“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You’d do that to the kid? Put her through all of that?”
“If it means protecting her from you and our mother, then yes.” I come around the desk, closing the distance between us, nose to nose. “I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“Speaking of heartbeats,” he says, squinting, “I hear you haven’t been doing too well lately.”
My gaze narrows. “I know exactly what you’re getting at, Errol, and it’s irrelevant to this discussion. Do me a favor and let’s stay on track. I’ve got more important things than you to tend to this afternoon.”
I check the clock. Honor and Eulalia should be home from school any minute, and I don’t want him near either of them.
“So what’ll it be, Errol?” I ask. “Knowing that I can take your house of cards down with the click of a button, do you still feel the need to move forward with your ridiculous paternity suit? Or are you going to do the right thing for once in your pathetic life?”
“Get over yourself,” he spits.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t stand there and talk like you’re that much better than me. You’re thirty years old, but you might as well be a miserable old man. You think saving this kid and giving her some privileged life is going to redeem you? Erase all the shitty things you’ve done? Not how it works, Bennett.”
“I’ve never claimed to be perfect, but I’m sure as hell not going to put myself on your level. You fucked your sister.”
“Adopted sister.”
I throw my hands up, chuffing. “Like that makes it better.”
“That girl deserves a family,” Errol says. “Let her stay in the system. Let a family who actually wants her adopt her.”
“I want her. And I’ve already adopted her. The papers have been filed. She’s officially a Schoenbach, legally and otherwise.”
He groans. “You can hardly take care of yourself, how are you going to take care of a kid?”
“I’ve got help, not that it’s any of your business.”
“What, that baby-voiced blonde you’re screwing? That’s your help?” He’s got way too much to lose here to be so damn smug, but I know what he’s trying to do. “You and I both know you’ll screw that up sooner or later. There’s a reason you can’t keep ‘em longer than a few months. They find out what a coldhearted bastard you are and they leave you like they found you—miserable and alone.”
“Anything else you want to add?” I remain unfazed—the opposite of the effect he’s going for. He can spew all the vitriol he wants about Astaire. I’m not giving him a reaction. I’m not giving him any indication of how much she means to me because he’ll find a way to use it against me.
Everything I’ve ever cared about, he’s found a way to ruin it.
My first car—a vintage Challenger my father had restored specially for me. We had a love of classic cars (one of the few things we ever had in common), and that gift meant the world to me. I hadn’t owned it more than a week when Errol took it out for a joy ride … and somehow managed to wrap it around a tree while walking away with a handful of cuts and scrapes.
The first serious girlfriend I had my senior year of high school—Errol came home from college for the summer, latched onto me like he’d missed me, when in actuality he was trying to impress my girlfriend with his older, wiser, more worldly ways. The weekend after the Fourth of July, I found him sneaking her up to his room through a side entry (unbeknownst to them), and I heard the springs of his mattress and her over-the-top moans all night.
My signed first edition of Fredrich Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil—a gift from our late grandfather, with whom I was considerably close … used it as kindling for one of his infamous bonfire parties.
I’m one-hundred percent convinced that the only reason he’s so thirsty for a spot on the board of directors at the corporation is so he can ruin that, too.
I won’t let him ruin this.
“Where the hell did you find her anyway?” he asks. “She’s got to be batshit-fucking-mental if she’s hooking up with you. You sure that’s the kind of mother figure you want around the kid? And how long until you get sick of this one and kick her to the curb?”
“For the record, she’s amazing with the kid, but that’s the point. That’s why I’m keeping her around. She’s more for Honor than me,” I lie. As long as he believes I’m indifferent toward her, he won’t waste his energy. “She helps out with Honor and it’s a nice arrangement we have, but it’s only that. An arrangement. There’s no love. No expectations. Certainly not a future. If she gets sick of me, she gets sick of me. In the meantime, she’s good for Honor.”
“Does she know that?”
“She’s a smart woman.”
“So basically you’re playing house.” He huffs, hands on his hips like he has any room to chastise me. “It’s just like you to use people. You know how women are. She’s going to get attached to the kid, attached to you, and eventually the whole thing will blow up in your face and who’s going to get hurt in the end? Not you, you coldhearted prick.”
“I don’t see how any of this concerns you in the end.” I shrug and check my watch. Honor should be home any minute. “Anyway, we’re done here. Discussion’s over. If you have half a brain, you’ll leave here and head straight to your attorney’s office and have him drop the paternity suit immediately. If the suit isn’t dropped by the end of the week, I’m pressing send on those emails.”
I hook my hand on his thin shoulder, give it a squeeze, and guide him out of my study, only once we reach the end of the hall and come around the corner, I find Astaire standing in the middle of the foyer.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Errol takes his sweet time showing himself to the door. Before he goes, he turns back to shoot me a cruel smirk.
Honor’s backpack rests at her feet and the sound of cartoons plays from the living room.
I was so invested in my conversation with Errol that I didn’t hear anyone come home.
“Eulalia …” Her voice is broken and her eyes are glossed with tears. “I sent her to the store … told her I’d take Honor home … I … I have to go.”
“Astaire, wait.” I reach for her, but she swats me away.
I don’t have to ask how much she heard.
“It’s not what it sounded like,” I say as she twists the door knob. “Seriously, let me explain.”
She says nothing. She won’t look at me. When she turns to pull the door closed behind her, tears dampen her cheeks, and finally, she peers up at me through wet lashes.
“I wanted this to be real.” Her words are hushed and shattered. “But in the back of my mind, I always wondered if it was too good to be true. Now I know.”
Before I have a chance to respond, she shuts the door.
I won’t make a scene and I can’t chase after her, not with Honor here.
Leaning against the door, I let her go.
And it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done—but I’ll get her back.