Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
FORD
The ice in the air was gone, and pale yellow morning light filled Paige’s room, carrying threads of warmth. I hadn’t tried it yet, but I knew if I got up and turned the handle of her door, it would open easily.
I didn’t have an explanation for what had happened the night before. I stroked a hand down Paige’s dark curls, her breath warm puffs of air on my neck. Lying here, with her body soft against mine, I had everything I wanted. A weird thought, considering that objectively it wasn’t true.
I was still working on fixing my fractured relationships with my siblings.
I was unemployed, with no clear idea of what I wanted to do with myself.
I likely had at least one killer after me, if not more.
And despite the fact that my name had been legally cleared, half the people in town still thought I’d shot my father.
And yet, lying in Paige’s bed, her sleeping in my arms, I had everything I wanted.
Fuck, I hadn’t seen this coming.
I didn’t know what had driven me to open that envelope in her bedside table.
I’d only opened the drawer to drop the condoms in for later.
But something about the envelope… I knew it was wrong when I pulled it out, but I looked anyway.
When the picture of my mother fell out, the sight of her had been a stab through the heart.
I’d never seen that particular photograph of Sarah Sawyer—Sarah Fordham at the time—but I knew that face, those eyes.
She’d left us before I was old enough to form a solid memory of her.
I knew Griffen had a few things tucked away: an earring, a book she used to read to him.
I had nothing. I’d only been two years old when she left.
Seeing that picture, knowing that Paige wasn’t who she’d said she was, had sent fury coursing through me. And then my rage had fallen apart.
I didn’t know many people as alone as Paige McKenna—abandoned by her father, hated by her mother. She’d spent her adult life on the fringes of other people’s families without one of her own. I’d found myself in the odd position of being absolutely, morally right and not caring in the slightest.
She’d come to our home under false pretenses.
Except she was Paige McKenna. She was a professional nanny with a degree in early childhood education.
She’d omitted information, but she hadn’t straight-out lied.
Still…semantics. She’d been dishonest. But as I’d said to her last night, who was I to condemn her?
I’d done far worse—and the things I’d done, I’d done out of greed and weakness and envy.
She was looking for her father. Not the same at all.
I shifted my head on the pillow, rubbing my stubbled cheek against the silk of her curls. What I wanted was this—Paige in my arms. I wanted her close. I wanted to protect her. And I had no interest in punishing her for anything she’d done.
Which left me with a problem to figure out: how to explain all of this to Griffen.
There was no way we were keeping this—our relationship, Paige’s goal in finding out what she could about her father—a secret.
I couldn’t rebuild my family’s trust by lying to them.
I’d sworn I wouldn’t leave, and I’d meant it.
But as much as I needed to be here to mend my relationship with my siblings, I wasn’t letting Paige go.
If Griffen couldn’t see reason and actually kicked her out, I’d go with her. If she’d have me.
She might be safer without you around. Maybe. If Cole ever figured out what she was to me, he’d go straight for her. I was going to have to gamble on Griffen’s compassion. Fortunately, I knew my brother had an overabundance of that emotion. We were going to need it.
And then there was the issue of what had happened in this room—the plummeting temperatures, the jammed door, the way we’d shouted, and the sound had seemed to bounce back into the room without penetrating the hallway.
At first, I’d thought the newest assassin had found me.
But just as quickly, I’d realized that didn’t make any sense.
I didn’t believe anyone could get inside the Manor undetected, much less set up an elaborate booby trap that could have killed us both. It had to be something else.
Paige’s phone lit up, a lively tune tumbling out. She woke early since a big part of her job was helping with the kids’ morning routine before she took over with Stella. Her eyes fluttered open, landing hesitantly on my face.
I reached up to stroke the backs of my fingers down her cheek. “Morning,” I said.
“Morning,” she said back. “It’s warmer in here now.”
“I know. I doubt we’re locked in anymore.” I rolled to my side and tugged a loose curl of her hair.
“What happened?” she asked, moving to sit up, taking the blankets with her.
“I don’t know,” I said, and nodded at her phone. “You have to get up.”
She let out a low groan. “Mornings are always a little crazy.”
“We need to talk to Griffen,” I said softly.
She gave a jerk of a nod and swallowed.
“Hey.” I sat up, leaning against the headboard and sliding my arms around her to pull her into my side. “You’re not going to get fired.”
“Ford,” she said quietly, “I would fire me.”
“Yeah, well, Griffen’s nicer than you,” I said, knowing it wasn’t true. Paige was steeped in kindness. “Don’t worry about it, okay? Just put a pin in it until we talk to him. I really don’t think he’s going to fire you. We just need to explain.”
“We?” she echoed.
“We,” I repeated. “He might know something about our mother and your father. Do you trust me?” I asked, feeling like I’d never asked a question that important before.
She gave another jerk of a nod. “I trust you,” she said. “I just…”
“Look, if the worst happens, we’ll deal with it together.”
