Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 18 TRISTAN

We pack up our stuff and head to our house, where we make more hot chocolate, binge Netflix, fall asleep on the couch, and spend the day just being together.

It’s as we’re eating dinner—chicken and vegetables with brown rice that I whipped up, naturally—that she asks the question that’s been looming between us all day.

“Have you looked at the papers?” The question comes out quiet, almost like she’s afraid to ask.

I nod, my eyes wide at my admission as I chew some chicken.

“So you know his name?”

I nod again.

“Have you, um…have you been in contact?”

I shake my head. “No. My mom still has the actual paperwork, but she sent me photos of the pages. I thought about looking up the family on social media, but it felt wrong to do anything without you. It felt like something we needed to do together.”

She nods. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head as I set my fork down. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t want to interrupt his life if he’s happy and thriving, but I keep thinking…what if? What if he isn’t happy? What if he isn’t thriving? What if we could give him a better life?”

“What’s his name?” she whispers.

“Logan James Wesley.” My chest thumps as I say his name, and saying it out loud does something strange to me. I trip over the words a little as I try to get them out, but I realize for the first time that it feels like a piece is missing from me. From us . From this home we’re sharing. There are six chairs around our kitchen table, and a boy who’s almost seven years old should be occupying one of them.

Her eyes widen. “What?”

I clear my throat. “Logan James Wesley.”

“Oh my God,” she murmurs. “In Chicago?”

My brows dip as I nod.

“Oh my God,” she says again, a little louder this time. “I know him.”

My pulse picks up speed. “You do?”

She nods as her fork clatters loudly to the table. “He was a patient!”

“He was?”

She nods. “Yes! His parents…they’re wonderful. They’re loving and supportive. I had no idea he was adopted, but he was one of those kids I always felt a special bond with. A great kid. Smart, sweet. Funny. No brothers or sisters, and he’s the center of his parents’ universe. He always picked cherry suckers and would take the superhero stickers after his appointments.”

She’s animated as she talks about him, and I can’t quite categorize how that makes me feel. She knows him. She knows our son. She’s met him. She’s cared for him. She knows he likes cherry flavored suckers and superheroes.

But she never knew he was ours…and I didn’t even know he existed.

“He sounds like a great kid,” I murmur, not sure what else to say as my heart inexplicably feels both full and broken at the same time.

“I can’t believe he was literally right under my nose the entire time.” The color drains from her cheeks. “Oh God. He came in sick a few times, and Dr. Foster recommended he had more tests done. We went to the hospital to be with him…and then we bonded when we learned it was anemia and not leukemia.”

“Anemia?” I repeat. “Our child has anemia?”

She nods.

“My mom had hemolytic anemia as a kid.”

“That tracks,” she says, and something in her tone is quiet—as if she’s feeling that same sense of fullness and loss that I am. “Hemolytic anemia is hereditary. But I had no idea about your mom.”

I lift a shoulder. “Why would you? It’s never come up.”

She nods. “I never heard from Dr. Foster what kind of anemia his was, only that the test proved it wasn’t leukemia. Do you know if your mom’s was mild or not?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know much about it, but it seems promising to me that she’s still here with us, healthy and thriving.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs.

A beat of quiet passes between us.

“What are you thinking?” I finally ask.

She sighs. “I’m thinking a lot of things. I’m thinking I want a look at his records. I’m thinking I want to know how he’s doing. I’ve thought about him often since I left Lakeshore.” She shakes her head a little. “I’m thinking we should get in touch with his parents and make sure he’s doing okay.”

“How do you think they’d react to hearing from his birth parents?” I ask.

Her eyes lift to mine. “I have no idea.”

Neither of us finishes our dinner. Instead, we leave the plates on the table and head to the family room. It’s seven o’clock, which likely means our son is still awake. I wonder whether we should hold off, but neither of us wants to wait.

I read the number from the photo my mom sent me, and Tessa dials it into her phone with trembling fingers. She glances up at me before she clicks the call button, and I nod as my heart thunders in my chest.

She draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly before she clicks the call button and puts it on speaker.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answers.

“Is this Miranda Wesley?” Tessa says.

“Yes it is.”

“Hi, it’s Tessa Taylor. Logan’s nurse from Lakeshore Pediatrics?” she says, lifting her voice at the end as if she’s asking a question.

“Oh yes, hello! Are you back at the practice?” she asks.

“Well, no—” Tessa begins to answer, but Miranda cuts her off.

“You were always his favorite nurse there. He’s missed seeing you around.”

“He was always one of my favorite patients,” Tessa says, her voice cracking a little as she brushes away a tear.

I squeeze her hand in solidarity, and when her eyes flick up to mine, I nod my encouragement.

She nods back at me. “How’s he been doing?”

“He’s okay,” she says. “Dr. Foster has been a great help in getting his hemolytic anemia under control, but lately Logan has been telling me how tired he feels again. He went to bed at six-thirty tonight when usually he stays up until eight or eight-thirty.”

Tessa seems to stiffen at the mention of Dr. Foster. How that asshole could be such a good doctor and treat women like such trash a second later is beyond my realm of understanding.

“Have you taken him in for testing?” Tessa asks.

“We have an appointment scheduled next week, so I figured we’d do the wait and see thing,” she says. “You think that’s okay?”

“I think you should probably get him in as soon as you can if new symptoms are popping up,” Tessa says. She sets a hand over her stomach and rubs it a little.

“Okay. To Lakeshore?”

“Yes,” Tessa says. “You should be able to book right on the patient portal and get in tomorrow. Dr. Foster will likely recommend you to Children’s, but better to be seen and get the ball rolling, you know?”

“Good idea,” Miranda murmurs. “Thanks, Tessa. How have you been?”

“Great,” Tessa lies.

“I’m so happy to hear that. Thanks so much for the call. I think this must be divine intervention because I was debating whether or not to have him seen sooner, and I’m going to get off the phone right now and book his appointment for tomorrow,” she says.

“Sounds great. You have my number now if you have any questions. I’m happy to help,” Tessa says.

I nudge her a little, but she just looks at me and shrugs. Her eyes bulge out a little as she points to her phone as if to ask me how the hell do I bring it up right now and I don’t really have an answer for that.

I suppose I could always butt in with hi Miranda, I’m NFL wide receiver Tristan Higgins, oh and by the way I just found out I’m your kid’s biological father .

Yeah…no.

And so we’ll wait.

At least we have the connection now.