Reunited By Their Secret Son
Sophie’s heart was bursting with pride as she watched Lachie rip the Velcro on his trainers with a huge grin. Then even more as he hit them on the examination trolley until they flashed. ‘Flash.’
‘Whoa.’ Finn raised his palms and looked very impressed. ‘This is superhero territory.’
He leaned his hips against the couch and stamped his right foot. Then wobbled minutely and grabbed the gurney, glancing for the tiniest of moments over to Sophie and then back at Lachie. Which was a little strange.
Was he checking if she’d seen him wobble? Or just checking if she was watching his examination? Some health professionals were spooked if they had to treat other medics, in case they were being judged.
Finn shrugged. ‘See? Mine don’t flash at all. I need a pair of those. If only you could wear the flashing ones at night instead, eh? But they are for daytime adventures and these...’ he picked up the clinical plastic boots and showed them to Lachie ‘...these are for night-time adventures. I know, I know you don’t like them but they’ll give you even more superhero powers if you keep them on. Right, let’s have a look at those toes. Ten? You have ten toes? Excellent. I won’t tickle, I promise. Well, not if you don’t want me to.’
‘Can you see the redness?’ She knew she was starting to sound rude but being in here was suffocating. The pride in her son mingled with sadness and anger in Sophie’s chest. Finn should have called as he’d said he would. He should have damned well called. She tried to hurry him up. ‘There, at the back of the heel.’
‘Well, the feet are nice and straight so that’s good. But yes, there is some redness. The boots seem to be the right size. Have you tried putting Vaseline in? That helps.’
‘Yes. But he’s so wriggly when I put them on it’s like a game of Twister, all arms and legs. I think he’s scraping his heels against the plastic when he tries to scramble his feet out while I try to squeeze them in.’
Finn nodded. ‘Yes, it’s a common problem. I’ll give you some second skin plasters; they should help. It’s often easier to have someone else around to give you a hand putting the boots on at bedtime. Either that or become an octopus.’
‘An octopus?’
‘Eight arms.’ He grinned at his little joke.
She didn’t. ‘Well, we’ll just have to manage because...’ She didn’t want to say it, not to him, but it was the truth. She’d lost her beloved grandmother—her main cheerleader her whole life—before she’d even met Finn. Her parents had barely been in the same hemisphere as her for twenty-odd years. And she’d been too busy being a working single mum to raise her head over the dating parapet. ‘... There is no one else.’
Finn’s head shot up from examining Lachie. ‘I see. Okay. Well, listen, Mr Monster, could you be a good boy and sit very still when your Mummy puts your boots on every night?’
Lachie nodded, open-mouthed.
‘I’ve got some superhero stickers for you. Every time you sit still for Mummy you can have a sticker. Deal? And you can put them on your night-time boots and make them fit for a superhero like you.’
‘Yes.’ Lachie nodded and laughed. ‘Dickers.’
‘Stickers, honey. St...stickers. Thanks, er, Finn. That’s a great idea. We’ll try them.’
Typical. Every night was a battleground lately and, no matter what she’d done or said or promised, Lachie had fought her about those boots. Now he was nodding, all big-eyed at Finn.
Yes, life would have been immensely easier if there’d been two pairs of hands throughout her pregnancy and the birth and the endless hospital appointments for Lachie’s feet. Two parents to ease the strain. Two brains to work out how to deal with his problems and work out a shared timetable instead of it all being on her, juggling everything. Two hearts to love him. Because he deserved that, more than anything.
She pressed her lips together and stopped a stream of bad words escaping her mouth. At least the man was taking time out of his schedule to see them. He wasn’t all bad.
There had been many times, usually during one of Lachie’s sleepless nights, or more recently during his tantrums, when she’d thought the opposite. She really needed to talk to him.
Finn grinned. ‘Let’s see you walking, shall we? Just bare feet.’
‘He started to walk at fourteen months, and he’s met all his other milestones. I had him treated as soon as we could and I’ve been pedantic about making sure he’s wearing the boots and bars. The staff at Nursery know what to do and snap the bars on every nap time too.’ She looked at the thin plastic boots and the metal bar they snapped into to hold his feet at the correct angle, for over half of his short life, and her heart pinged again. It hadn’t been plain sailing.
