46. The football bat
Chapter 46
The football bat
TOMER
M y brief moment of euphoric hope is quickly shattered by a familiar, deep voice. An extremely pissed off one, rightfully so.
“My office. Now.”
He doesn’t wait for me. Bristling past, he knows I’ll comply.
Tail between my legs and head hanging low, I follow, ready to take my medicine. After entering, I close his door behind me and suck in a sharp breath.
The couch along the wall draws my attention because of the pillow and blanket rumpled on one end where Madeline was sleeping not long ago. She must have heard the commotion down the hall and left in a hurry to see my freak show.
Big Al doesn’t speak for a while, but I hear him breathing. More accurately, he huffs like a dragon. Again, rightfully so.
Standing close to the window, he keeps his back to me. One arm rests against the window frame. Hostility circles above him the way a storm cloud moves in over the Gulf before a torrential downpour.
Without speaking, I fold my hands behind my back and stand with my legs straight and shoulder width apart. On autopilot, I cast my eyes straight ahead and wait motionless.
“Is she okay?” Despite the stiffness in his body, his tone carries hints of kindness.
True to his character, his first words are out of concern.
“She will be. She’s strong.”
With a touch more irritation in his voice, he adds, “I meant with the getting sick.”
“Oh. I think so. Madeline’s with her in the restroom, getting her all cleaned up.”
Warmly at the mention of her, he mutters, “Of course she is.”
Silence stretches again, and tension presses me down with the weight of lead shoulder pads. Or is that remorse?
This time when he speaks, his voice is braided with steely calm and restrained anger. “How long?”
“More specific,” I respond, not wanting to misinterpret him again.
“How long have you known she’s my daughter? Assuming she is.”
“Eight years. Maybe nine. And she is.”
Although I keep my eyes facing the wall, I see his neck bend forward in my peripheral.
“ Jesus , Tomer. Since we formed the fucking company?”
“Yes.”
More silence.
A blast of cold air ruffles my hair, traveling along the back of my neck, sending a chill down my spine. Although it’s probably the air-conditioner cycling back on, it fits the mood. Might as well get used to the chill. If I lose both Lettie and Big Al, I can’t imagine ever feeling warmth again.
Finally, he turns from the window. “Look at me,” he orders.
Trying to gather the courage, I run my tongue over my teeth behind my lips, my mouth suddenly arid.
Growing impatient, he repeats his directive more insistently. “Eyes. Up here. Now.”
When I look at him, I don’t see the contemptuous rage I deserve. He’s pissed, no doubt. Surprisingly, I’ve seen him angrier than this dozens of times. Earlier in the conference room when he was talking about Lenkov is just one example. The night of Lettie’s rescue when he was waiting for us in the lair is another.
I suspect it’s because he’s disappointed more than angry.
Or he’s hurt.
“I figured you’d have looked into my background before agreeing to move to Clearwater for this.” He gestures two fingers toward the ceiling in a swishing motion, referring to Redleg. “Foolishly, I thought you’d tell me if you found something of note. Get to talking while I’m still able to hear you.”
“What do you want to know?”
He flicks his gaze to the ceiling and back, gritting his teeth. “Come on, kid. Everything. Fucking talk. Un-ass your shit. How did you find her? Who’s her mother? How old is she? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about her after everything we’ve gone through? And how the hell did she end up...” He looks me up and down, leaving his question incomplete.
“With me?” I finish for him, unclear if he’s referring to the trafficking or how a woman like her wound up with a man like me.
“Yes.” He lowers onto one of the couch’s arms. “For fuck’s sake, quit standing like that.”
I glance down my body, noticing for the first time I’m standing like a private called into his drill sergeant’s office for an ass chewing. Even my fucking arms are folded behind me, hands flat and rear-facing like we were taught in basic. Shaking out my hands, I attempt a more casual stance, but nothing feels right. I’m too stiff. Too awkward. Too fucking creepy.
“Sit the fuck down,” he snaps in frustration, waving me toward the couch.
