Page 21 of Crimson Love

your child.

I’m skipping e return address so is might get

rough. If is doesn’t w k, I’m not sure what to do.

We’re having a boy, Patrick. Your son wi be b n

any day, and he deserves to know you.

Please, f his sake, answer me.

I loved our time toge er, but if you don’t want me,

I’m fine wi at. But, please, f our son, ca me. If

is doesn’t get to you, I give up.

I’m going to name him Jett. It’s strong and

powerful and even a bit mysterious ... just like you.

F his sake, I pray you read is.

A my love,

Parker I fold up the letter and slide it back in the worn envelope. It had been ripped open, taped up, and returned to sender. I never dug into my past until I got the diagnosis. But when I found this letter, and more just like it, it was easy. It was packed away in my mother’s things. My grandma, God rest her soul, gave up everything to raise me. But the fact she had this letter and every other one that was returned to sender is telling.

Stonebridge.

Patrick Madison.

Allen Foster.

I didn’t need to spit into any stupid vial and send my DNA to a mass database. All it took was a simple internet search to put those three clues together. When I went into a deep dive of Patrick Madison and found pictures of him from decades earlier, I knew.

It was like looking into a damn mirror.

I never hated a mirror before that day.

But I had no choice. I had to get a hold of him. That went on for months. I never knew my mother, but I felt the same type of frustration she did with getting past Foster. That brings me to where I am today.

I’m the secret baby Allen didn’t want anyone to know about. Allen cut my mom off before I was born and tried to do the same to me. He was the mastermind who tried to get rid of Harlow so he could take over Stonebridge.

I’m not a secret anymore, and I’m sitting with a big, fat trust fund. I’ve had it a week and still have no fucking idea what to do with it. My father handed it to me and skipped town so fast, I’m not sure he has any clue what to do with me either.

Most people would be offended by the cold shoulder, but not me. I’m glad there’s an entire continent between us. It makes the awkward-as-fuck relationship easier to swallow when I don’t have to run into him on the grounds of the manor.

The days here are long since I have nothing to do until I go back to work, even though work for me is sitting my ass in front of a computer screen. I’m a government contractor who manages other contractors on projects that are so fucking boring, I want to pull my hair out on a daily basis.

Not that I haven’t been bored—though not to death, I’ll never say that again —since the surgery, but I’m at least able to get outside. I even hiked a couple of times. I feel like I’m on a constant vacation with Harlow and Devon, even though she has other things to focus on. She’s refurbishing her grandmother’s home and planning a wedding.

I eat dinner with her and Devon most nights. Getting to know her has not been awkward at all. She’s been so worried about me, she acts like I’m the only one who had surgery. She’s the one who gave up a kidney.

I’ve got too much time to think. I’ve read that letter my mother sent Patrick more times than I can count since I found it. And as awkward as the time is with my birth father when we’re together, I know he didn’t ghost me, and Allen Foster kept my mother from him.

And in turn, me.

Maybe it’s because I’m bored out of my mind, but I can’t let it go. Foster was Patrick’s right-hand man until a few months ago when they learned that there’s nothing right about him. He’s a cheater, a liar, an extortionist, and a crook.