Free Infinite by Angela Graham

for any clue about our location. I suddenly wished breakfast had included a mimosa, because if he was about to reveal a secret lovechild, I was nowhere near prepared.
    Logan was eerily quiet, just holding my hand and rubbing his thumb along my knuckles.
    “Logan, w…what are we doing?”
    “This side, sweetheart.” He pointed out his window at the house across the street, which was much smaller but just as nice. “Just wait, and you’ll see.”
    And finally, I did see, icy realization moving over me in an unsettling cloak. There, on the opposite side of the road, a man worked in front of his house, unloading rocks from the back of his truck for the cactus/flower bed.
    But it wasn’t just any man. It was my father.
    “How? W-why?” I stammered, the words choking me.
    Logan stared at me, his next words soft and gentle. “To give you the upper hand—the option.”
    I couldn’t properly process what I was seeing. My eyes were wide, and sharp, painful tears filled them. Logan had somehow managed to steal away and track down my father—the man who’d walked away from my mother and me so many years ago…with my babysitter.
    “What…” I wiped my escaping tears. “What do you expect me to do?” I whispered, terrified of his answer.
    “Nothing. Anything. Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He maneuvered in his seat to better look at me, giving me his full attention. “You have a chance, if you want to take it, to get answers. You don’t have to wonder; the option is yours. When we start our lives together, I want you looking forward, not back.”
    His intentions were good—thoughtful and selfless—but…
    “Do…should I…go talk to him?”
    He leaned in, pulling my gaze from my father to him.
    “Only if that’s what you want to do. And I’ll sit right here, or stand right beside you. Again, this is your decision.”
    I watched my father, Martin, lift the bottom of his Hawaiian shirt to wipe sweat from his face before heaving another rock onto one shoulder. It was all very domestic—the complete opposite of how I remembered him. He was a man taking care of his home…a home he possibly lived in with a family. Or maybe he was a bachelor. Maybe the babysitter ran off on him, just like he’d done to us.
    But after one more look around, the analytical part of my brain kicked in to tell me that answer. You don’t live in a neighborhood full of bicycles and lawn gnomes if you’re a middle-aged single man.
    Moments later, my assumption was confirmed when Nina, my old babysitter—the woman who’d tempted him away from his original family, and was still just as pretty as she was at 18—walked outside to hand him a large cup.
    “That’s Nina,” I explained to Logan. “Guess there’s something to be said for the fact that they’re still together.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Well, at least he didn’t leave us for some passing whimsy. Seems she really is who he was meant to be with.” It wasn’t much, but it did make me feel better.
    “Oh, God,” I said suddenly, ducking down in my seat. “Were they waving?” My stomach rolled. “Can they see us? Get down!” I whispered.
    Logan chuckled. “They wouldn’t recognize me, and the windows are too dark to see us anyway, sweetheart.”
    “Right,” I said quietly, releasing a long breath.
    “You know you don’t need to whisper, right?”
    I swatted his chest.
    “Besides, they weren’t waving at us,” Logan added, staring out the window again. “Have a look.”
    Slowly, I sat back up in my seat and took in the Hallmark-card scene in front of me. They were waving at two boys who were around ten or eleven years old and looked like twins, walking down the sidewalk from a neighbor’s house. The way Nina pulled them in for hugs and Martin laughed at something they said left no doubt who they were.
    Apparently, I had a set of twin half-brothers. But for some reason, my heart shifted right then and there. Watching it all unfold, I didn’t pity myself.