Lies, lies, lies.
His face fell.
He thought I had something I wasn’t in possession of.
“Boris should know better,” he gritted out.
Boris, huh? I was sure Sailor’s dad knew who he was, and made a mental note to check.
Syllie continued, “But you have one thing wrong. I knew you weren’t going to be there. I never wished you harm.”
“Please don’t take offense when I call all the bullshits in the world on that.”
He shook his head, rushing to me. I raised a hand, motioning for him to stop where he was. He did.
“Look, I knew this thing with your father and brother was going to blow up sooner or later. I knew you wouldn’t accompany them to Maine. And you didn’t. The truth is, Sonny-boy, I would never wish you harm because…”
God, not this.
“Because I’m your father.” His throat worked around the admission, the words spilling out between us, toxic.
“My father is some Eastern European underwear model,” I countered.
“That’s what Gerald told everyone so he could keep me on his payroll, because he knew I was too important to let go of. And it’s what your mother unfortunately went along with to keep the peace in the Fitzpatrick household. But think about it, Sonny-boy. Who took care of you over the years? Who did you rush to when you needed help? Who cleaned up the mess for you? Me. Always me. I was practically a father to you without being a father to you. I took care of you. And now, I’m telling you, this is the beginning of a new era. We can take this company and run it together. We can do great things. Be a team. They will never respect you, Hunter. You are not a blue-blooded Fitzpatrick, a true heir. Your father put Cillian on the pedestal, and you will never reach his level—not because you’re not as good, but because Gerald would never allow it. You are looked down upon. They are not your family.”
He took another step, and I let him. He put his hand on my shoulder. I let him do that, too.
“Thrown around from one private school to the other, then exiled to your uncle and aunt on the West Coast—you never stood a chance. I tried telling your father, Hunter. I begged…”
He took a ragged breath, looking away from me and shaking his head, like it all pained him too much. “Look, I know I haven’t been the best father to you so far by not coming clean about this. I had my own family to think of. I have three daughters. But I promise, from now on, I’ll be there.”
“Will you take me to softball games?” I croaked, my voice rough with emotion.
He paused, regarding me with wariness, before agreeing. “Yes, Sonny-boy. Yes, I will, if that’s what you want.”
“And will we have family dinners?” I continued.
“Of course.” His eyes widened, and he embraced me in a half-hug, relieved. “Of course. Weekly. I’ll tell Dianne you are always welcome.”
Dianne was his wife. The next part I said after pretending to wipe an imaginary tear from the corner of my eye. “And will you teach me about the birds and the bees? I heard rumors, Daddy, but really, do boys do that to girls? It sounds so…painful.”
He disconnected from me, examining my face.
I started laughing. “Damn.” I pushed him away. “Get the fuck out. I’m not your son. I may be dumb and pretty, but for fuck’s sake, I am pretty. You look like Gargamel.”
As I said that, I realized I’d stopped believing it. Well, some of it. I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t a dumbass. I was just an asshole with no one to hold him accountable for anything. Until now.
“You little piece of—”
The front door three floors under us was kicked open before Syllie finished his thought. Shouts of “FBI” rang from the first floor.
I sighed at him exaggeratedly, lifting my timber of whiskey and using my hand to pry his jaw open by squeezing his cheeks. I poured the contents of my glass into his mouth.
“Here. I’ve a feeling you’ll need some liquid courage for this next part.”
I knew the police had been sent to the Lewis residence. That type of courtesy I expected, seeing as I’d called them with my story, but had no hard proof to give them. The fact that the FBI was here made me think someone else was involved.
Troy Brennan, to be exact. Sailor had asked him for help, knowing I might not be able to pull it off myself. She’d asked her father for help, even though she hated everything he did and represented. For me.
Syllie’s face contorted in fury. “They’re dead men walking. There’s no way you can reach them, you little idiot. They don’t have any reception where they are.”
“Why did you do this?” I asked.
Footfalls raced up the stairs. Dozens of them, it sounded like. It was happening.
“I was always mistreated. I gave Royal Pipelines my best years and didn’t even get a raise. The truth is, your father has a lot of blood on his hands, which is why he hired Troy Brennan and his son to work on retainer for him. Cillian is a well-suited terrorist, a devil waiting to unleash hell at any moment. And you? You’re a simple idiot. I tried to save this company from itself, from awful, unjust succession.” Syllie grabbed me by the shirt and tried to fling me over the bannister.
He’d been calling me an idiot the entire six months I was in Boston, but somehow thought he could fling a two-hundred-pound, six-foot-four-inch ex-polo player made of sheer muscle and pheromones. I stumbled two steps before throwing him toward the bannister, bending him so half his body was hanging in the air, between life and death.
It was a tall fucking house. The air felt thin and chilly, like breathing icicles.
“You’re dead, Fitzpatrick!” he spat, his face red.
The boys in black kicked the office door open (I loved when they did that; door handles were for pussies) and rushed over to grab him by the robe.
I waved goodbye with my fingertips. “We’ll always have our little league softball,” I called.
“Fuck you!” he yelled back, rather impolitely. “I want to call my lawyer. Let me speak to my lawyer.”
I stayed half an hour to give two investigators my side of things, then asked if I could start making my way to Maine. They said yes. When I exited the Lewis household, I got a text message.
Ash: Mom said you’re not getting anything before you talk to her face to face. Sorry.
I wanted to kill someone.
“You do realize your husband and son are mere hours from being blown to pieces in a remote place with zero reception?” I moved down the corridor toward my mother’s office.
She led me briskly to her private room—not the bedroom she sometimes shared with Da. She nodded. “I do. But you are just as important as they are, sweetie.”
I said nothing to that, because I still didn’t believe it. After we got in, she closed the door and took a seat behind her desk. I didn’t even know why she had an office. It’s not like she’d worked a day in her life.
I remained standing. I didn’t have time. “Get it over with and give me the keys to the private jet.”
“Private jets don’t have a k—”
“It’s a figure of speech.” I smiled. “Talk, Mother.”
She shook her head, looking down at her fingers, which were splashed on the table.