he, Eliot, and Anna will be moving Joan into the Waters over the weekend.