Bombshell Read online

  Felix takes off his apron and folds it up. “I need to check on some matters upstairs,” he says, placing it on the counter. “There’s more milk in the fridge. Ellie come and find me when you’re finished with your snack. Mr. Ford, help yourself to the cookies.”

  He waits until I nod. His message is clear: he’s trusting me. I have no idea why. I don’t owe the MacLaines anything, especially not my daughter.

  I could walk out of here with her. How far could I get before they realize she’s gone? Will he be the one to sound the alarm? Will he wait for one of her parents to look for her? I have a sinking suspicion that I could be out of Tennessee before anyone else notices. I look at the door. All I have to do is walk through it. Instinct will take me from there.

  Next to me, Ellie’s head swivels to follow mine. “Do you have to go?”

  “Not yet.” The longer I take to decide, the less time I have on the road.

  “Are you going to Auntie Dair? Will you take me to see her?” she asks in a small voice.

  My eyes shutter as all my plans evaporate. I can’t leave. Not like this. It isn’t fair to either of them, and, in the end, it will only make what I need to do harder.

  Felix understands that. It’s why he left me with her. I don’t have a choice but to leave her here and trust that everything will work out. It’s what Adair’s done for years. She’s no fool. If she hasn’t made a move, there’s something blocking her from doing so.

  “I wish I could,” I say softly, reaching for another cookie—this time for my own heart’s sake. “I bet we can find a way for you to see her soon.”

  “Really soon?” Ellie asks.

  “It’s my first priority,” I say.

  Ellie’s pink lips purse, her blue eyes narrowing like her mothers do when she’s tuning her bullshit meter. Finally, she sticks out her hand, pinky out. “Promise?”

  I hook my own pinky through hers and shake. “I’m all in, kid. Promise.”

  “What is going on here?” a shrill voice cuts in, and Ellie shrinks back. My memories flash to the night I met her. She made herself small then, when her parents reprimanded her for speaking to me.

  Without thinking, I turn my body to shield her from the intruder as Ginny MacLaine bounds into the room, a basket of fresh flowers hanging from her arm. She stops and her glare transforms from fury to horror.

  “You aren’t supposed to be here,” she spits, brandishing a pair of gardening shears with her free hand. “You need to leave before I call the police.”

  I take a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm, if only for one reason. Shifting to look at Ellie, I give her another cookie. “Go find Felix, kid.”

  Her eyes—my eyes in her perfect face—dart between us finally landing on her mother. “We were just having cookies and he said I could see Auntie Dair and—”

  “He did?” Ginny’s face matches her hair, and I know she’s about to blow. “Well, Miss Ellie, you better believe—”

  “I’ll talk to your mom about it,” I cut in. It makes me sick to call Ginny her mother, especially with how she’s acting. “Better go find Felix.”

  Ellie’s sense of self-preservation—one honed by years of living here, I have no doubt—kicks in and she swings her legs around. Before she can hop off, my hand shoots out to steady her.

  “I’m much obliged,” she says, reaching up to the counter to grab her cookie before she scuttles off.

  When I turn back to Ginny, the red-hot rage has drained leaving her white as a sheet. “You need to leave,” she says with a trembling voice. “I will call the police. The guard shouldn’t have let you in. Malcolm made sure of that.”

  “Because of the last time I was here,” I ask her coolly, “or because you don’t want me near Ellie.”

  “Be-be-because,” she stammers as she drops the basket on the kitchen island followed by the shears. “I don’t need a reason. A grown man should not be alone with a child. It’s inappropriate.”

  I slide off the stool, straightening until we’re at eye level. “Not if the man’s her father.”

  Ginny falters, her hands splaying to catch herself on the marble counter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Let’s not play dumb. You’ve known the whole time. Malcolm might have been too focused on his career four years ago, but you…” I pace to the end of the island. “You remember me, don’t you? That’s your job. Remembering all those important details your husband forgets, like the name of the man who knocked up your sister-in-law—the man whose child you stole.”

