This was too easy.
She’s not the first stubborn teenager I’ve had to deal with. As we walk toward the vineyard, I send a message to Aslan and Gatsby. Did either one of you procreate a child thirteen to sixteen years ago and forget?
Aslan: Did you find a lost computer, and you think it belongs to Gatsby?
Gatsby: Can we stop with the joke? I never dated a robot. It’s impossible to fuck one… and you two are just two ignorant idiots.
Aslan: Why did you ask about a child?
I glance at the girl walking beside me. She’s tall, lanky, and looks like our sister. There’s no doubt she’s looking for one of them, but who?
Lysander: Someone who looks just like Cory came to Paradise Bay searching for her father.
Aslan: It could be Dad’s. Why are you blaming us?
I can see why he thinks that. Just a year ago, we discovered our father had a child with another woman. Sadly, she died in a crash when she was two, along with her adoptive parents. I wouldn’t doubt that he could have had another child or another affair, but this kid was created after Dad died.
Lysander: She can’t be Dad’s. This kid is between the ages of thirteen and sixteen.
Gatsby: Not it.
Lysander: You can’t just call it. All our brothers could be the father—except for Huxley.
Gatsby: What takes him out of the equation?
Lysander: He was a child when this kid was conceived. Plus, he already met her, and it’s obvious he doesn’t think she’s his problem.
When we arrive at the vineyard, I guide her to my SUV, my gut clenching with the urgency to leave. We have to get out of here now. Mom is around, and the last thing I want is for her to get involved.
“I’m not getting into that car.” The stubborn teenager crosses her arms and stomps her foot. That’s when I notice her raggedy shoes and torn clothing. She looks like she hasn’t bathed in days. My heart shrinks. This kid has been neglected.
I rake my hand through my hair, frustration and anger bubbling inside me. The moment I figure out who her father is, I’m going to beat the fuck out of him. After that, we’re suing the state, the foster system, and whoever else let this kid fall through the cracks.
Who the fuck is her dad? How can he not know about his daughter? Then I remember what Mother told Enid about Huxley when she met her: “Did he knock you up? Because I can pay for you to disappear like smoke in the wind. Believe me. You’ll get more from me than from him.”
My mother has proven time and again that she’s a heartless bitch. It’s impossible to discount the idea that maybe someone accepted Mom’s offer and… But if that’s the case, why was this kid neglected?
That’s not important right now, and if I want to get to the bottom of this, I have to change my tactics. It’s pretty clear she doesn’t trust any strangers.
Why would she, when life has been so cruel?
I pull out my wallet, open it, and show her my driver’s license. “My name is Lysander Spearman. I own this vineyard along with my brothers, and I can help you find your father.”
She stares at me, dumbfounded, and I can see the gears turning in her head.
“Are you okay, kid?” My voice is tinged with concern, as I wonder if she’s even breathing.
“You’re him,” she whispers, so quietly I can barely make out the words.
“I’m who?” My heart pounds in my chest as the realization begins to set in.
Her gaze locks on to mine, her eyes filling with a storm of emotions. “You’re my father,” she says, her voice trembling.
My heart stops for a moment, and the world around me seems to blur. The weight of her words threatens to crush me, a thousand questions running through my head. How is this possible?
“No, that’s impossible,” I stammer, my voice barely audible. “I would have known if I had a child.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to ask you for much,” she shoots back, her voice cracking. Her body stiffens, and though her posture says I don’t need you, her eyes brim with tears. “I just need you to sign my emancipation papers.”
I struggle to find words, my mind reeling with the implication of her claim and her ridiculous request. If she’s mine, I’m not just letting her go. We have to figure out who her mother is, why she wants her emancipation, and… My mind is having trouble keeping everything straight as so many thoughts stumble one on top of the other.
“Get in the car,” I say, my voice firm but gentle. “We’ll figure everything out and I’ll give you what you need.”
She hugs herself, her shoulders trembling. “Just like that? You’re letting me go that easily?”
As she hesitates, I see the vulnerability in her eyes, a desperate plea for something—family, love, a father. If she is, in fact, mine, I will give her everything a child of mine deserves and more. But right now, I can only offer to take her with me to San Francisco. I can’t stay in Paradise Bay a minute longer.
“Listen…” I pause. “What’s your name?”
“Lola,” she blurts out, a name that I guess doesn’t belong to her.
“If you want my help, I need you to stop lying to me,” I say gently, even when she’s trying my patience.
“Kenzington Opal Balsamo,” she mumbles, her gaze dropping to the ground.
“Kenzington, I need you to get in the car so we can leave.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my house,” I respond.
“Isn’t this where you live?”
I frown, wondering if her mother sent her. “How did you find me?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she mumbles, her eyes filled with defiance. “I just heard you live in Paradise Bay.”
And she’s probably right. There are more pressing things to figure out. “I work here, but my home is in San Francisco.”
Finally, she nods and climbs into the SUV. I sigh with relief, but then remember I can’t handle a child while there’s so much at stake around my family. What am I supposed to do with her? The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders along with a sudden pang of fear.
As I start the engine, I steal a glance at Kenzington. She sits there, tense and wary, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She’s a stranger to me, yet I can’t help but feel a connection, an overwhelming desire to protect her and keep her safe. And as I watch her, a single tear escapes, trailing down her cheek.
I don’t know how to act or what to say. I feel like a failure already, but also a man who got cheated by life and… Whoever stole the years I could’ve spent next to my daughter will pay for it. I won’t stop until they pay for every second I missed.
Chapter Four
Lysander
The drive to San Francisco seems endless as silence envelops the car. Neither one of us speaks. I’m wrapped in the tangle of my own thoughts, trying to unravel the basics. Who is her mother? When did this happen?