Page 4 of Our Pucking Secret (2-Hour Quickies #4)

Amanda

Six Months Later

"You're scaring me," Morgan says, locking the clinic's front door. The evening light casts long shadows through the waiting room. "You never ask me to stay late unless there's an emergency."

I sink into the reception couch, the one we bought secondhand when we first opened The Bark Side. "I need to tell someone before I explode. And you're... you're my person, Morgan."

She sits beside me, all traces of her usual humor gone. "I'm here."

"Remember when you kept bugging me about that scratch that wouldn't heal? And my weird joint pain?"

"The one you kept brushing off as 'just tired'? For like, six months?"

"Yeah. Well, turns out you were right to worry." I take a shaky breath. "After that day I nearly passed out in surgery, I finally went to see Dr. Bonnet."

"About time."

"He ran some tests. Then more tests. Then referred me to a specialist who did even more tests.

" I try to laugh but it comes out wrong.

"They found markers for something called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

It's this genetic thing that affects connective tissue.

Explains all the weird symptoms—the joint problems, slow healing, random bruising. "

Morgan takes my hand. "It seems serious."

"Manageable. Not fatal or anything. But that's not.

.." I swallow hard. "The doctor said it's usually inherited.

He wanted to test my parents to trace the genetic pattern.

Mom and Dad agreed right away. You know them—anything to help their baby girl.

" My voice cracks. "They were so... so them about it.

Dad made stupid jokes about superior Collins genes.

Mom brought snacks to the testing appointment. "

I pull away from Morgan, pacing the small waiting room. "The results came back last week. And Morgan? They're not... there's no genetic match. To either of them."

The silence feels heavy enough to crush us both.

"Maybe there was a mistake?" Morgan suggests quietly.

"They ran it twice. I had them check three times." I laugh, but it sounds hysterical even to my ears. "Want to know the worst part? My parents are so excited that it's 'not genetic' because that means my kids won't inherit it."

"Oh, honey."

"I told them the doctors think it's just a spontaneous mutation. They were so relieved." I wrap my arms around myself. "I couldn't... I couldn't tell them the truth."

"Of course not." Morgan stands, pulling me into a hug. "They're your parents."

"They are ," I whisper fiercely. "DNA or not, they're my mom and dad. The way Mom always made two kinds of stuffing at Thanksgiving because I couldn't decide which I liked better. How Dad learned to French braid my hair by practicing on his fishing lines. They're mine ."

"No one's saying they're not."

"If it wasn't for this stupid syndrome, I never would have known. And maybe that would have been better."

Morgan guides me back to the couch. "What did you do next?"

"What any scientist would do. I made a hypothesis." I attempt a weak smile. "First theory: adoption. It would explain everything, right? My parents would pretend because they wouldn’t want me to know. So I hired a PI—that guy who helped us track down that puppy mill last year."

"And?"

"Birth certificate's real. Hospital records show Elizabeth Collins definitely gave birth to a baby that night. There are pictures of Mom pregnant with me. Labor and delivery notes. Everything."

"So if not adoption then how…?"

"The PI kept digging. And he found something... strange." I pull out my phone, hands shaking. "Two babies were born that night. Minutes apart. In a small hospital that usually only saw one birth a week. Bellwood General."

Morgan leans forward. "Amanda..."

"The hospital was understaffed. Christmas Eve. Bad storm. They were using temp nurses, pulling staff from other departments." The words tumble out faster now. "The PI found old staffing records. They were so short-handed that night, they had an ER tech helping in maternity."

"You think... "

"I think in all that chaos, something happened. Something that no one caught. Maybe they did at some point, but it was already too late. And by then..." I gesture helplessly. "Who would want to know? Who would want to tear apart two families? And lawsuits?"

Morgan's eyes widen. "So the other baby..."

"Belongs to my biological parents." My voice catches. "And my parents' biological child belongs to them. There’s no other explanation, Morg."

"Have you tried to contact them? The other family? I mean… Do you even want to? Holy shit."

I nod, unable to speak for a moment. "The PI tracked them down. They're... God, Morgan, they're like something from another world. Old money. New York society. Private schools, summer homes, the works."

"And their baby? I mean, your parents' biological..." She trails off, uncertain how to phrase it.

"That’s the crazy part." I pull up another file on my phone. "The other baby born that night? Everyone would think it would have been a girl. I mean, if two babies were switched, you’d expect them to be the same gender, right?”

Morgan frowns. “Are you saying the other baby wasn’t a girl?”

I nod. “The ultrasounds said girl. They probably painted the nursery pink, bought ruffled onesies, the whole thing. But when the baby was born...”

“It was a boy,” Morgan whispers.

“Yeah.” My throat tightens. “They were expecting a daughter. And they got a son instead. Just like my parents might have wished for a boy, who knows. Maybe they had 'John Junior' picked out and everything. But they got me instead."

"Amanda..." Morgan's voice is gentle. "Did the PI find who he is?"

I close my eyes. "A hockey player."

"You’re kidding. "

"Their son—my parents' biological child—plays professional hockey. In New York."

Morgan grabs my phone. "Show me."

"I can't. Not yet. Because once you see him, once you know who he is... this becomes real. And I'm not sure I'm ready for real."

"You think they know? He knows?"

"No. No one knows except you and me. And it needs to stay that way." I look at her pleadingly. "My parents can never know. It would destroy them. Obviously, they don’t know. If they did, they would have done something about it. Honestly, I’m glad they don’t, because I can’t imagine my life without them, our family dinners, our animals… "

"But he's their son..."

"And I'm their daughter. Biology doesn't change that. Doesn't change the fact that they're the ones who raised me, loved me, shaped me into who I am." I wipe my eyes. "Besides, his parents clearly did right by him. He's successful, famous even. Everyone seems okay. Why ruin that?"

Morgan studies me for a long moment. "Then why find them—him—at all?"

"Because..." I take a shaky breath. "Because I need to know if I'm right.

Need to look him in the eyes and see if I see my dad there.

Need to know if he has Mom's laugh or Dad's weird double-jointed thumbs.

Need to... need to make sure he's really okay," I whisper. "That my parents' real child is fine."

Morgan pulls me into another hug. "Oh, Amanda. Only you would find out something like this and worry about everyone else first."

We sit in silence for a while, the clinic's evening sounds washing over us. Someone's dog barks in the kennel. The ancient coffee maker gurgles its last breath .

"So," Morgan says finally. "When do I get to see what this mystery hockey player looks like?"

"Not yet. I need... I need a plan first. Need to figure out how to meet him without telling him why. Because once that door opens..."

"It can't be closed."