Always Wrong - Xyla Turner Page 0,43

results are back, and it appears that Shawn Lambert is not your father. The combined paternity index is zero. This means that he is not your father.”

I replayed the words in my head a few times before I responded, which was a simple nod and acknowledgement that I’d heard his words.

“Thank you.” I finally was able to speak. “Wow. Uh, I guess that makes sense, right? I did this because I had thoughts and doubts. They’ve been, uh, confirmed. So…I guess this means a new chapter.”

They both looked at each other, but I stood up. Something clicked in me and I realized that I wasn’t fucking crazy. The man wasn’t my father, and I had no idea who the real man might be, but it was not the one who claimed me. It felt like a load was lifted off of my back and conscience. I felt light, joyful and even though a few light tears ran down my eyes, there was something releasing about them.

I felt free.

Chapter Fourteen

Jacquez

My best mate had been spending most of his time in the States, which meant we did not see each other as much. Usually, if he were in London, we would work out, catch a pint or piss around. I was not much of a phone talker or communicator, unless it was with Sheryl. She’d apparently dropped off the grid. I went to her job and found out the wife of my best mate decided it was time for her to go into silence. Noah was a dutiful husband, but I was a bloody mad man. I had not shaved since that day, I’d lost about twenty pounds, and my work had suffered. My assistant suggested that I take some time off, but I quickly shut that down. If I didn’t have work, I would lose my marbles.

Honest to God.

Something had to keep me sane. It was not my mum, because all she wanted to talk about was grandkids and Sheryl.

Bloody Sheryl.

I told my mom that she’d turned me down, told me that we always got it wrong and left. Just bloody left town. She took a leave of absence, but before she did that, she’d fired those motherfuckers. That was good, but she left. The first few months, I licked my wounds. Then the last few months, I got over my wounds and wanted to find the woman. Mom had the dirty nerve to agree with her. She told me You can’t have your cake and eat it too. It was right of Sheryl to leave and that I needed to not be so stubborn.

The more I thought of her words and the longer the separation went on, I figured that it would be in my best interest and the company’s to let it go.

Yet there was something that would not let me let go. Let her go at all. She plagued my dreams and thoughts, and I wondered if she was all right. Did she need me? Hell, how I wanted her. Not for the business or the baby, but just me.

Noah sent me a YouTube video with some guy talking about recreating life trauma. For the life of me, I will never know why he sent it nor could I tell you why I listened, but I did. Fifteen minutes later, I found what had to be tears escaping my eyelids as I tried to view the screen. I wasn’t anti-psychotherapy, counseling, or therapists. I just didn’t need one. I made millions and lived a life everyone wanted. Yet those tears were still coming down my eyes as I realized what a fucked-up disservice I’d done to myself and to Sheryl.

The man was talking about how one of his relationships did not work out, because he was trying to recreate scenarios where he was helping his mother. Each of the women that he dated had elements of his mother, and a lot of that went back to his childhood to help her. This resonated for me because the whole situation with Sheryl was based off reliving what had happened with my mother and my brother. He had been shot dead in the street, and my mother screamed out his name. I will never forget the bloodcurdling screams that escaped her.

And there was nothing that I could do. Mateo was dead and gone, and there was nothing that I could do. However, for Sheryl, I could do something. And I’d decided to stop my whole life just to stop the