Chapter 4

Just as Graeme was about to form a reply, a dark haired child of about five to six years old ran in their direction. One of his arms was bandaged, and there were tears running down his cheeks. Suddenly, he tripped on his own feet, stumbling and crashing into the arms of his mother.

“Oh!” His mother exclaimed, holding the boy. “Are you alright, dear? You shouldn’t be running, you could have hurt yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” The boy mumbled, wiping his cheeks with his good hand. “Don’t be mad at me.”

“Of course I’m not mad.” His mother reassured. “It would have been nice if you were my grandson. You’re a polite little boy. Where are your parents?”

The boy dropped his hand, looking up at them with damp eyes. “I don’t have a daddy, and my mommy is mad at me.”

“Oh, poor child.” She took out a hanky to wipe his face. “Why is she mad at you?”

“Because we’re poor and I ran on the street and a car hit me, and now she needs to pay for my medicine and she doesn’t have the money.” His eyes brown eyes welled up again. “it’s all my fault.”

His mother bent to the boy’s height, fussing over him as he wailed. Graeme felt a pang of pity watching the boy. His mother was probably looking for him now.

“My God.” Graeme’s mother whispered in stark amazement, looking up at Graeme then back at the boy.

“What is it?” He asked, concerned. What was going on?

“He’s the spit of you.” She proclaimed loudly. “He’s my grandson, isn’t he?”

Her loud shout must have startled the boy since he slipped from her grasp and after stuttering out an apology, ran away from them.

“Wait, don’t go!” She called, but the boy was long gone. She made to chase him, but Graeme pulled her back.

“Mom, enough. Have you lost your mind? You’re acting like you’re fucking possessed.” Graeme hissed, losing his patience.

“I’m not possessed.” She glowered at him. “That boy is my grandson. Did you and Annette have a child? How could you keep it from me?”

“I did not have a child with Annette.” He growled.

“Then explain how there’s a literally carbon copy of you is running around this hospital.”

“How the hell would I know?” he asked, exasperated.

“He has your eyes, your nose, your hair–”

“Like eighty percent of every other person on this planet. Brown hair and eyes are common, mom. Very common.”

“Not the Kincaid eyes.” She retorted vehemently. “The Kincaid brown is one of a kind.”

That made him pause. A good majority of mother’s family all had the same shade of brown eyes. It was a fascinating mix of brown and gold, with a hint of green and blue. He hadn’t seen anyone with the same eye color outside of his family.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said finally.

“You…” She paused, looking down at herself. Her expression lightened with happiness. “Oh. He dropped this.” In her hand was a vial of blood that had no name on it, only a label.

“It’s a good thing we’re in a hospital. Let’s run a blood test.” His mother demanded.

“Mother…” He sighed, growing weary of the conversation.

“Just do it.” She persisted. “What do you have to lose? Worst case scenario, it comes out negative and I’ll be proven wrong.”

Exhaling tautly, he nodded. If it would get her to give it a rest, he would make them get it done within an hour. “Fine. Let’s go, you’re late for your physical.”

                                                                            ***

The lab result was delivered immediately after his mother’s physical exam. His mother snatched it from the doctor before he could take it, opening it with barely concealed anticipation.

Mildly amused, he watched her from across the room as she read through the paper in her hands. He didn’t even know why he was humoring her. He hadn’t slept with anyone for years now. The result would be negative, she would be disappointed, they would head home and she would be back to nagging him to get married.

He couldn’t wait, he thought wryly.

“Well?” He said after a few minutes had passed and she was still silent. He looked over to her doctor, impatient. “What does the result say?”

The doctor was about to speak, but his mother beat him to it, a gleeful smirk on her lips. “That you’re his father, by ninety-nine point nine-nine percent.”

Rolling his eyes, Graeme stood to his feet with a put up sigh. “Give me the result, mom.”

She handed it to him with zero fuss, the bright smile still on her face.

Scowling, Graeme read through the document. It said that he was father of the crying boy from earlier.

What the hell?

Glaring at the doctor, he gritted out. “This is clearly forged. I haven’t slept with anyone for years, and I think I would have noticed if Annette was somehow sporting a baby bump for nine months.”

The doctor shifted in his seat. “The test was run with the utmost integrity, Mr. Kincaid. The result was not forged.”

He glowered at the man. “It has to be. I haven’t slept with anyone for over six years now, so how the hell would I suddenly have a child?”

A short silence fell in the room.

“You didn’t sleep with Annette?” His mother asked.

“No, I didn’t.” He read the result again, unable to believe his eyes. This didn’t make any fucking sense.

“Graeme…” His mother began carefully, her voice low. “Is the reason why you’ve been avoiding having children because you’re… impotent?”

“What?” He asked, bemused.

“Are you suffering from erectile dysfunction?” She asked bluntly.

“No.” Aghast, he shook his head. “My cock works just fine.”

“But you said you didn’t sleep with Annette.” She looked even more concerned.

“That’s because I don’t feel anything for her.” He turned to the doctor. “Have them run the tests again, and if it comes back positive, I’ll sue this hospital.”

A sheen of sweat glistened on the man’s head. “Yes, Mr. Kincaid.” He hurried out of the office.

“Graeme, did you by chance cheat on Annette during the period of your relationship?” His mother suggested suddenly. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

He denied it immediately. “No, I didn’t cheat on her. I would never do that. The result is wrong.”

“Darling, are you sure? You didn’t get drunk and sleep with someone long ago? The doctor said the child’s age is around five years.” She persisted.

“I didn’t…” He was already adamantly rejecting her statement before the memory hit him suddenly and he paused. “Fucking hell.”

Exactly six years ago, he had been drugged. One  moment he was getting drinks with a few friends, the next he was waking up beside her on the bed, naked with Annette laying next to him, equally naked.

There had been blood on his cock and on the bedsheets, and when he had asked about it, concerned, she had broken down crying, saying that he had forced himself on her while he had been intoxicated. The horror and disgust he had felt at the announcement had made him throw up instantly.

The incident was why he had promised to remain faithful to only her. Graeme hadn’t been dating Annette at that time, though it had been more than obvious that she was trying to get him, an so the incident had led to them dating.

It was also the reason why he hadn’t been able to bring himself to sleep with her, despite how she had tried multiple times over the years to seduce him. He would remember the dried blood on the sheets, her tears, and any arousal he felt would wane.

But she hadn’t gotten pregnant. He knew this because a week later she had gotten her period, and he had never thought he could have been so relieved to see her whimpering from the accompanying cramps.

Annette hadn’t gotten pregnant, so what did this mean? Had she forged the rape? Somehow lied so that she could tie him down? But she could have just used dye or something else. Had Annette actually made him force himself on someone else just so that it would be what, realistic?

Christ, he was going to be sick.

“Graeme!”  Her voice brought his attention back to the present. “You look pale. Did… did something happen all those years ago?”

“I…” He swallowed. “I think so. It’s possible that I slept with someone else.”

“Do you know who she was?” She asked cautiously.

Graeme tried to remember, but he only recalled the heated frenzy from the aphrodisiac, and the sweet, sweet release he had found in the woman’s body. Multiple times.

Bile rose in his throat. “No. I don’t.”

“We have to find that boy.” His mother said, rising to her feet. “Send someone to do it. He's probably still in this hospital. Now, Graeme.”

Woodenly, he took out his phone and made a call.