  “We adopted Ellie,” Ginny snaps. “Adair was in no position to—”

  “Honestly,” I interrupt, “I’m not interested in your side of the story.”

  “How dare you come here acting high and mighty when you vanished? We did you a favor.”

  “Is that what you see when you look at her? A favor? A responsibility?”

  “Of course not. We’ve given her everything money can buy: the best nannies, toys. She’s traveled. Look at the life we’ve given her and tell me how Adair could have done that alone without a penny to her name.”

  My blood freezes as the truth spills from her. I know she’s being honest, because only someone as thoughtfully narcissistic as a MacLaine would brag about shaking someone down for her child so she could play house. But just as quickly, the molten rage is back, thawing my chilled veins. “Is that how you did it? Well, she’s not penniless anymore.”

  “Is that what you think?” Ginny laughs, the sound high and piercing like nails on a chalkboard. “I thought you knew Angus left us all with practically nothing. So if that’s your plan, to sweep her off her feet and take her family fortune—”

  “Adair doesn’t need money, she can take care of herself and our daughter.”

  Ginny winces at the reminder that Ellie isn’t truly hers. “I doubt her little publishing company is going to pay for Kindergarten at Valmont Prep next year. It probably can’t even pay for a birthday party. So stop calling her your daughter.”

  “She is my daughter.” I’ll keep saying it until it sinks in. “My flesh. My blood.”

  “And you left her,” Ginny roars.

  “I wouldn’t have left if I’d known.”

  “Not Ellie. You left Adair. She did what she had to do to survive, because that’s what people like us do. We don’t fail. We find a way.”

  There was a time when her words might have struck. Not anymore. Because I no longer see the MacLaines or their family name or their money as marks of superiority. Every mistake, every sin, every crime, every choice—it’s led me to this moment. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” I say, “but you will.”

  “You’ll never win,” she says as I walk toward the door. “We have better lawyers and resources. She belongs to us now.”

  My hand pauses on the knob and I resist the urge to yell at her. To tell her that Ellie isn’t an object, something to possess or spend money on. She’s a child. She’s a family. She’s Christmas mornings and scraped knees and chocolate chip cookie dates. And that’s why it’s easier to restrain myself than I would have thought, because now I know exactly why I will win—and why we’ll win: because we have something worth fighting for.

  13

  Adair

  He can’t avoid me forever.

  I look at the book sitting in the box. Next to it there’s a tiny white cardboard box, smashed a bit from being shoved in with the books. I open it and stare at the silver charm inside. I’ve never worn it. By the time, I’d found it in the car—my long-lost birthday present— after Sterling had left, it had felt more like a bad omen than a good luck charm. Now, I take the silver four leaf clover charm out. It takes me a second of digging to find an old jewelry box. I string the charm onto a necklace I find inside and clasp it around my neck. It helps me feel closer to him, and let’s face it, I can use all the luck I can get.

  Because Sterling finally knows.

  The thought is as comforting as it is nerve-wracking.
Deep down I know where Sterling went, which is why, after I throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I get in my car and drive aimlessly through Nashville. I feel the tug on my heart, drawing me toward Valmont and Windfall and the truth. But the idea of facing them both is too much. When I find myself pulling into Poppy’s building. I’m not sure what I plan to say to her. By the time, I reach her unit and knock, the whole twisted story is on my tongue ready to spill out of my mouth.

  “Adair!” Cyrus’s eyebrows raise when he finds me on his doorstep. His jacket is off, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and top button undone.

  “Is Poppy here?” I ask hurriedly, peeking past him and praying to hear her soothing accent drift down the hall.

  “She met her mom for a fundraising meeting. She’ll be back in a few hours.” He steps to the side. “You’re welcome to hang out.”