‘Well, it’s definitely working. Look, the feet are just a little splayed out and that’s what we want for now. Perfect.’ Well, the guy definitely knew his stuff; she couldn’t fault him on that. Finn lifted Lachie to the floor then he walked to the far end of the room.
Interesting. He definitely favoured his left leg as he walked. A subtle limp he hadn’t had that night. Knowing him, it was a rugby injury; he’d mentioned he played. That had accounted for the body she’d enjoyed so damned much. She watched him now, the way he moved with less finesse but with a body that sung with the benefits of hard-core exercise. Beneath his navy polo shirt she saw the outline of muscles, the hug of short sleeves around impeccable biceps. His perfect backside in those black trousers. Her stomach contracted at the thought of what they’d done in that hotel room, the way he’d treated her with reverence, the way he’d slowly undressed her and caressed her. The taste of him.
She swallowed hard and pushed a rare rush of lust away. She had no right thinking like that. He’d let her down. Let her son down.
She appraised the simple facts; he was a man who knew a lot about keeping a body fit, that was all. A physiotherapy student, he’d said he was, and a rugby player for some club or other; she hadn’t ever followed the sport so it had meant nothing to her.
Knowing him. Well, she didn’t, did she? Not at all. She’d liked him. A lot. They’d clicked. At least she’d thought so.
Turned out they hadn’t. When he didn’t call she’d tried to find him but it was hard to find someone when you didn’t know their surname. She’d Googled. Scoured social media. Even checked out the physiotherapy departments in every Scottish university, but he’d disappeared into thin air and in the end she’d had to give up. The guy really hadn’t wanted to know her at all. Or her child.
His child.
CHAPTER TWO
THERE IS NO one else.
Sophie’s words had been going over and over in his head since the consultation yesterday. No ring. No partner. And each time she’d appeared in his brain his gut had jumped at the thought of her being single, then taken a dive as he registered the reality of his situation.
But something was bugging him about the boy and her story, like a jigsaw puzzle piece that didn’t fit. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but her demeanour had been off. She’d been in a hurry to leave. She’d kept the boy close. As if...as if what? As if she didn’t trust Finn with him. Why the hell not?
Shaking his head, he punched the boy’s name into his work computer and waited for Lachie’s file to appear.
‘Hey. Put the work down. It’s past six and I’m parched.’ Ross appeared in the doorway to Finn’s office, briefcase in hand and coat on. ‘Fancy a drink at the Tavern? I’m meeting Greta and some of the gang from here are coming down too.’
Oh-oh, that spelt trouble. ‘It’s not some sort of blind date thing, is it?’
‘You really are dating-shy, aren’t you?’ Ross was all pretend offended as he put his hand on his heart. ‘Would I do that to you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Finn thought back to yesterday’s conversation. ‘Yes. Probably.’
‘I can one hundred per cent assure you that I have not arranged for any single women to be in the vicinity of the bar tonight. Although I can’t vouch for Greta; she’s a different kettle of fish altogether, she’s keen to see you settled. But not tonight, I promise. All I can offer is beer, maybe some greasy chips and a steak pie. Come on. You missed the last team night out.’
Because he’d been new to the job and hadn’t wanted to answer a zillion questions about the accident. But, with a sigh, Finn relented. It was about time he started to extend a hand of friendship to his colleagues. If this new life was going to work out it would have to involve social stuff too. ‘Sure, I’ll come over when I’m done here.’
Ross walked into the office and looked over Finn’s shoulder. ‘Problem?’
Searching for Lachie was veering on the personal and not suitable for work. He’d have to look tomorrow to try to solve the puzzle. ‘No. Just checking I wrote the notes on an extra I saw yesterday.’
Ross squinted at the screen. ‘Ah, little Lachie Harding. Good kid. Mum’s pretty cool too. She’s worked hard with him. I wish every parent was like that. Although she missed her appointment yesterday, which isn’t like her. I wondered if she turned up eventually. You saw them?’
‘Yes. He’s doing fine, but the boots are rubbing. I think he’s getting to the age where he wants what he wants and makes sure everyone knows about it. We talked through some remedies.’ Why he had such an interest in the boy he didn’t want to admit. He certainly couldn’t tell his boss.
I had a one-night stand. I liked her. A lot. I thought there could be something, but then I couldn’t get over my big, fat, broken ego to call her.
