Wild Love: Chapter 3

Cora and I have spent the last hour on the front steps of the dilapidated barn, looking over our Kindred DNA results. While I scoured the internet for reliable assessments of Kindred’s testing accuracy, she sat quietly beside me, waiting. I saw her eyes roll when I typed the same question, only worded differently.

In my defense, how accurate is Kindred testing? might bring up different results than is Kindred testing ever wrong?

“So you’re pretty sure I’m your biological dad?” The question sounds stupid to my own ears, but I’m having a hard time processing this news.

“Pretty sure.” Cora fiddles with her shoelaces, and I stare at the scribbles she’s made in black marker over the white toe of her sneakers. I used to do that too. “Just recently found out my parents used a sperm donor. And this links us.”

Am I supposed to hug her or something? Seems kind of creepy, considering I don’t know her at all. I opt to find out more information instead.

“Are you… Do you…” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my loss for words. “Do you have a home?”

Her responding sigh is so dramatic, so exasperated, I feel my lips twitch. It reminds me of my sister, Willa.

“So you came to find me⁠—”

“Yup. And I found you. Your name is in the news because of your new production company and shit. Kids these days are pretty good with the internet.”

“I just… I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time processing this. I didn’t expect, well, you.”

Her chipped, black-polished nails trace the scribble-covered rubber toe of her shoes. “You donated sperm. What did you expect?”

“To walk out of that building with a much needed one hundred dollars in my pocket.”

An awkward silence descends between us. And guilt creeps in. I need to rein in my attitude, not be a dick to a child. “I was nineteen. Wasn’t really thinking beyond that. Never imagined there could be a kid out there.”

She scoffs. “Did you forget donating?”

I shrug, elbows propped on my knees. “Sort of.” My eyes slice in Cora’s direction. “Sorry.”

Her eyes roll again, but her cheek hitches up for a beat too. “It’s okay. I thought you were loaded or some shit. Your dad is a famous rock star. Why did you need a hundred bucks?”

A chuckle rumbles in my chest, and I drop my head. “I was dying to see Rage Against the Machine on their reunion tour. But my dad, rich and famous as he might be, didn’t fund my—or my sister’s—lifestyle. He was big on teaching us life lessons and avoiding the silver-spoon effect. At that point, I’d just started university and was broke. My tuition was paid, but I worked at a bar to pay rent and eat.” I shake my head as I think back on that conversation with my dad. “He wouldn’t spot me the hundred bucks for tickets. Told me that hardworking people prioritize necessities and sometimes go without the extras.”

Her lips twitch, and she looks away. “Wow. You really showed him.”

I don’t respond to that as it hits me—I’ll have to tell my parents about Cora. I think? I’m not sure why she’s here or what she wants.

“It’s almost like Zack de la Rocha played a part in my conception, and I guess that’s pretty cool. And they haven’t been on tour since, so who can blame you, really? Decent investment.”

I laugh now because how can I not? “I appreciate your logic on that one.”

Cora cracks a smile, but it’s a sad one. She told me she’s twelve. But she seems wise beyond her years, world-weary in a way a twelve-year-old shouldn’t be.

My voice comes out rough when I say, “Okay, let’s pretend I really am your biological parent. What brings you here to my doorstep?”

“What doorstep? This place is a dump,” she mutters sullenly, and I glance over my shoulder to confirm that it is indeed a dump without a doorstep.

“Actually, that’s the house.” I point to the craftsman-style house beyond the barn. It’s not perfect, but it’s close. New and rustic all at once. The barn though? Yeah, it needs some work.

But I know it will be worth the effort. The view of the lake, the smell of pine on the breeze. Spring is in the air, and as soon as everything greens up, this place will be impressive.

“My dad died.”

That one sentence stops me in my tracks. Her fingers are still fidgeting, eyes still downcast, but I’m motionless as I watch her.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” God, that sounds so fucking lame. This kid’s dad died, and I turn into a clichéd Hallmark card.

