“She’s not a woman one forgets,” he says with a chuckle.
My blood boils in my veins. I hate this man. Hate him with every cell in my body. But he holds my secrets, my shame, and he could wield that power at any moment. “You came to check on me. Well, you see I’m fine. You can go now.”
“Relax,” he says, slapping me on the back, “I can see you care for her. I think it’s foolish, but I guess we all make that mistake once in our lives.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
PAIGE
I can’t stop trembling. I was calmer during the storm than I am now. Thank God, Finn is occupying himself with his toys and eating his various limbs. I hoped I could avoid this moment forever. It’s never easy to face one’s bad choices, but it’s much worse to have to look them in the eye. Even though nothing happened with Lyle, he still represents all the reasons Slade and I couldn’t ever be happy together. It’s just very early in the morning to have to face that reminder.
I see Slade’s feet in the doorway and can’t bring myself to look up.
“He’s gone,” he says softly.
“I should go, too.”
Quickly, he kneels in front of me. “I don’t want you to go.”
I look up at him, trying to steady my voice. “This can’t work. We can’t change how we met. It will always hang over us. And I doubt your father will ever let us forget, even if we tried.”
“He won’t tell anyone,” he says.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“He’s good at keeping secrets.”
“His own, maybe.”
“No, he’s good at keeping mine, too.”
“What secrets?” I ask.
“Sometimes secrets are best left buried.”
I know that’s true. I’ve got my own that need to stay hidden, so I don’t press him. “And sometimes they stalk us.”
He reaches out for my hand, saying, “You know you can tell me anything. I’m not going to judge you.”
“You’re not my priest. I don’t need to confess my sins to you.”
“How’d you meet my father?” he asks, refusing to give up.
“I was part of the cleaning crew that cleaned his office at night. He worked late a lot.” Softly, I stroke the back of his hand. “He asked me out.”
“Just a normal date?” he asks.
“Yes, but I wasn’t interested for a lot of reasons. For one, he’s old. I told him I didn’t have time to date while raising Finn. That I worked every day and most nights. That’s when he offered to pay me for my time.” He tilts my chin up, forcing my eyes to his. “That night with your father—That was the first time I’d ever done anything like that.”
I can’t place the emotion I see on his face as he realizes I wasn’t a call girl. It’s not only relief but something else too.
“So no one ever paid you for sex?” he asks. “Any kind of sex?”
“No, and I’ve never stripped or anything either.” I cup his face in my hands. “You saved me that night.”
“No,” he whispers. “I was such an asshole. Shit, for weeks, I was such a bastard.” He looks up at me with those sapphire eyes of his. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why’d you let me think you were a . . .”
“Whore?” I say, finishing his sentence. “Because it didn’t matter that I didn’t do it. I would have. I’d already made the decision to.”
“Paige,” he says softly, wiping a few tears from my cheeks I didn’t realize were there.
“My mom was a prostitute my whole life. She slept with all kinds of men for money, for drugs. I guess you live by example. In my heart, that’s who I am. A whore, just like my mother.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“But it’s true,” I sob. “And I was a cheap one, at that. You said yourself I should’ve charged more.”
“Stop it,” he barks.
“I was willing to sell my body for five hundred bucks.”
“No, you were willing to sell your body to save Finn,” he says, capturing me by my arms.
I collapse into his chest. “I promised him,” I say. “I promised that he’d have a better life than mine. I promised him I’d do whatever it took.”
“I know,” he whispers, stroking my hair. “You’re a great mother. He’s so lucky to have you. So many mothers say they’d give anything for their kids, and you proved you would.” He pulls back, staring into my eyes. “You told me you never had sex for pleasure,” Slade says.
“You thought that meant it was always paid,” I say. “It wasn’t.” He knows what I’m telling him. His eyes close, his hands ball up in fists. “I always put up a fight,” I say. “Sometimes, I lost.”
“Who? How many have there been?” he asks, his voice in a controlled anger. “How old were you?”
Shaking my head, I say, “You don’t need to know any of that.”
“You mean you don’t want to tell me.”
“I mean, you don’t need to know. You know I grew up poor, abused, and neglected. The details aren’t important. Unfortunately, my story is the same as thousands of other girls. I don’t know one single girl who grew up like I did that escaped without having someone touch, fondle, or force them into doing something they didn’t want to.”
“I hate this,” he cries. “I hate thinking of you hungry or hurt or worse.”
“Then don’t think of me like that,” I say, placing his hand on my cheek. His blue eyes soften. He’s getting it. I don’t want him to think of me that way, either.
“If there was something I needed to know, you’d tell me?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Finn’s father?” he asks, holding my eyes. “If you never had sex for pleasure, and it wasn’t work, then . . .?”
A rush of fear shoots through me, causing my whole body to tremble. How could I have screwed up so badly? My lies are getting harder and harder to keep up with. The truth wants out, but I can’t tell him the truth. And I can’t say what I really want to say—that he’s more a father to Finn than anyone.
He pulls me into his arms. “Shh, baby. It’s okay. We don’t need to talk about it now.”
“What about your father?” I ask, running my fingers through his hair.
“Let me tell you about my father and my childhood. I spent it cleaning up his messes. Literally, I would have to clean up empty bottles of alcohol from his drinking binges. Get a cab for the women the next morning when they’d wake up, and he’d be gone already. Listen to them cry, regretting what happened. Listen to them praying they weren’t pregnant. When I saw you that night at the party, all I knew was that I couldn’t let you end up like that. I just couldn’t. I was a jerk and a dick, but it was only because I felt this need to protect you.”
“I’m glad you did.”
*
“Where the heck are my clothes?” I ask myself, dripping wet from the shower. I could’ve sworn I brought them into the bathroom with me. Slade’s bathroom is like everything else about this man—big. The tub, the shower, the vanity, it all looks like it’s made for a small village, not one man.