Forcefully unloading a rush of oxygen from my chest, I follow his instructions dutifully.
“Don’t spit out all the answers at once,” he jokes humorlessly. “I’m struggling to keep up.”
“Sorry. I’m trying . . . this is fucking hard.”
“No fucking shit.”
“Give me a second. I’ve thought through how I would tell you a million times, but the words are just,” I clench and unclench my fists at least five times before finishing, “not fucking coming to me.”
Under his breath, he grumbles, “Perfect time for you to be struck motherfucking mute.”
Resting my forearms on my knees, I ring my hands and stare at the carpet. “Boss, the last time I attempted to explain it, everything went horribly wrong. I butchered the whole damn thing by rushing it out to Lettie. Please be patient with me and try to listen. I will tell you everything, but I need to go slow.”
“Just to recap for you, in case you’ve forgotten. I didn’t sleep last night. The woman I love was shot, and I killed the gunman in a restaurant parking lot. My daughter just barged into a meeting in front of a third of my staff to drop a bomb at my feet. And you need me to be patient.”
I don’t answer. There was no question, and everything he said was accurate, making this nightmare worse for him.
It’d be easier to blame Lettie for doing this today of all fucking days. Yet I won’t. It’s not her fault. This is all on me.
Every last bit of it.
You fuck up everything, boy.
Air hisses through his nose in a series of three deep breaths. “Speak, dammit. Fuck . Fucking start talking before I lose my shit.”
He’s giving me far more kindness than I deserve.
“Before we opened Redleg, I looked for anything in your past that might come back to bite you. I was trying to... protect you. Protect what you were building.”
“What we were building.” Dropping from the arm of the sofa, he slides onto the seat and stretches his legs in front of him. “Keep going.”
“Her mother was a woman named Abigail Holt. From Georgia. I found your name and birth date on the original birth registration paperwork she filled out in the hospital. The state rejected it since you hadn’t signed it to confirm paternity. The vital statistics office kept the original on file, along with the letter where they notified her to resubmit with the paternity paperwork or to remove you. The amended version didn’t list you.”
“How old is Lettie?”
“She’ll be twenty-six in two months.”
Sloping his head to the side, he closes his eyes. His lips move silently, likely as he does the mental math. “I was in the Rangers. Was probably on that mission in Kigari, Africa.” He claps, eyes springing open. “ Abby . Holy shit.” He flicks his wrists in front of him, open palms toward the ceiling. “Why the fuck didn’t she tell me about her? She wasn’t the type to?—”
“She died from complications a few days after having Lettie.”
That news hits him hard, making his posture slump. “Fuck.”
“Apparently, she wanted you on the birth certificate since she put you on the form, so it’s doubtful she planned on hiding it indefinitely. I researched Georgia law from back then. In the case of an unwed mother, the father must legitimize the paternity. If you didn’t know she was pregnant, you wouldn’t have known to start the process. Since Abigail was deceased by the time the paperwork was kicked back, I can only imagine Lettie’s grandparents took custody of her as next-of-kin and never contacted you.”
“They damn sure didn’t.”
“Her grandparents officially adopted her. The official birth certificate lists them as parents. Lettie had no idea about you until recently.”
He squeezes his nape. “Shit.”
“It gets worse. She was raised believing they were her real parents. When her grandfather was dying of cancer a little over a year ago, he confessed they were her grandparents. In that conversation, he told her you were KIA.”
The more I talk, the easier it becomes. Every few words, I find the strength to meet his eyes briefly. Probably because he’s listening calmly, processing it all.
Instead of rushing through my explanation to get to my excuses and beg for forgiveness, I maintain an unhurried cadence. I refuse to make the same mistake I did when confessing to Lettie. Despite being a fucking train wreck, I learn from my mistakes. Usually.
A low hum reverberates in his chest, and he drags his palm over his face.
Before he gets pissed at my delay, I press on. “When I first found out about her, I did more digging to help prepare you. She seemed to have loving guardians. Nice home. Friends. Popular in school. All that. She seemed like she was in a good spot. And as for you? You were just...” Weary of insulting him, I let the rest of my sentence languish on the tip of my tongue.