But she doesn’t seem to care. In fact, she shrugs again. Apparently, it’s her signature move. “He was sick for a really long time. He had ALS, so we knew it was coming, ya know? Not like it was some big surprise.”

I swallow roughly, deciding to let her talk rather than insert myself into what clearly isn’t my story.

“My mom…” She sighs, her entire torso rising and falling with the heavy exhale. “My mom isn’t coping well without him. They were high school sweethearts but had me later in life. Trouble conceiving and all that. And we don’t have anyone to help us.”

Pressure crushes hard and heavy against my chest. It feels like someone’s booted foot is holding me down and they’re putting more and more of their body weight onto my lungs. I struggle to keep my breathing even, but Cora doesn’t seem to notice.

“I think she needs to go live somewhere with… some support.” Now her head wobbles, and I can see her weighing her next words carefully. “Been doing some research, and I’m pretty sure she’s clinically depressed. Like… bad. So I started searching up different places for her, ya know? Maybe an inpatient center. There are a few around. Talked a bit to the counselor at my school about it too. But with me being a minor, she said I’d probably get moved into the foster system unless we could arrange a kinship placement. She’s doing me a solid right now by not calling social services already.”

Now it’s my turn to drop my head and trace the toes of my boots, so I have something to do with my hands. I wonder how we must look right now, sitting side by side, mimicking one another’s movements.

“Turns out you might be my only living family. Well, besides my mom.”

Fuck.

“No aunts or uncles or grandparents? Someone you might know better than me?”

She sniffs and I give her the courtesy of not looking her way. I don’t know the kid, but she seems like the type of person who wouldn’t want me staring at her while she cries.

I know I wouldn’t. Maybe it’s hereditary.

“Nah. Both parents were only children. Grandparents are dead.”

“Okay.” I nod, still staring at our shoes. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, let’s take you home. Maybe talk to your mom.”

From the corner of my eye, I see her turn to stare at me. “Just like that?”

I straighten and lean back against the rickety steps behind me. Internally, I’m freaking out. I’m not equipped for this shit. I don’t even know what kinship placement means. What it looks like. What’s required. But if I’m the only thing standing between this girl and the foster system, then fuck, how would I sleep at night if I said no? Deep down I’m too damn soft for this shit.

“Yeah. Just like that.”

She’s twelve. She doesn’t need to worry about the details. That’s what the adults will do. My lawyer. My lawyer, Belinda, who is going to kill me for this.

I can practically hear her now. Her voice sounds like she smokes a pack a day. She’ll probably berate me for always being such a raging asshole and then choosing the most inopportune times to have the biggest bleeding heart.

She won’t be wrong.

Then I’m up, locking the front door to the “dump” and jogging toward my Mercedes G-Wagon. “Let’s go, kid,” I call back as I wave a hand over my shoulder. “Need a bathroom? A snack? We can grab a burger on the drive.” I need to move. Get going. I need to push myself far enough down this path that I don’t think too hard about it and come up with more reasons I shouldn’t.

Because in my heart, I know this is the right thing to do. No matter how fucking insane it seems. I’m trusting my gut.

Cora isn’t far behind me. She slides into the passenger seat, and I can feel her staring at me. Probably confused by how I went from comparing her to Wednesday Addams to whatever the hell I’m about to do now. “I would never say no to a burger.”

As I check my pockets for my wallet, I ask, “Are you tall enough to sit in the front seat?”

“I’m twelve.”

I sigh and press the start button, the hum of my SUV filling the otherwise quiet cab. “It seems like kids these days stay in car seats until they can legally drink, so just trying to be safe or whatever.”

She snorts and clicks her belt into the latch. I catch myself staring at her profile, trying to pick pieces of myself out in her. The snarky one-liners are mine for sure. Possibly the great taste in music. The black laces. Maybe even her heavy brows that make her look like she’s scowling.

We travel off my property in silence, and it’s not until I hit the end of the long, tree-lined driveway that I realize I don’t know where I’m going. “Wait. Where do you live?”