He had a sudden thought which made his gut plummet. What was Lachie’s date of birth again? Finn had been too bamboozled seeing her again he hadn’t taken much else in.
Hot damn. The boy was eighteen months old, if he remembered correctly.
Which meant he’d been born... Finn did some maths and inhaled sharply.
They’d used a condom. Hadn’t they?
Of course they had. He always did.
His head started to buzz with questions as he tried to clinically reimagine what they’d done that night. But, since the accident, events from around that time were very hazy.
‘Earth to Finn.’ Ross tapped his foot. ‘Come on, beer awaits. Get a move on.’
‘Sure. I’ll just grab my stuff.’ Finn slung his messenger bag over his shoulder then grabbed his stick and leaned heavily on it to stand up. Ross was just about the only person he could do this in front of, even if it smacked of weakness. When he’d applied for the job he’d had to be upfront about what he was capable of and what he couldn’t do, but Ross had taken him on with no hesitation.
‘Still sore?’ Ross glanced down at Finn’s leg, taking his role as mentor and supporter very seriously.
Finn shrugged as the pain subsided. What he needed was real time off the stump. ‘Just aching after the race. Nothing to worry about. I just thought I’d take a bit of pressure off with this.’ He waved the folding black stick with a carved Maori tiki handle his brother had sent from New Zealand.
‘I thought you hated using it.’
‘I do.’ Because it made him feel less. Made him look different to other guys his age. And yes, he was all for standing up for diversity issues, but it didn’t mean he had to like the fact he only had one leg, or flaunt it, and he definitely never expected to be treated any differently to anyone else. ‘Don’t think for a minute it gives you an excuse to start being nice to me.’
Ross shrugged. ‘Okay. Well, the last one to the pub gets the first round. And if you’re going to be all equal opportunities then I’m not giving you a head start. Better get yer hand in your pocket.’
‘That’s right. Exploit the disabled, why don’t you?’ Finn laughed, glad to be treated as nothing unusual, and hurried after his boss, letting the stick take the strain for once. He’d hide it away in his bag just before they hit the pub.
Edinburgh was starting to thaw after a long cold winter but the air was still tinged with the promise of snow as they stepped outside. Finn inhaled deeply and walked down the ramp to George Street. This was good. Yes. Beers with friends. A little like old times. He smiled to himself...almost the same and yet a million times different.
Worry crept under his skin, pushing aside the smile, as his mind bounced back to Sophie. They’d used a condom. Right?
It couldn’t...he couldn’t...the boy. Surely not?
Not now. Not when he could barely look after himself. Not when this new life of his was hard enough to deal with.
‘Finn?’ A voice from the shadows of the hospital entrance made him jump.
He whirled around, almost losing his footing, but leaned more on the stick to right himself. ‘Hello?’
‘Finn. It’s me, Sophie.’ She stepped out from behind a huge stone pillar. Her eyes were haunted. Her skin completely devoid of colour as her top teeth worried her bottom lip. She had a thick red scarf tied under her chin and tucked into a long dark coat but, despite the layers, she looked frozen through. For the briefest moment he thought about wrapping his arms around her to warm her up. Then he remembered his leg. Remembered he’d let her down by disappearing without a trace and not living up to his promise to call her. The likelihood of her wanting his arms around her was less than zero per cent.
Idiot.
He glanced at Ross up ahead, just about to disappear round a corner and oblivious to Sophie’s presence, thought about calling after him in case she wanted to chat about her son’s issues, but she’d said Finn. Not Ross.
In another life he’d have been flattered to have a beautiful woman accosting him as he stepped out of work, but she’d seen him with his stick and his limp and they had a history. His stomach tightened. Damn. Damn. Damn. Not a great start. But he had a feeling, judging by the way she was looking at him, things were only going to get worse.
‘Hey, there. Are you okay, Sophie? You look...upset.’
She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. ‘No, I’m not okay. I can’t stop thinking about it and I need to talk to you.’
Thinking about what? He tried to stay calm but the thunder in his chest kept rumbling. ‘Sure. Of course. Here?’
‘No. Somewhere warm.’ She looked down at his stick and her eyes widened. ‘Are you okay to walk? What happened?’