  Cyrus takes a deep breath, moving into the doorframe. His hands slide up the metal threshold, and he leans closer. I catch a hint of whiskey on his breath. I bite my lip to keep back a sharp response and shake my head.

  “I don’t bite,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong with two old friends hanging out?”

  “I just needed to talk to her,” I say, bypassing his question. It’s not that I don’t trust him. It’s more that I know how easily alcohol muddies up his brain. “Can you tell her I stopped by?”

  “Sure.” He straightens up, his mouth drooping at the corners. “I’m your loyal servant.”

  “Thanks.” I hurry away before he can draw the conversation out any farther. I might have known him since we were kids but there’s no way I’m going to talk to him about what just happened. For one thing, I don’t exactly trust Cyrus Eaton. We might have grown up together, but being privy to his adolescence didn’t instill a lot of confidence in me. For the other, I don’t think he’d be much comfort to me. Poppy definitely would be. She’d promise me that everything would turn out fine. She’d tell me whatever it took to soothe the frenzy vibrating inside me.

  But I can’t deny that in the end, she’s not the person I need to talk to about this. There’s only one person that can help me make this right. There’s only one person I need to explain myself to—only one person who needs to forgive me. And I know where to find him.

  Percy is on duty when I arrive at Twelve and South. He greets me with a tip of his hat. “Miss MacLaine.”

  I smile warmly, doing my best to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.

  “Lovely evening,” he says as I step inside the elevator. “But I don’t believe Mr. Ford is home.”

  “I’ll wait,” I say firmly, more for my benefit than his. I’m going to park myself in front of Sterling’s door because I can’t stand this secret burning inside me any longer. I’ve kept my mouth shut for years like I had to, but it’s killing me.

  “If you promise not to tell,” Percy says in a whisper, “I’ll let you in. I’m sure Mr. Ford won’t mind.”

  I wish I shared that confidence, but it’s not as though Sterling would just leave me standing in the hall. Whatever reckoning is coming between us, we’ll do it in person this time. He says he still loves me. I don’t know how he can. After he sees her—our daughter—that’s going to change. He’s going to realize that I fucked up. Big time.

  “Are you feeling okay, Miss MacLaine?” Percy asks, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening under the brim of his hat.

  “It’s been a long day.” It’s the truth but not all of it. The truth is that it’s been a long four years.

  When we reach the top floor, Percy whistles as he takes out a master key and opens the door a crack. A second later, Zeus’s nose shoves through the door.

  “I think he’s happy to see you,” Percy says. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

  “Thank you.” I wait until he’s back inside the elevator to open the door the rest of the way, so Zeus won’t bound down the hall after him. He’s all over me as I step inside, jumping on his hind legs to give me kisses.

  “He doesn’t act that way when he sees me,” a cutting voice remarks.

  I look up sharply and find Sutton’s blue eyes staring back at mine, her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a worn tank-top and shorts, both articles of clothing short enough to show off as much of her pearly skin as possible.

  “Sutton,” I say in surprise. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Sterling did,” she says, nothing but her mouth moving. “I guess that means you haven’t talked to him.”

  “I did, actually.” I hesitate. If I had a hater club, Sterling’s sister would be the president. We’ve barely spoken to each other, but it’s clear she despises me.

  She tosses her dark hair over her shoulder and saunters toward the living room. “And what? You lost him?”

  It’s a disturbingly accurate synopsis of my current predicament, but I keep this to myself. “He had to run an errand. I’m meeting him here.”

  “Nice of him to call,” she grumbles as she plops onto the couch. Zeus jumps up and lays his massive head in her lap. She pats it absently while I take a chair across from her.

  Traitor.

  “So, how long are you in town?” I ask.

  She gives me a look that clearly says are we really doing this and shrugs.

  Okay, I search for a new topic. “Do you still live in New York?”

  “Most of the time,” she says.

  “Are you in school?” I know she’s younger than him, but that’s about all I know about Sutton, except that she grew up with a different foster family.