She glances down, hiding beneath a wince. “In Calgary.”

“That’s… that’s over three hours away.”

She bites at the inside of her cheek before peeking up at me. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“How did you get here?” My signal light is on, but I haven’t made the turn yet.

“Bus. Took all night with the stops.”

“Your mom let you take the bus all the way here overnight?”

She turns her head and stares out the window. “I think she probably slept through me leaving and still hasn’t gotten out of bed.”

We pull up in front of a typical split-level home on a street full of similar houses. There’s a school just down the street. A hockey net sits on the side of the road, sticks and gloves stacked on top like some kids got called away midgame for lunch.

It looks like a perfectly normal family neighborhood. One with tidy driveways and middle-of-the-line cars.

The only thing that appears different about Cora’s property is the lawn. It’s mowed like all the rest, but the lines aren’t quite straight. There’s something disheveled about the place compared to the houses next to it. The partially drawn curtains in the middle of the afternoon make it seem almost shut down, like the people who live here are away on vacation.

But I know they’re not.

Cora hops out of the vehicle and slams the door harder than necessary, then strides up to the front door. I follow, glancing around to see if anyone is watching. It’s surreal, pulling up with a kid I didn’t know existed, to a house I’ve never visited, and meeting a woman who… used my sperm?

I scrub a hand over my stubble as I approach the front door.

“Sorry about the mess,” Cora mutters as she presses a sequence of numbers on the lock and pushes into the house.

And she wasn’t kidding. I stand at the entryway and take in the open-concept home before me. My office may be a dump, but this house feels like a dark, stale cave. The TV is playing a news station, just loud enough that I can hear the anchor mumbling something while the ticker runs across the bottom. The kitchen needs cleaning. There’s a pizza box on the cluttered counter. Milk left out beside it. Dirty dishes stacked in the sink.

Nothing smells rotten—yet—but it smells stagnant. “Make yourself at home,” Cora says. “I’ll go get Mom.”

Then she darts around the corner, shoes on, feet thumping up the stairs.

I remain standing awkwardly in the entryway—I don’t know how to make myself at home here. What I’d like to do is clean and open the windows, but that feels like overstepping.

It’s funny how being the World’s Hottest Billionaire doesn’t prepare you for something like this. It was a stupid title to win, and now I have proof. Cora wasn’t especially forthcoming during the drive. Any time I asked about her mom, she’d turn and stare out the window before mumbling the least detailed answer possible. I get the sense she’s protecting her mom, shielding me in her own way. Avoiding the conversation.

I recognize the move because I do it too. But this time, it has me walking into a situation that could play out in so many different ways. It could all blow up so spectacularly.

I pull out my phone to check the time. I wait another ten minutes before checking my phone again.

Then I hear murmurs and two sets of footsteps, and before I know it, I’m facing a woman who appears to be in her late fifties—she can’t be that much younger than my mother. Though the comparison to my mom ends there. I thought Cora looked tired, but this woman looks stricken.

She approaches with a dazed expression on her face, forcing a smile to her lips as she lifts her limp hand to take mine. “Hi, I’m Marilyn.”

“Hi, Marilyn. I’m Ford,” I reply softly, taking in the baggy clothes, tangled hair, and creases on her cheek— presumably from sleeping. Having just checked my phone, I know that it’s not even 2:00 p.m., not a typical time of day to be asleep on a Tuesday.

Come to think of it, Cora should have been in school today.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I add as I step back from the woman.

She nods, hitting me with another smile. This time it’s watery. It matches her quavering voice and the stray tear that rolls down her cheek. It matches the words she says next. “Cora tells me you’re here to help us out.”

With one look down at Cora’s protective expression while she clings to her mother’s limp hand, I realize I’ve headed down a path where there’s no turning back. By now, I should have learned to guard myself more. But apparently I haven’t learned my lesson yet because I already know I’m invested enough that I’m not walking away.

“Yeah, Marilyn. I’d like to help in any way I can.”