Page 84 of Hidden & Held

“I’m not going to blame your mother for that.”

The honesty catches me off guard. He never criticized my mother outright before, but there was always an undercurrent of hostility toward the situation.

“If I could go back and do it differently, I would. You deserved a better father than I was to you. I only hoped to be a better father going forward.”

I drop my bag on the floor in my entryway, not bothering to put it away.

“Then why didn’t you have kids with Jane?” The righteous anger of the situation pumps through me. I always wondered why he and his new wife Jane, both teachers who adore children, never had any of their own.

“Because I already knew what kind of father I was.” His answer steals my next breath. “Phoenix, I wasn’t going to risk doing that to another child.” There’s a beat of silence, both of us in our own thoughts when he finally continues, “I got the best kid in the world the first time. I couldn’t have done better than you, and I still messed it up.”

I think of the parents I worked with at Cascadia Legal. The ones who messed up but wanted to make it right. Or the ones at the Foundation who have worked so hard to make a better life for themselves, no matter what circumstances they have put themselves in.

I sigh, realizing he has been trying for years. I never gave him a chance to be better. Not that I need to, but I want to.

“When are you coming through Cascadia next?” I ask.

His breath catches. “Wha—we were thinking of coming to a teacher’s conference on working with students via new technologies next month, but we can come sooner!”

“Call me when you’re here; we can have lunch.”

“Really?” he tentatively asks.

I smile despite myself. “Yes, really.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. When he does, his voice sounds suspiciously thick. “I’d like that, sweetie.”

We hang up shortly after, and I realize that people can fail you, but that doesn’t negate their love for you.

Before putting my phone away, another email notification appears for Lane Legal LLC. I still get a small thrill when I see the name.

Subject: Prenuptial Consultation Request

The inquiry is straightforward. Asset protection for the family business for an upcoming wedding in six months. Exactly the kind of client I spent years handling and can review quickly.

I start drafting a response, then stop myself. This is the third one of these in two months’ time. I send a confirmation letter and a request for how they heard about my services.

The answer arrives a few minutes later.

From Jackson Mercer.

I worked with him during an acquisition a few years ago. He saw my engagement announcement, sent congratulations, and recommended your services. He spoke very highly of your work.

For a long moment, I don’t move, watching the cursor blink over my screen. The strange thing isn’t that he sent the referral. It’s that he never told me.

After closing my laptop for the night, I stand in my kitchen longer than necessary. The house is quiet. My thoughts aren’t.

I set my phone on the counter and move toward my sunroom, which is now an office and no longer my bedroom. Through the window, I notice movement outside.

Jackson is crouched beside an aging white Cadillac with gold trim. Mrs. Reynolds stands nearby with her arms crossed, supervising with all the authority of a woman who has appointed herself project manager.

I shouldn’t stop and watch, and yet my body has a mind of its own.

Jackson is wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt that already has a black greasy substance smudged across the chest. A sharp contrast to his normal slacks and button-down. His forearms are exposed, which should honestly come with a warning label.

The hood is propped open as he peers in while Mrs. Reynolds says something that makes him laugh. The sound carries to me. Damn him.

Three months ago, I would have asked what made him laugh, wanting to hear it again. Probably still do, but I don’t let myself. Instead, I lean against the window frame, feeling like a peeping-tom. Only for a second.