“I’m sorry, Ford,” she said, her pale blue eyes on mine.
“For what?” I asked.
“For lying.”
“Are you sorry about this?” I raised my eyebrows as I tightened my arm around her shoulders.
Pink hit her cheeks, and she shook her head. “No. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. This is…” She reached up and brushed her lips across my jawbone. “This has been perfect.”
“Not ‘has been,’” I said, pressing a fingertip to her bottom lip. “Is. It is perfect. And everything’s going to be okay. Just trust me.”
She stared into my eyes for a beat and then let out a breath. “I do. I will.”
“Then let’s go see if the hot water is working,” I said, sliding out of bed.
A slow smile spread across her face.
I turned on the taps in the bathroom and steam floated up almost immediately.
I followed her into the shower, wishing we had time for more than just getting clean.
Her skin was soft and slick under my hands as I ran them over her body.
“Later,” I whispered in her ear, my erection bumping her stomach as we shifted in the tight space.
“Later,” she agreed. Then she dropped a hand to wrap soapy fingers around my cock, stroking until my knees went weak.
I was tempted to forget the time, but I’d left the condoms in the other room. My promises about her not being fired wouldn’t be any good if I made her late to work.
I timed my entrance to breakfast just late enough that no one would have any idea we’d seen each other that morning, but early enough that I got to lay eyes on her once more.
Sometimes the kids ate in the kitchen, but more often lately, they came to the main dining room where Finn laid out a breakfast buffet in heated chafing dishes.
I grabbed a Belgian waffle and a scoop of scrambled eggs.
Going from prison food to Finn’s cooking was the best kind of whiplash.
I took my seat at the table, pretending my attention was on my phone as I ate, though I snuck glances at Paige helping Nicky cut his waffles and pouring a refill of juice for August.
Hope came in carrying Stella. “She’s going to be a handful today,” she said, setting her daughter into the high chair, barely flinching as Stella let out a wail.
“Bad night?” Paige asked.
“No, maybe the opposite.” Hope let out a laugh. “She slept all night. When I got her out of her crib this morning, her little legs were beating the air. I put her down, and she zoomed all over the room.”
Paige grinned. “You always think you want them to walk—that first step is so important—and then you realize they were a lot easier when all they could do was roll.”
“So true,” Hope said, smiling wearily.
“Do you want me to take her with me when I drop the boys off at school?” Paige asked, smiling warmly at Stella who was shoving fruit in her mouth as fast as she could, smearing strawberry juice across her round cheeks.
Griffen and Hope exchanged a look. “Actually,” Griffen said, “we’re going to have Hawk’s team do drop-offs and pickups at school for now.”
Paige’s eyes widened. “Because of—?” She cut off and shot a glance in my direction.
“Yes,” Griffen said, catching her meaning.
“I think the kids are safe at school—though we may assign someone there temporarily until this is resolved—but the drive between…” He shook his head.
“We’re working on getting more manpower.
For now, I need everyone to stick close to the house until we’ve come up with a solid plan. ”
Paige nodded, and I couldn’t help my flash of relief. I knew most of my siblings were sick and tired of the need for extra security. I pushed down the flare of guilt. Griffen had made it abundantly clear we were in this together, and I was going to do my best to listen to him.
“What does your morning look like?” I asked Griffen and Hope.
“Somewhat flexible,” Hope said. “Why?”
I looked to Paige and gave a short nod.
“I need to talk to you,” Paige said.
“Oh God, please tell me you’re not quitting,” Hope said, her hazel eyes flying wide with alarm.
Paige swallowed. “No, I’m not quitting.”
Only I heard the unspoken addition: But when we’re done, you may throw me out.
“Why don’t you come to our office after the kids leave for school?” Griffen suggested.
“That would be good.” Paige’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Griffen. “I’ll be there by eight,” she said.
Stella let out another ear-piercing shriek, breaking the tension. August and Nicky watched with rapt attention as she dove her little fingers into the mound of eggs Hope had put on her tray and shoveled them into her mouth.
“She eats like a pig,” August said with a giggle.
Nicky let out a little snort.
Hope grinned down at her daughter, pulling her hair back off her face and fastening it with a small band so she didn’t shovel the strands in her mouth along with the eggs. “My girl doesn’t like being hungry,” she said with a proud smile.
“She really doesn’t.” Griffen beamed at his daughter.
A few minutes later, Paige rose, taking both younger boys with her. She sent a look to Thatcher a few seats down—silent as he shoveled food into his mouth and scrolled on his phone. “You about ready to go?” she asked.
Thatcher grunted in response.
“Garage in ten minutes.”
Another grunt.
Good to know teenagers hadn’t changed much since my time. I tried not to watch her leave the room. Griffen and Hope would know what was going on soon enough, but I’d rather wait to talk about it until we didn’t have an audience.