  “Not at the moment,” she says with a smirk.

  I’m reminded of the first time I met Sterling. He’d been an asshole from minute one. Apparently, the trait runs in the family. The trouble is, I know a thing or two about Fords. Most of the time, they’re putting on an act. The smirking, arrogant disdain? It’s just a survival mechanism. How long had it taken Sterling to warm up to me?

  I don’t have time for games like that now.

  “So, you think I’m a bitch,” I say, recalling the text conversation I’d accidentally read between her and Sterling.

  “If it walks like a duck and it talks like a duck.” She shrugs.

  “You don’t know me.”

  Her eyes roll so far back, they nearly stick there. “Let’s see. Poor little rich girl. Dead mom. Dead dad. Depleted trust fund. Everything handed to you on a silver platter. Then again, that platter’s a little picked over these days, isn’t it? Daddy passed it around a bit too much?”

  This time, I shrug. “Knowing someone’s circumstances and knowing who they really are—those are different things.”

  “Spare me a dramatic story of how you’ve never fit in here,” she says theatrically, pressing a hand to her forehead for affect, “and how you wish I could see we’re not so different after all.”

  “Oh, we’re different,” I say, relishing the surprise that passes through her familiar eyes. “I might be rich…”

  “Were rich,” she corrects me. “I hear your little Scrooge McDuck money vault is a bit empty these days.”

  “I might have been rich,” I say, not bothering to argue with her, “but I’ve lost people.”

  “You think I haven’t lost people?” She jumps to her feet, dethroning Zeus who whines as her eyes flash.

  “I know you have. You just got some of them back. And you got new people—a new family. Not all of us are that lucky,” I say.

  “Us?” she repeats. “What? You think that you have more in common with Sterling than I do? I’m his sister.”

  “A shared past doesn’t mean you’re the same,” I say, patting my knee to call Zeus to me. “It just means you’re connected.”

  “Oh my god! Is this little TED Talk over yet? I heard you were full of shit, but I had no idea it was going to be this bad.” She stomps over to the kitchen and disappears. A second later there’s an annoyed huff and she returns with a bottle of water. “Why can’t he keep any booze here? How is anyone supposed to be around you so
ber?”

  I stare at her. “Are you really asking that?”

  “I know.” Another eye roll before she continues in a sing-song voice, “Your father was an alcoholic. You should stay away from that stuff. Look just because my dad drank doesn’t mean that I’m a fuck-up, too.”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “Please.”

  If she rolls her eyes one more time, I think I might actually slap her.

  “Sterling doesn’t drink,” I say. “That’s why he doesn’t keep booze here.”

  “I know he doesn’t drink, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “Have you ever been around him when he’s been drinking?” I cut her off.

  “No.”

  “Then, consider yourself fortunate,” I murmur.

  “Of course that’s how you’d feel about it.” Frost coats her voice, her eyes equally cold like the sky on a wintery morning. “Love has conditions, right?”

  “No, it doesn’t. But watching someone you love do that to themselves, it hurts you as much as it hurts them.” I swallow, remembering the last time I’d seen Sterling with a bottle of whiskey before he left Valmont. Before everything went wrong.

  “Sterling knows how to control himself,” she spits back.

  “No, I learned to stop looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle,” he interrupts as the door clicks closed. “It turns out you never find any truth there.”

  I’m vaguely aware that Sutton turns toward him at the same time I do, but there’s no room inside me for anything more than this overwhelming cocktail of giddiness and nerves and fear and hope I feel when I look at him. His hair is mussed either from our lovemaking or from him trying to pull it out of his head. It must be the latter, because it feels like a million years since he carried me to bed at the Eaton. A lifetime has passed since the last time I felt his lips on mine. Somehow the time apart feels longer than the years we spent separated before his return to Tennessee.

  “She let herself in,” Sutton says, tossing a contemptuous look my way. “I had no idea things were that serious between you two.”