“I know how stressed I was back then.” He shakes his head and rumbles another of those coarse hums. “I was a miserable bastard.”
“Yeah. So I waited.” I grasp the shred of relief his reaction is providing.
I’m shocked he isn’t outright rejecting my reasoning and reading me the riot act.
“Considering Lettie seemed safe and happy, I figured it could wait a few months for things here to stabilize. In the grand scheme of things, what was a few more months? But Redleg grew. More staff. More clients. More technology. All of which led us to endless problems and stress. It was never a good time. Month after month and year after year, I kept telling myself,” I pause to swallow as my words begin coming out in a rush, “I thought if only I worked harder or was better, I could take the weight off your shoulders. Then I would tell you. All I wanted to do was help prepare you. Considering the type of man you are, there was no way you were going to find out you had a daughter and not either go to her or bring her here. And then what? And what if you didn’t come back? What would happen to all of us? So I worked harder. Took on more. I tried, and I fucking tried, but it was never enough. I failed you.”
I cut off my own sentence when my voice cracks, chest trembling.
Be a man. Don’t you fucking cry.
Eventually, I collect my composure and glance in his direction to check his rage level. His eyes are closed, and his head is tipped back. There’s a tic in the side of his jaw, tension pouring off him. He’s holding it in, though.
So much kinder than I deserve.
“After a while, it had been so long I was afraid to tell you. All those years you could have known her.” I clear my throat to drive off the quiver again. “Anyhow, that brings us to how she and I?—”
His eyes spring open. “Pause.”
My spine stiffens. “Yeah?”
“The other evening. In your office. After Mia was taken.”
I nod, already knowing where he’s going with this. “Yes. I was gonna tell you then. And dozens of other times.”
He holds my stare, refusing to let me cower. “Yet you never fucking did.”
My body goes limp. The sting of remorse slices through my skull, pain shooting through me. Moving on their own, my hands raise to scrub my head to massage away the ache. But nothing will help.
He breaks the silence first. “And the two of you?”
“I love her.”
“I know. Judging by the scene today, I’m guessing she didn’t know about me being alive until recently, right?”
“Correct.”
“You told me you’d been with her for a year, right? How the fuck did you manage that?”
“She didn’t even know my real name or where I worked until last week.”
“ Jesus fuck, kid . Why? What the hell were you thinking?”
“I only wanted to help her. Protect her. Look after her. It wasn’t supposed to get... complicated the way it did. After I got her set up with a job and a safe place to live, I tried to back away. To leave her alone. I tried so damn hard.”
Biting off my words before the tears come, I close my mouth with such force my teeth clank.
Big Al lets me stew in my shame and regret for a while. Oddly, the sound of his breathing comforts me. “I’d beat the shit out of you or fire you if I didn’t know you the way I do.”
My head draws back with a sudden snap of shock. “You’re not gonna fire me?”
His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m gonna kick you the fuck out of my office right now.”
“I didn’t tell you how I met her and how we...”
He presses his fists into the tops of his thighs, using the leverage to come to his feet. “If I hear much more of this fucked up story right now, I can’t promise not to beat your ass or tell you to pack up your desk.”
With me on the couch and him at his full height, he towers over me. The familiarity of the positioning triggers a memory. I blink, attempting to fight it off, but it’s determined to break free.
Him . Standing over me in much the same way.
Only it’s not Big Al.
It was my father. Many years ago. Seconds later, I lost it and charged him. My hands found his neck almost instantly. The satisfying thud of his skull hitting the floor. The blood tinged his skin red, where it bunched and wrinkled under my hands. The pop I felt under my palm. The way his eyes begged me to stop, and his mouth moved with words he couldn’t utter. No breath escaped. Life slowly slipped away.
A knock on the door rips me from the vision playing out in my mind as clear as a movie. Suddenly desperate for air, I suck in a razored breath.
“Come in,” Big Al barks out.
