Redemptions Get Paid

Redemptions Get Paid is the sequel to Mistakes Were Made. If you haven’t read Book One yet, I’d really recommend starting there first — this story picks up right where it left off.

Seth's POV

Two people stood on the step, both dressed smart but neutral, the kind of clothes that didn’t belong to any one job but somehow suggested all of them. One held a slim folder against their chest. The other gave me a polite, practised smile.

“Good afternoon,” the woman said. “My name’s Claire, this is my colleague, Mark.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

“We’re from social services,” she continued evenly. She flipped open a badge wallet just long enough for me to catch the photo before closing it again. “We’re working on behalf of child protection services in Queensland, Australia.”

She didn’t rush it.

Didn’t soften it either.

“We’d like to speak to Bradley King regarding a child born in Queensland who may be connected to him.”

The words landed cleanly.

Too cleanly.

For a second I just stood there, staring at them while the noise of the garden carried through the hallway behind me — Max laughing, someone shouting about salad in their hair, Bailey’s voice floating up over the music.

A child.

Born in Queensland.

My stomach dropped so hard it felt physical.

“Is Mr King available?” the man asked gently.

I swallowed.

Brad was ten feet away, halfway through stealing cake from Max’s plate, Bailey leaning into him like the world was finally giving them a break. Chase was asleep upstairs. Balloons tugged at the fence posts. Paper plates sagged under slices of cake.

I knew I’d heard them properly.

I just needed them to say it again.

“Sorry,” I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. “What did you just say?”

The woman didn’t shift her expression, didn’t soften it, didn’t rush it either. She just repeated herself, slower this time, like she was used to people needing a second pass.

“We’re working on behalf of child protection services in Queensland, Australia,” she said. “We need to speak to Bradley King regarding a child born in Queensland who may be connected to him.”

There it was again.

Child.

Queensland.

My mouth went dry.

I glanced once more through the hallway window — sparklers flaring in the garden, Max sprinting past with a plastic cup held dangerously high — then turned back to them.

“A child,” I repeated, mostly to myself.

“Yes,” the man said gently. He shifted his weight, still holding that folder, still standing just far enough back to feel official without being threatening. “We just need a few minutes of his time.”

My pulse started hammering in my ears.

This wasn’t loud. This wasn’t dramatic. No uniforms, no raised voices, no flashing lights. Just two strangers on his doorstep on a day that was supposed to be about cake and balloons and pretending everything was going to be okay.

I thought about Chase asleep upstairs. About how fragile this moment was, even when it looked solid.

I swallowed again.

“Can I ask what this is about?” I said, buying time with politeness.

Claire glanced briefly at her colleague before looking back at me.

“Are you Bradley King?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No. No, I’m not,” I replied.

“Is he available to talk?” she added.

The hallway felt suddenly too narrow.

My hand tightened on the doorframe.

I nodded slowly, because apparently that’s what my body decided to do while my brain scrambled to catch up.

“Sure,” I said. “Okay.”

My voice sounded miles away.

I took a breath that didn’t quite reach my lungs and finally stepped aside.

“He’s here,” I said. “I’ll… I’ll get him.”

And as I turned back toward the garden, toward Brad’s laugh and Bailey’s smile and all the things that were about to fracture, I already knew this wasn’t something you explained quietly over cake.

This was something that split days in half.

I caught Brad by the shoulder as he leaned over the picnic table, halfway through stealing a forkful of cake off of max's plate. He glanced back at me, grinning.

“Oi.”

I leaned in close so nobody else would clock it. “There’s a couple of people at the door asking for you.”

His smile faded slightly. “What about?”

I lifted one shoulder. “Dunno. Looks important though.”

He frowned, straightened, and set the fork down. “Alright.”

Bailey’s eyes flicked between us immediately. “All okay?”

“Yeah,” I said easily. “Probably just paperwork or something.”

Brad gave her a quick nod, already backing away from the table. “I won’t be long.”

He headed inside, and the garden didn’t even pause.

