Found: His Family. Nicola Marsh
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son’s ill,’ she blurted, blinking back tears at the injustice.
If anyone had to get sick, why couldn’t it be her? She was strong; she could handle it. She’d handled losing Jed, losing her parents. She was tough; she could take it. But Toby…he had his whole life in front of him. Her precious little boy had just turned five, would start school soon, had enrolled in a little athletics programme and had a zest for life that left her breathless and laughing most days.
Though the minute he’d turned lethargic, pale, with unexplained ugly bruises on his spindly arms and legs, she’d known. Something was dreadfully wrong and a visit to the doctor and a few blood tests had confirmed it.
Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. The kind of disease that killed, the kind of disease her cheeky, gorgeous boy had no right contracting.
‘You have a son?’ A dark eyebrow shot up, lending him a weirdly comical look when there was nothing remotely funny about their situation.
Your son, she needed to say but instead she took another gulp of coffee, postponing the inevitable for another few seconds while furiously marshalling her thoughts.
How should she tell him? Straight out or work up to it? She’d mentally rehearsed this speech a hundred times in her head since he’d responded to her urgent plea, yet now her mouth couldn’t form the words.
‘He’s a lovely little boy.’ Tall like you, and those soft brown eyes exactly like yours. ‘He’s just been diagnosed with leukaemia.’ She waved her hand around in a vague gesture, wondering if he’d get it.
By the compassionate expression on his handsome face, he did.
‘I’m sorry. How awful for you.’
He reached towards her as if to place his hand over hers and she scuttled back like a scared mouse, her earlier misgivings about being locked up with him resurfacing. If seeing him again had packed a power-punch, having him touch her to offer comfort had the potential to undo her completely.
He didn’t say a word though she saw surprise flicker in the depths of his eyes and regret stabbed her at how far apart they’d grown. They’d been the invincible couple, the couple that everyone made gagging sounds about over their mushiness, the couple that couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They were the forever couple.
But, as she’d found out the hard way, nothing lasted forever.
Taking a deep breath, she launched down the path of no return. ‘Toby needs a bone-marrow transplant and I’m not compatible.’
‘Hell.’ He ran a hand through his hair, sending dark spikes shooting in every direction. ‘You need my help? Is it money? Do you need to start a donor search? Fund-raising? I can get the TV station to help. I can—’
‘I need you to be tested.’
There, she’d said it, though her voice came out on a soft squeak that had Jed sitting forward to hear it.
‘Me? But I’m not family…’ He trailed off, a flicker of comprehension flashing across his face in a microsecond before he continued in a cold, dull monotone. ‘How old is Toby?’
‘Five.’
She tilted her head up, meeting his dazed stare directly, not ashamed of the choices she’d made.
If Jed hadn’t wanted marriage back then, how would he have handled fatherhood? Dads were reliable, stable, rock-like types you could depend on, the type of amazing, supportive man she’d been lucky enough to have for a dad, not guys who couldn’t come clean to their girlfriends let alone enter a life-long commitment.
Whichever way she looked at it, she’d made the right choice in not telling Jed when she’d discovered her pregnancy. He’d moved on and so had she. He’d become Australia’s sexiest TV chef; she had a successful career, a booming business and a son she wouldn’t trade for all the tortes in Vienna. Toby was happy. She was happy. And then God had had to go and pull the rug out from under them.
‘Five.’ He repeated the number in a flat drone as if not quite comprehending the maths. ‘But that would mean—’
‘He’s yours.’
She sagged back against the seat, wrapping her arms around her middle in a purely protective gesture against the warring emotions flashing across Jed’s expressive face.
Disbelief, shock and confusion turned his eyes to molten caramel while he flushed beneath his tan.
‘What?’
‘Toby is your son,’ she repeated, finally giving in to the tears that had threatened since the minute she’d laid eyes on Jed again.
‘My son,’ he said softly, as if trying the words on for size, before the anger she’d been expecting erupted to the surface in a hot, fierce explosion. ‘My son? What the hell is going on here?’
CHAPTER TWO
JED watched Aimee, his gaze never leaving her face for a second. Any moment now she’d yell ‘fooled you’ and laugh, the same, bubbly laugh he’d loved years ago, the laugh that chased all his troubles away. Back then, he’d had a few.
‘Look, I know it’s a shock to you and believe me, I wouldn’t have involved you if I hadn’t been desperate, but—’
‘Stop it! Just stop right there.’
He stood up so quickly his chair toppled over, hitting the black and white tiled floor with a loud thud, and he resisted the urge to kick it.
Not only had the woman he’d once loved more than life itself just announced he was a father, but she also had to rub it in that he was the last person she’d approach unless desperate.
A father.
He closed his eyes, the two words echoing through his head like an old vinyl record stuck on replay.
How could he be a father when he didn’t know how? When it could only lead to disaster?
He’d tried the role once before in raising Bud and look how that had turned out. No way, fatherhood wasn’t for him. Some guys just weren’t cut out for that whole responsibility thing and he was one of them.
‘Jed, I know this is hard for you but please, try to put your own feelings on hold for a second and think of Toby.’
He opened his eyes and stared at the woman who had lied to him for the last five years, a woman who, for one crazy second when he’d read her urgent summons, he’d hoped might still feel something for him. What a joke. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel like laughing in this whole bizarre scenario.
‘Don’t you dare talk to me about feelings because frankly, you haven’t got a clue.’
‘You’re angry,’ she said, her hazel eyes filled with an understanding which had him wanting to punch a hole in the nearest wall.
He didn’t want her understanding. He wanted answers, starting with why she’d deprived him of the chance to know he had a son.
‘Damn right I’m angry.’
He righted the chair and slid into it, running a hand over his face as if to erase the last few minutes. ‘Actually, angry doesn’t come close to how I’m feeling. My God, what were you thinking, keeping something like this from me?’
She blanched and raised stricken eyes to his. ‘Would it have made a difference?’
‘A difference to what? To us?’
Her mute nod sent blonde curls cascading forward, effectively shading her face but not before he’d seen the sheen of tears.
Damn it, he hated tears. They made him feel helpless, and right now he didn’t want to feel anything other than anger towards her. She didn’t deserve his compassion. She didn’t deserve the intense, almost visceral impulse to bundle her into