The Soldier's Secret Son by Helen Lacey

Author:Helen Lacey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-09-11T17:59:02+00:00

Chapter Eight

Jake wasn’t sure how long it took him to get to his feet. One second? Two? Not long. Long enough for him to hear Abby’s startled gasp, for him to see the concerned look on his brother’s face.

The birthmark.

He knew it well. He had one in the same spot. In the same shape.

It was an impossible coincidence.

Oh my freaking god.

He quickly registered the sudden terror in Abby’s expression, and for a few excruciating seconds he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. He simply stared. At T.J. Then at Abby. Into Abby. And he knew, without a doubt, exactly what he was seeing. And what he hadn’t seen for the last couple of weeks.

The truth.

He heard Abby’s voice, registered she was instructing T.J. to put his sweater back on.

“Joss,” he heard her say over the white noise that was now screeching through his eardrums. “Could you take T.J. next door to my grandmother’s house? Your brother and I need to talk.”

“Yeah...sure,” Joss replied with a heavy sigh.

“But I wanna stay here, Mommy,” T.J. wailed. “With you and Jake.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Joss said and quickly ushered the kids together, including T.J. “You can tell your grandmother all about the ice cream you ate for breakfast.”

“Great-Gran makes me eat oatmeal.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Joss said and managed to smile despite the chaos in the room. “I think oatmeal tastes like rubber. So how about we go now?”

Jake watched as T.J. resisted for a moment but then agreed. Jake caught his brother’s stare, saw sympathy and acknowledgment—as though his brother knew exactly what was happening, but couldn’t muster the strength to respond. He could only stare at Abby.

Once the room was cleared and the definitive sound of the door closing made its way to his ears, Jake faced her squarely, his rage and confusion rising and gathering momentum with every passing second. “One question.”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“Yes?” he barked back instantly.

“Yes,” she said again. “He’s your son.”

Jake grabbed the edge of the table, watching his fingers turn white as his grip tightened. Fury and disbelief churned through his blood, across his skin, into every cell he possessed. He swallowed hard, his throat aching, trying to form words. Finally, he managed to say something. “How is that possible?”

She sucked in a breath. “I got pregnant that afternoon we spent together.”

“The math doesn’t add up,” he reminded her harshly. “Tom’s funeral was in September. T.J. was born in March. That’s seven months.”

“He was premature,” she said quietly, twisting her hands together. “Almost seven weeks.”

Jake’s temple throbbed. “He’s not Tom’s child?”

“No,” she replied.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” she said and nodded. “Tom had a very low sperm count. We’d tried conceiving and it never happened. We were talking about using a sperm donor when he got sick. He’s not Tom’s, Jake. He’s yours.”

Jake straightened, filled his lungs with air and glared at her. “He’s mine. You’ve just been passing him off as Tom Perkins’s son for the last six years, then?”

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she shrugged and moved across the room, her back to him, her arms crossed, her head held at a tight angle.

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