Parys and Mitch came back downstairs not long after, both red-faced and suddenly allergic to eye contact, and Max clocked them instantly.

“Jesus Christ,” Max laughed. “You two look guilty.”

Parys told them to shut up. Mitch grabbed a drink and stared very hard at the fence while someone shouted about needing more plates and the music jumped tracks again.

Bailey tried to laugh along, but I saw her glance toward the house.

I stayed where I was, leaning against the table, keeping half an eye on the back door as Max started properly taking the piss, doing an exaggerated impression of Mitch creeping upstairs earlier. Parys lobbed a napkin at their head. Mitch muttered something about nothing being private in this group.

Normal. Loud. Messy.

A couple of minutes passed. Then a few more.

Bailey checked her phone and frowned. “He’s taking a while.”

“He probably just got held up,” I said, though my eyes were still on the house.

She nodded, but she didn’t sit back down. Instead she pushed up from her chair. “I’m just going to see what’s keeping him.”

“Bailey — I’ll go,” I said quickly, resting a hand on her shoulder and easing her gently back into the chair. “You enjoy the party. Just think — this time two years ago Chase was splitting you in two.”

That made her laugh despite herself.

“Did you want me to bring you a drink on my way back?” I added casually, like this was nothing. No big deal. Nothing to see here.

“Well, if you put it that way… yeah, I’ll have a beer. Thanks, Seth.”

She smiled and turned back to Parys and Jen, already leaning in for the juicy details about Mitch, and I let the noise of the garden swallow her up before I headed inside.

Brad was sitting at the kitchen table like someone had turned the volume down on him. Some paperwork lay spread out in front of him in a loose, uneven fan, official letterheads and stamped seals catching the light. He didn’t look up when I came in, just kept staring at one sheet like it might rearrange itself if he waited long enough.

I pulled out the chair opposite and sat.

“They said something about a child, mate,” I said quietly. “What’s going on?”

He dragged a hand down his face, slow, like it cost him.

“A woman called Lily Franklin had a baby four weeks ago. Premature. In Brisbane.” He let out a breath that sounded like it scraped on the way out. “I don’t even recognise that name. They think it’s mine. I’ve not set foot in Australia for over a year.”

My stomach tightened. I knew that name.

He kept talking, like stopping might undo him.

“She overdosed while she was pregnant. They found her too late. She’s… she’s basically brain-dead, Seth. They’ve had her on life support ever since, trying to keep the baby going for as long as they could.”

He rubbed his face again, harder this time.

“The baby went into distress, so they did an emergency C-section. Straight to NICU. Four weeks ago.”

He finally looked at me.

“They’re saying there’s no chance this Lily girl will recover. They’re just… waiting now.”

The words sat heavy between us.

“And her sister,” he went on quietly. “She told the Australian authorities that I might be the father.”

I didn’t interrupt. Just let him get it out.

“They can’t tell me anything else until it’s confirmed through DNA.”

He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling for a second.

“So I sign the forms. Get swabbed. Wait.”

“And if it’s yours?”

He gave a hollow sort of laugh. “It’s not mine! Jesus. I don’t know a Lily fucking Franklin, Seth.”

I swallowed. “Mate, you do… you just know her as Peony-Shay… knew her. Jesus, she’s brain-dead.”

Brad looked back up to the ceiling. “You are joking? That fucking bitch is trying to ruin my life one way or another.”

I let out a breath. “Why was she in Australia?” I asked.

“I don’t fucking know, do I, Seth. Fuck’s sake! Fuck!” he said, banging both his palms on the table.

Brad stood up and tidied the papers away back into the brown envelope they came in, then stashed them in a cupboard. He then stood behind the chair he was just sat on and leaned on the back.

“Seth… I’m gonna have to ask if you can not tell Bailey about this. I know that you guys got close while I was out there fucking everything up, but I can’t go detonating this on her without it being fact. Today has been fucking perfect up to now. I honestly thought it was it. Back on track to being together.”

