17. Grayson #2
Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he muttered, “That sounds like a you problem.”
Not surprising. “Does it?” I asked. “Considering he has Mom’s trust?”
“Don’t you dare,” he spat. “Don’t you use her to get your way.”
“I’m telling the truth.” Shrugging, I added, “The only thing stopping him from killing one or both of you is knowing it would end in an all-out war that will make these recent dust-ups look like a day at the beach. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Maybe I’m not particularly interested in your version of the truth.
Do you know what my truth is?” he countered, his face dark as a flush washed over him.
“I’m sitting here, staring at my only son, knowing he would turn his back on me in a heartbeat.
And you expect me to team up with you? Do you think this made-up threat to your mother’s life is going to change anything? ”
“If anything, I’m more concerned for your life if I should happen to, I don’t know, tell that rabid dog you’ve been treating like a son all these years exactly what happened to his father.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Am I? Are you willing to test that theory?” I returned his stare as seconds ticked silently away.
When it was clear he was determined to outlast me, I sighed.
This was going nowhere—time to change course.
“Dad. Let’s forget all this for a second.
Whatever you might think, I don’t want to hurt you.
It would mean hurting Mom. That is the one thing I’ve kept in mind all these years, but I would do it if it meant helping this woman. ”
“Don’t tell me you love her,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling before draining his glass.
My skin prickled at the idea. Not because it was unthinkable but because he had no right to speak of it.
Did I love her?
Did it make a difference since I had no business loving somebody who’d already been tainted by the ugliness of the world I’d grown up in?
It did make a difference.
If I didn’t love her, I wouldn’t be here, doing the one thing I swore I never would—sitting down with my father again. This was the only way to give her the freedom she deserved, the only way to love her that wouldn’t hurt her in the end. “What if I do?” I asked.
“Then you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
“I’m not interested in your opinion,” I snapped. The drink wasn’t helping dull the razor edge of my resentment. “What I need to know is exactly what would you stop at if it meant protecting Mom? Who would you be willing to align with to prevent anything ever happening to her?”
He held my gaze for a brief moment before staring into his glass.
His jaw worked while one short breath after another was released through flared nostrils.
He was listening. That alone was a victory.
But the battle wasn’t over. “I do care about her. Maybe I even love her,” I admitted, hearing the words come out of my mouth, unable to believe they were coming from me.
“And I will do whatever it takes for her, but I need help. I’ve done you a solid all these years.
I never breathed a word of it. Even Jack never knew the specifics of why I broke away from you. ”
His eyes darted up from his drink, widening in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”
“You really think you could’ve gotten away with it?
” I asked with a snort. “Come on. Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you still believe in Santa Claus.
I kept my part of the bargain,” I concluded.
“My silence for letting me walk away. But I need this from you now. I need your help because it's not just me in the balance. The longer I keep him waiting, the more desperate he’s going to get.”
It was clear from his continued silence that I had no choice. He was pushing my hand. “There’s one more thing you should know. Maybe it will influence you, maybe it won't. I swear to you, I had no idea of this when everything first started.”
I stood slowly, making sure I didn’t spook him, as I slid a hand into my back pocket, where a carefully folded sheet of paper waited.
The confirmation of what I’d already known in my gut to be true.
Information I’d held in secret for the past week, letting the guilt drive a wedge between us.
And why not? It was a reminder of how I had failed her before I knew she existed.
“My intel guys dug this up for me,” I explained. “Fifteen years ago, the fire you set and the explosion that resulted killed Paul Garibaldi and an unidentified woman.”
His jaw worked, his eyes narrowed to slits. “No shit.”
“It turns out that woman had a fourteen-year-old daughter who waited four days for her mother to come home before finally getting the call that she had been identified. Maybe it was a mercy on the part of the medical examiner. I don’t know.
I only know that girl is the same woman I’m trying to protect now. ”
“Fuck off,” he snarled, staring at the paper in my hand, scoffing. “That can’t be true.”
I dropped the page onto his desk and cleared my throat before reciting the information I’d memorized.
“Melanie Bowers, forty years of age at the time of her death. One daughter. Scarlet Bowers. Fourteen years of age.” He did me the enormous favor of looking down at the page, skimming the contents while I spoke.
“This is my only chance to make it right, Dad. And you can make it right too. I know you did what you felt you had to do that night. That I’m not interested in debating.
What I’m saying is, this is a chance to make it right for a kid you threw into the foster system the night you killed her mother. And if you don’t…”
His gaze lifted, meeting mine, wary again. “If I don’t?”
“Then I tell him. I tell him everything. And by then, he’ll be after you. I’ll keep Mom protected,” I assured him before he could ask. “She’ll have nothing to worry about. But you? You will never live another day without looking over your shoulder.”
“You would do that to me?” It was like he was looking at me through new eyes. “You would give up your father for some… woman?”
“Yes. And I wouldn’t lose a minute of sleep.” I lifted an eyebrow in a silent challenge. “I decided that before I walked through the door. I knew you’d force my hand. So what’ll it be?”
Sinking into the chair again, I continued sipping my drink while he stared at me, slack-jawed. “Your move, Dad. But believe me, I’ve never been more serious.”
Less than an hour later, I traced my steps back up to Vaughn’s presidential suite.
Everything was in place or as good as. There was one more hurdle to clear.
My feet were heavy, but my mind was made up by the time I stepped into the dark, silent suite.
This time, the bedroom light was out. I tried and failed to ignore the mental image of Scarlet falling asleep alone, maybe crying, wondering what I was thinking.
How could I be so cruel? She’d understand soon enough.
For now, I indulged my weakness one more time, stripping down to my underwear before sliding under the blankets and slowly, carefully enfolding her soft body in my arms. She stirred, murmuring in her sleep before turning her head. “Everything okay?” she whispered, her voice thick.
“Everything’s fine.” Or it would be soon. Kissing her bare shoulder, I murmured, “Tomorrow, we’ll have dinner here. I owe you something special.” She murmured happily, fitting her body against mine before relaxing into sleep again.
I listened to every breath and felt her heart beating against my chest. I allowed her warmth and sweetness to envelop me.
It would be for the last time. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve her, and she didn’t deserve me, but for a much different reason. The last thing she needed was my past, my darkness, the baggage I carried. The ties I thought I’d cut forever but insisted on haunting me anyway.
Loving her, and I was pretty sure I did, meant letting her go.
I had to soak up every minute while I could.