The door opens a crack, and Madeline sneaks her head inside. Her eyes sweep between us, landing on Big Al’s.
He tips his head, beckoning her to enter. “Tomer was just leaving.” One of his thick eyebrows arches so pointedly at me that it’s as if it flipped me off.
She opens the door the rest of the way, revealing Lettie standing behind her with her back to the wall. One of her arms is wrapped protectively over her stomach, the other balled into a fist at her side.
As always, the sight of her steals my breath. I rise from the couch, moving toward her as if I’m under compulsion.
When I pass Madeline to approach Lettie, she addresses Boss. “Your daughter would like to speak to you before she leaves.”
I’m unable to hear the response because Lettie captures my entire focus. Nothing or no one else exists.
I only see her.
As much as I want to bring her into my arms, I force myself to plant my feet and avoid crowding her. “Are you feeling better?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Sort of.”
“What can I do to help?”
She wets her lips, then takes a small step closer, leaving almost no space between us. “Forgive me.”
If she wasn’t holding me to her like she’s my gravity, I’d fall backward in shock. “For what? There’s nothing you could?—”
“For thinking the worst about you.”
“I deserve it.”
“No, you didn’t. Not this time.” She places her palm on my chest, creating a ripple of warmth through my skin. “I thought you concocted the whole threat thing and called in the lock down to keep me from meeting him.”
I encircle her wrist, caressing her silky skin in a way I’d never thought I would again. “Sugar, I would never do that. I was only trying to protect you both. If I told you someone tried to kill him last night, you’d have been terrified.”
Lifting her hand from my chest, she cups my cheek. “I know that now. I’m so sorry.”
“Forgiven. Entirely unnecessary but instantly forgiven.”
With a slight nod, she lowers her hand and pulls her body back, returning to the wall. “I’m still furious at you, though.”
Nodding, I press my lips together and turn to the side, giving her an unobstructed view into Big Al’s office. “Go meet your father.”
Her line of sight drifts away, searching past me.
Madeline sidles up beside her. “Come on in, dear. You’ll find his bark is far worse than his bite.”
When they start to walk past me, a pit opens in my chest, and my heart plummets through it.
“Wait.” Moving quickly, I move to Lettie’s side, holding her back with a gentle pull of her forearm.
I feel rather than see all eyes in the room land on me.
Lettie huffs, her head bowing forward. “What are you doing?”
“What I should have done a long time ago.”
Taking her by the hand, I bring her the rest of the way to her father and look him in his eyes. “I’d like to introduce you to your daughter, Violet Anastasia Holt. She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person I’ve ever known. She’s strong like you. Forgiving and loyal like you. And as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. She’s been through some shit lately, so go easy on her. But I know you’re gonna love her. Everyone does.”
With my airway clogging with far too many emotions to decipher, I look down at my sugar bear. “Lettie, this is your father, Alan Lancaster. He didn’t know you existed until earlier today, so go easy on him. You don’t need to be scared of him because he’s the most honorable man you’ll ever know. You’re gonna love him.”
Then I walk out with Madeline close behind me. Before shutting the door, I turn around, adding, “Lettie, I’ll be right here in case you need me.”
Once she’s alone with her father, I stay close like I promised. Back to the wall, I slide down to the floor.
And I wait.
Madeline shakes her head as she studies my position. “If I come down there with you, will you help me back up or bring in a forklift to do it?”
Laughing silently, I hold out my palm to stop her. “Hang on.” I dart down the hall, returning a few seconds later with a rolling chair from a spare office.
She rolls her eyes and head in a flourish, reminding me exactly of her daughter, Sammy. “Thanks for making me feel like an old hag.” After she sits down, she adds, “I’m kidding. I appreciate the chair.”
Returning to the floor, I keep my eyes on the door.
“To quote one of Alan’s favorite phrases,” she begins, grinning down at me. “You really fucked this shit up like a football bat on a soccer court, didn’t you?”
I bark out a laugh at her unexpected ribbing.
Another one escapes when she adds, “Where do you keep the wine or whiskey in this place? This damn day calls for a drink.”