‘I’m fine.’ He felt exposed and caught off guard as he flicked the stick into thirds and shoved it in his bag. Now she’d see him as something less too. ‘There’s a bar across the way. Or the café in the hospital?’
‘Whatever’s nearer. I can’t be long; I had to get a friend to watch over Lachie while I came here.’
He walked back up the ramp and inside the hospital, his heart now thundering almost out of his chest. ‘Coffee?’ Banal but necessary. Anything to fill the void in the conversation.
She almost flinched at his question. ‘No. Thanks. Just water.’
After a few minutes they were facing each other in an otherwise empty café. Outside, the street lights cast an eerie glow. Inside, the strip lights were too bright, too clinical. He wrapped his hands around his mug of steaming coffee, bracing himself for what he’d already worked out. At least he thought he had. It was hardly rocket science. Just a bit of sex and some maths.
Only it hadn’t been just sex; it had been mind-blowing. Intimate. The most intense, the most sensual he’d ever had, and he would have called her if he’d ever stopped feeling sorry for himself. ‘Okay, Sophie, I’m guessing this is more than just a telling-off for not calling you?’
She nodded. ‘I wish it were that simple. Believe me, I can most definitely deal with rejection and I would have chalked you up to experience and forgotten all about it.’
He guessed that was supposed to hurt him. Surprisingly, it did, a little. ‘But...?’
‘That night... I thought... I thought you were okay, you know? I thought we might, well, at least see each other again. You certainly seemed keen. But you just went cold. Was I just a one-night stand to you? Was that it? Because that’s not what you said at the time. That’s not how it felt. But then, I was pretty cut up about my grandmother’s death, so I was easy prey to someone like you.’
Ouch. Someone like you. He didn’t know exactly what she meant by that but he could see how it would have looked to her: single guy picks up grieving beautiful woman. Takes advantage. Doesn’t call. ‘It wasn’t like that. I liked you. It was...’ Special. Different.
‘What was it, Finn? To you?’ She twisted her hands together and took a deep breath. Her nostrils flared and her jaw tightened and the deep breathing didn’t seem to be helping. She looked up at him and glared. ‘Whatever. Forget it. It doesn’t matter now; what you felt doesn’t matter. Except... Actually, you know what? I’m so angry at you because everything could have been a damned sight easier if you’d just picked up the phone.’
‘I lost it. Down a mountain.’ Along with his self-esteem, his stupid decision-making and, for a long time, his positivity. Thankfully that was clawing its way back.
He wasn’t going to tell her that he’d left his phone down there on purpose, that he’d made sure all his contacts were erased. That the ones in the Cloud were too. That he’d drawn a line between before the accident and after and given his brother instructions to hide as much information about Finn as he could from everyone.
Her eyebrows rose as if to say lame excuse. ‘You know, I’ve thought about what I was going to say to you, so many times. I’ve rehearsed it over and over and now I’m here I don’t actually know what to say.’
She was hurting and he didn’t think it was from rejection; it was from those hard years of being pregnant and a single mother. He took a breath and jumped. ‘Lachie’s my son. Right?’
He prayed she was going to say Wrong. But why the heck else was she here? She wouldn’t come this far just to berate him for not following up on a date almost two and a half years ago.
She gasped. ‘I tried to find you. So hard you wouldn’t believe. I always wanted you to know. It’s your right, and his. But now...’ Her eyes darkened. ‘I don’t know what it’s going to mean to you—what he’s going to mean to you—so I don’t want you to know because you might go cold again and he doesn’t deserve that. He deserves a father who wants to know him, who’s interested and in it for the long haul and I’m not sure you’re that guy.’
Wow.
She continued, ‘But you have to know, everyone says so, and I feel like I have to tell you, otherwise it’s on my conscience. So, yes, my gorgeous little Lachlan Spencer Harding, that beautiful, funny, clever handful, is your son.’
Finn closed his eyes and tried to control the emotions, ones he wasn’t prepared for, tumbling through him. He didn’t want to be a father. He didn’t want to have the responsibility of it all. He wasn’t ready. Would he ever be ready? He had one leg, damn it. He could barely walk. He couldn’t turn round quickly and catch a falling child. He couldn’t teach him how to kick a ball or run around in the park like he’d dreamed his own dad would do, but never did. He couldn’t protect himself from hurt, never mind an eighteen-month-old.
