She was telling the truth.

I had a son.

I. Had. A. Son.

Chapter Eleven

THEBryanLeech: When you realize you’re actually really truly an arsehole.

SeanCassinova to THEBryanLeech: Aw, poor baby. Want a cuddle?

THEBryanLeech to SeanCassinova: Nah. Last time you got a stiffy. It was embarrassing for both of us.

*Bryan*

“Now, folks, I believe the steak was for the gentleman and the chicken wings for the lady,” the waiter said when he arrived with our food.

I gaped at Eilish as the waiter set the dishes down in front of us. Not surprisingly, my appetite had vanished. My gaze went from the earnest honesty of her bright blue eyes, to the nervous set of her mouth, to the tension that radiated off every inch of her body.

God, she really was telling the truth.

This was crazy.

I had no idea what to feel or how to deal with the bomb she just dropped.

I had a son, a son who was almost five years old, and who I’d never even met.

His name is Patrick . . .

“Bryan, say something, please,” she whispered once the waiter left us alone.

I opened my mouth, but no words felt right. “I . . . I’m sorry, I need to use the john.”

I stood abruptly from the table, almost knocking over my glass, and staggered toward the back of the restaurant. Eilish didn’t breathe a word or try to follow me, and when I shut myself away in a cubicle, I sat down on the closed toilet seat and dropped my face into my hands.

I was dreaming.

I had to be dreaming.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like drinking. It’d take the edge off if nothing else. My brain reminded me that whenever I felt like this, the best thing to do was call Sarah, have her talk me down, so I pulled my phone out and dialed her number.

“Two calls in one day. Lots of women would be jealous,” she said as she picked up. I was relieved she hadn’t started her shift yet, because she always put her phone on silent when she was working.

“I want a drink,” I bit out, my voice gruff.

Her tone changed from joking to serious in a heartbeat. “Fuck. Okay. Why?”

I let out a joyless laugh. “My entire life has just been flipped on its head, and I don’t know what to do.”

I heard her breathe deeply. “Tell me everything.”

“I’ve just been told I have a kid, a son I never knew about,” I blurted.

“What!” she practically screeched, and somehow her reaction made me feel better. I definitely wasn’t overreacting here. This was huge.

I quickly rehashed everything that had just gone down with Eilish. When I finished speaking, Sarah was quiet on the other end. Finally, she spoke.

“Okay, Bryan, don’t freak out at me for saying this, because I know you really like this girl, but you have to consider the possibility that she might be lying.”

I sputtered, incredulous. “Why would she lie about something so serious?”

“Because you’re wealthy and famous and it sounds like she has a bit of a crush on you, and having a child with a man like you would basically mean she’s set for life. Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about Jennifer, not to mention Kylie. Those two must’ve extorted at least fifty thousand each before you finally kicked them to the curb.”

I didn’t appreciate her bringing up my past, the women who’d taken advantage of my addiction in order to feed their own. Drunks and addicts attract drunks and addicts. And now I was neither.

“Eilish isn’t like that.”

“You hardly know her.”

“That doesn’t matter. She’s not a liar, and besides, she comes from a very wealthy background. She doesn’t need the money. Her cousin practically treats her like a princess.”

A small sigh came from her end. “You still need to be wary. Even if you believe the kid’s yours, you’ll need to get a DNA test to confirm it. You can’t just run into a situation like this headfirst without thinking things through.”

I frowned. “What makes you think I’d do that?”

“Because you don’t sound upset. You sound sort of happy, excited even. I know you well enough by now to be able to differentiate between the two.”

“I’m not happy,” I protested. Was I happy? How could I be happy about something this mental? And why would I feel like having a drink if I was happy about it? Then again, back when I was an addict I turned to alcohol for every occasion. Just got good news? Have a drink to celebrate. Just got bad news? Have a drink to commiserate.

“It’s a natural reflex to want to drink when you get a shock or feel out of control, and you’ve just had a massive one. It still doesn’t mean you don’t like what’s happening. You’ve been fixated on this girl, and now all of a sudden she tells you you’re her kid’s dad. You’re excited about the possibilities of where this could lead, but I’m telling you to keep your wits about you, Bryan. Trust me. This could end badly if you don’t.”

I rubbed my mouth, searching through the mess in my head to try and figure out what I was feeling. My pulse was beating fast. My palms were sweaty. There was a knot in my stomach similar to how I felt right before I played an important rugby match. This was basically the Six Nations Championship level of exhilaration.

Damn, Sarah was right. I was happy. I was more than happy. I was over-fucking-joyed. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with me that I was overjoyed about being a father to a child I’d never met? If I ever had any doubts that I was screwed up, here was the evidence.