Page 47 of The Keeper

“Forgive me if I hold off on answering any questions about our home and living arrangements, considering I barely know you and I still don’t know why you’re here,” I said flatly, evading Elizabeth’s question.

I didn’t care if they were Evie’s blood relatives. They were still strangers. I wasn’t telling them shit until I figured out what their ulterior motive was—and they definitely had an ulterior motive. People didn’t fly across an ocean and show up at someone’s house this late at night unless they wanted something.

“Fair enough.” Oswald took over. He was less diplomatic than his wife, and his eyes pierced mine as he leaned forward. “I’ll get to the point. Our relationship with Sarah was…strained. We didn’t know she had a child until last year, when one of her old friends let the secret slip, and we didn’t find out who the child was until a few months ago. Once we did, we wrote you a letter asking to meet.”

“Several letters, in fact. We never received a reply.” There was a hint of reproach in Elizabeth’s voice.

“You sent them to my public PO box. They got buried under the fan mail.” I should’ve listened to my instincts when I spotted the Greenwich letter a few weeks ago, but it hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time. Even if I’d read it, I doubt I would’ve taken it seriously. The number of random “cousins” and “extended family members” who’d popped up after I became famous numbered in the dozens. “You could’ve emailed my team or gotten in touch another way.” Instead of ambushing me outside my home.

“Perhaps,” she acknowledged. “But we felt it was best to discuss the details in person. Family matters are private, and we didn’t want to risk any leaks by reaching out to your team.”

“Which brings us to why we’re here,” Oswald said. “Sarah was our only child, which makes Evie our only grandchild. We would like to have a relationship with her.”

I stiffened. My knee-jerk instinct was to say no, kick them out, and pretend this conversation never happened. Nanny issues aside, Evie and I had settled into a comfortable status quo when it came to our daily lives. Introducing new people at this stage would disrupt that equilibrium. Plus, she already had grandparents—ones who’d been there from day one and wanted the best for her.

But that was my selfishness and paranoia talking. It wasn’t the Andersons’ fault they didn’t know about Evie earlier, though their estrangement from Sarah didn’t bode well. Sarah had been a reasonable person, and if she’d hated her parents enough to keep them in the dark about their grandchild, that was a huge red flag.

I should feel more sympathy for them, considering they’d lost their daughter, but something wasn’t adding up. “First things first. How come Sarah didn’t tell you about Evie? And why weren’t you at her funeral?”

Sarah’s death had blindsided me so completely that I barely remembered the days leading up to and after her funeral. I had noticed her family’s absence at the memorial, but her best friend at the time told me they were “gone.” I’d assumed that meant they were dead, and I hadn’t had the mental or emotional capacity for follow-up questions. Clearly, I’d been wrong.

The Andersons exchanged glances.

“Like my husband said, our relationship with Sarah was strained,” Elizabeth said. “We had different priorities and outlooks on life, and that led to…a rift. Sarah was stubborn. She wanted to make her own way in the world, and to her, that meant cutting us off. We weren’t informed of the funeral in time to make it. As for why she didn’t tell us about Evie, that’s a question only she could’ve answered.”

“You’ve done a remarkable job of hiding Evie’s identity.” Oswald sounded both impressed and irritated. “It took some research to connect the dots, but once we saw a picture of Evie, we knew.”

I’d gone to great lengths to shield Evie from the media. I’d asked the press not to photograph her (a request they’d surprisingly adhered to, probably because she was a minor). My low-key and, frankly, boring lifestyle also kept them from digging too deep into my past.

I never posted pictures of her online, and I’d drilled into her the importance of keeping a clean digital footprint. However, she was a preteen girl with a social life. She still had a digital footprint, and while she’d inherited my hair and eye color, her facial features were pure Sarah. I believed the Andersons when they said one picture was all they needed for confirmation.

“Okay.” I kept my voice even despite the faint ring of alarm bells in my head. Their story added up, but I couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease. “And what do you mean when you say you want a relationship with her? Is that a Christmas card every year? Thanksgiving together? Sleepovers at your house during the holidays?”

“All of that would be lovely, but perhaps we can do even more,” Elizabeth said.

“You’re a famous athlete. Well done.” A drip of condescension dampened Oswald’s tone. “However, celebrity comes with its downsides. The constant work and travel, the media attention, the threats from fans and haters alike—that’s a lot to handle, and it inevitably affects your family, no matter how much you try to protect them. Now, I understand it was uncouth of us to show up unannounced, and it’s uncouth of me to criticize you in your own home. But some things have to be said, considering the circumstances.”

“We’re not saying you’re a bad father,” Elizabeth added. “However, you’re not married, and your own family lives in the States. Based on our research, you’ve gone through dozens of nannies. That’s quite a lot of instability for someone Evie’s age. That’s where we come in.”

“Is it?” My voice was dangerously low. I’d entertained them thus far because I was curious what their angle was, but they had some fucking balls to come into my house and dissect my life like it was their right. Like they had a clue what being a single father in my position was like, celebrity or no celebrity.

I didn’t allow myself to face the ugly truth buried beneath my anger—the acknowledgment that they were right, and that they hadn’t said a thing I hadn’t already told myself over the years.

“Yes. We don’t want to fight you, Noah,” Elizabeth said. “We want to work with you.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“Simple,” she said. “We would like shared custody.”

CHAPTER 19

CARINA

“I miss nights like these.” I sighed.

Scarlett, Brooklyn, and I were sprawled across the floor of Scarlett’s living room. We’d left the Angry Boar an hour ago. I was coming down from my buzz, but my thoughts kept tumbling over each other because I couldn’t stop thinking about Noah.

The alley. My proposition. The kiss.