I exhaled and ran my hand through my hair. “I get that, mate. Brad, I honestly do, but Bailey should know about this. She will find out about Peony herself soon enough. The fallout from you not telling her about this will be ten times fucking worse than you sitting down with her now and explaining it.”

Brad shook his head. “I’ve only just got her back, Seth! No. I’m not doing it. I doubt that kid is mine anyway. I used a rubber and it was once.” He snapped.

“Tell me again how Chase was conceived? Once and with a rubber?” I added dryly.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck off, Seth. Will you keep your mouth shut or not?” he asked again.

“Yes! Of course I fucking will, but I’m not comfortable doing this, okay!”

He nodded, looking slightly happier than he did a second ago.

“What happens if you are this kid’s dad?” I asked.

Brad walked around the chair and sat back down. He shrugged. “I won’t be.”

“Promise you will keep a clear head, yeah. Talk to me. Don’t go spiralling. No one wants that again,” I said softly.

Brad nodded. He forced a smile on his face. “My shit is well and truly together. Promise.”

I stood up and walked over to the fridge. “Have they given you a swab to do?” I asked, getting Bailey her beer out.

He turned in his seat to face me. “No, I have to get it done at a clinic. Monitored, because it’s DNA testing. They gave me a leaflet to book it.”

He said it like he was talking about getting his tyres changed.

I opened the fridge and stood there for a second longer than necessary, cold air hitting my face.

“Not being funny,” I said carefully, pulling Bailey’s beer out, “but couldn’t you just refuse? I mean… what’s to say you have to do any of that bollocks?”

Brad tipped his head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling.

“They said it’s my choice,” he muttered. “But they’re trying to establish parental responsibility. If I don’t cooperate, they can apply for a court order for DNA.” His jaw tightened. “Got enough court shit coming up. Could do without adding international family law to the list.”

I shut the fridge and leaned against the counter.

“You seriously don’t think it could be yours?”

He let out a humourless breath.

“I’m very fucking unlucky if it is,” he said. “What have I got? Super spunk?”

The joke landed flat between us.

I watched him for a second.

“Maybe one day you’ll have a kid that you actually want,” I said.

It was meant to be light.

It wasn’t.

The air changed.

Brad’s head snapped up.

He stood so fast the chair scraped violently across the tiles.

“Don’t,” he said sharply.

I froze.

“Don’t speak about my son like that. You’ve got no fucking right.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was tight. Controlled in that dangerous way.

“I didn’t mean—” I started.

“You think I don’t want him?” he cut in. “You think I look at Chase and see some mistake I regret?”

His chest was rising faster now.

“Don’t rewrite that story for me just because I fucked everything else up.”

I held my hands up slightly.

“Mate. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” he shot back.

Silence stretched.

From outside, someone whooped at something Max had said. The music thudded faintly through the walls.

I exhaled.

“It came out wrong,” I said. “I meant… when it’s planned. When it’s steady. Not—” I gestured vaguely toward the envelope in the cupboard. “—not this.”

Brad’s jaw flexed.

For a second I thought he was going to keep going.

Then his shoulders dropped, just a fraction.

“I wanted him,” he said quietly. “Even when I was terrified. I wanted him.”

That landed heavier than the shouting.

I nodded.

“I know.”

The tension eased, but it didn’t disappear.

He ran a hand through his hair, dragging it back off his face.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

I stepped forward and clapped a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” I said. “Bad wording.”

He studied me for a second longer, then gave a short nod.

“Let’s get back to this party, yeah,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Before Bailey comes in and reads me like a fucking book.”

He straightened, took a breath, and headed for the door.

I followed, but not before glancing once at the cupboard where he’d shoved the brown envelope like it was nothing more than junk mail.

Then the back door opened and the noise of the garden rushed in — Max mid-laugh, the bass from the speaker vibrating through the decking, Bailey’s voice bright and easy in the afternoon air.

And just like that, the day carried on.