He wished they’d never had that night. He wished he’d kept in touch with her. He wished he hadn’t fallen hundreds of feet down a mountain in a blizzard and made himself an invalid when now...now he needed two legs more than ever in his whole life.
He nodded, feeling the same kind of sensation he’d had that wintry night when he’d stepped into thin air...as if he was falling into a nightmare. And yet, cushioning the landing, was a bright shining kernel of something good. He had a son.
Whoa.
A giggling, wriggling superhero with two club feet who most definitely deserved the very best of fathers.
He’d had a son for one and a half years. He’d missed so much already.
And he knew all about being that kid with no dad. About the dreams of him turning up one day and being like some sort of king. About watching the other kids get to play, work, laugh with their fathers and wonder what you’d done that was so bad yours didn’t want to know you. He knew how that felt and he wasn’t going to let his son go through that.
He opened his eyes and looked at Sophie, who was watching him with a hand pressed to her mouth and a frown on her forehead. God knew what she’d been through. He imagined the names she’d called him. Imagined the sleepless nights, the endless worry. Then the righteous anger at his silence. It was time to man up. ‘I’m so sorry.’
* * *
‘Sorry?’ Sophie was lost for words. She’d expected him to deny his child, demand a paternity test or be angry that she’d come here and told him. She hadn’t expected this. Was it a trick?
‘Yeah. I blew it. I messed up. I should have called but...’ He ran a hand across his dark hair and shrugged. ‘Circumstances meant I wasn’t in a position to call for a while. Then I just thought... Well, to be honest, I didn’t think at all.’
‘Clearly. You lost your phone down a mountain, but you can retrieve information from backup online; everyone knows that.’ She had nowhere to focus the anger she’d stored up for so long and he was stripping it away from her with one word. Sorry. It seemed as if he really was, but it wasn’t enough. ‘There are lots of ways to find information if you want it badly enough.’ Although wanting hadn’t helped her.
‘I couldn’t. I just couldn’t, okay? I didn’t know you needed me. And, if I remember rightly, the name you’d tapped into the phone was Sexy Sophie so I couldn’t have looked for you anyway. We didn’t do the surname thing.’
‘Yes, well, I presumed we’d get to that on the second date.’
He’d said she was beautiful, called her sexy as hell, and she’d laughed and told him he was clearly drunk. But he hadn’t been and neither had she. He’d been funny and caring and enigmatic. He’d stroked her back when she’d cried about her grandmother. He’d listened when she’d told him about the hole in her life without her and he’d told her about how cut up he’d been over his mother’s death, how he felt responsible, how much he understood Sophie’s grief. They’d been honest and open. Which was why she’d been so confused when he hadn’t called.
He leaned forward and caught her gaze. ‘Sophie, I didn’t intend for this to happen. I was going to call. I don’t usually—’
‘Sleep with someone after just meeting them? Me neither. Ever.’ She hadn’t had so much as a first date with a guy for over two years. ‘You were my first and only. Didn’t work out like I imagined.’
‘And now I have a son.’ He looked as if he was struggling to keep a lid on his emotions. He pressed his lips together and they sat in silence for a few moments, both absorbing this life-changing information. He looked bereft and yet animated at the same time. His fingers rubbed his temple, pushed into thick dark hair that was so much like his son’s, and those eyes—the exact same blue. Lachie had inherited her nose and mouth, but there was so much of him that belonged to his father. Finn shook his head. ‘So what do I do?’
‘About...?’
‘About Lachie. What do you want? What does he want?’
Where to start? Two parents who were available and around and attentive, unlike the childhood she’d had. ‘Lachie’s pretty easy to please. He’s a toddler; he wants attention, ice cream and more of those stickers you gave him yesterday. Tomorrow he’ll want something else.’
‘He likes them? Are they working?’ Finn smiled and his face was transformed, and she was spun right back to yesterday when he’d made Lachie laugh. Right back to that night when he’d done so much more than make her laugh. There was something about him that still intrigued her, attracted her, if she was honest. He was still insanely good-looking and, with the cocky edges rubbed off, even charming.
But she couldn’t trust him, not with her heart or her son’s. She needed to tread carefully. ‘He’s too young for star charts really, you know. It’s probably just novelty value that made him sit still last night.’