Chapter Twenty-Three #2
He hesitates. “I might. I might not. It depends on what you ask.”
“Okay. That’s honest at least. Thank you.”
“Before you ask me whatever it is, are you in trouble?”
I think about how to answer that. “I suppose it depends on your definition of trouble.”
“Have you been arrested?”
“No.”
“Have you been injured?”
“No.”
“Are you being held at gunpoint by a band of naked circus clowns demanding you hand over your sensible shoes and hideous clothing?”
“No. Stop trying to make me laugh.”
“I’m sorry. No, that was a lie. I’m not sorry. I love your laugh. It sounds like sunlight.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, until I say, “What the hell was that?”
He chuckles. “I have no idea. It just came to me.”
“It was super weird.”
“Says the super weird girl.”
“Actually, that’s the reason I’m calling.”
“Because you finally realized how weird you are?”
“No, I’ve always known that. What I don’t know is why you were attracted to someone like me. I mean, talk about opposites.”
He lowers his voice. “This is about your ex, isn’t it? The rich, brilliant scientist you broke it off with before you got here.”
“I’ll skip over how oddly accurate that guess was and say yes. And I might have fibbed about him being rich because I knew it would irritate you. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”
I expect a snappy retort, but he surprises me with thoughtful silence.
“Thank you. I fibbed about something, too.”
“What is it?”
“I’d never take you to court so I could see Bea. I wouldn’t put you through that. I said it because I was angry and frustrated and I fucking know you’re lying to me about her being mine, and it’s driving me out of my mind.” His voice drops. “I want to be a father, Maven. Her father.”
Was that a lie or the truth? I can never tell with him. Every word that comes out of his mouth is suspect.
I need to be prone for this conversation, so I recline on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
“This isn’t an admission of anything, but put yourself in my shoes. Think about it from all angles. The past, the present, my family and yours. If you were me, would you want you as a father for your child?”
“It doesn’t matter what either of us wants. What matters is what’s best for Bea.”
“Give me a second to breathe deeply here so I don’t start hollering at you.”
His tone softens. “I know every reason why you don’t want me involved. I know all the ways I made things worse instead of better. You owe me nothing, and you might think I have nothing to offer her, but I do.”
“Like what? Money? We’re not interested.”
“Really? Does being a bug scientist pay that well? Because last time I checked, an Ivy League education costs hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
I scoff at that. “Not everybody wants to go to Harvard, Mr. Pretentious.”
“I’d set up a trust for her. She could go to any college she wanted.”
“She’s smart enough to get a scholarship to any school she applies to.”
Frustrated, he snaps, “Money isn’t the root of all evil that you think it is.”
“I don’t think it’s evil, I just don’t think it’s the wonder cure for everything people make it out to be. Look at you, for instance.”
“What about me?”
“You have that big modern house. You have that silly expensive car. Your clothes are all made from parts of endangered animals.” He sighs. I ignore him. “You’ve got more money than anybody east of the Rockies, but you’re still not happy.”
His silence echoes with a thousand unspoken words.
“I’m sorry if that came out mean. I’m not trying to be mean to you.”
“I know. But you’re right. I’m not happy. It has nothing to do with money. It has to do with what I am.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
When he doesn’t respond, I grow impatient. “We’re being honest, remember?”
“I said I’d try depending on what you asked me.”
“Why do you sound so strange? What’s wrong?”
There’s some rustling on the other end of the line, as if maybe he’s sitting down in a chair. Then there’s another loaded silence. Then, very low, he says, “I’m sick.”
My pulse jumps. “Sick? How sick? What’s wrong with you?”
His voice changes from soft to flat. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Are you dying?”
“Not at the moment.”
When he chuckles, I’m relieved but also angry. “This isn’t funny. I want to know what’s wrong.”
He has another dizzying change of mood and growls hotly, “Why is that so important to you? I thought you hated me.”
“I reduced it to intense dislike again. Please tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you as soon as you admit Bea’s my daughter.”
I groan. “This is nonsensical. I’ve told you she’s not yours. You have zero proof she’s yours. You’re offering to put somebody else’s daughter through college for no reason.”
“Just because you think I have no reason doesn’t mean I don’t.”
“Oh my God. Are you trying to give me hypertension?”
“Only if it turns you on.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“When are you coming back over to my house for another hate fuck?”
“Never!”
Ignoring that, he growls, “Because I’ll make sure to put clean sheets on the bed. I haven’t changed them since you were here. I love having the scent of your skin all over me.”
I disconnect and lie on the bed until my breathing slows and my heartbeat returns to normal, all the while wondering what could be the matter with him and why in the world I care.
I’m leaving Solstice soon. I’ll never see Ronan Croft again.
When did that change from great to depressing?