Page 92 of Unbound

Paula seems to deflate, her normally straight shoulders curving inward as her face falls. “I was hoping…” She shakes her head. “I’ll be right back.” Her steps are quick and light as she goes to where her suitcase still sits by the door. Unzipping the front pouch, she pulls out a set of envelopes, carrying them back to hold them out to her daughter.

Sybil’s brows pinch together. “What are those?”

“Letters a woman wrote to your father. I found them in one of the safety deposit boxes a few years after he died.” She swallows hard, then clears her throat. “I could never bring myself to read them. I didn’t want to know what they said.”

Sybil gently takes the envelopes from her mom. “I’m so sorry.”

Paula sucks in a deep breath through her nose, spine straightening. “It’s fine. That was a long time ago. I’ve come to terms with the possibility my marriage wasn’t what I believed it was.” Her eyes fall to the envelopes. “But as long as I never read those letters, I could still hope your father loved me the way I loved him.”

I fucking hate everything about this. Hate what it’s putting Paula through. Hate how it might change the way Sybil remembers her dad. Might change the way she feels about me. That even though I played no part in it, I might ultimately remind her of that betrayal. And if that happens…

“Daddy loved you.” Sybil’s voice is firm. Filled with conviction. “He loved you more than anything.”

Paula gives Sybil a soft smile, reaching up to rest a hand against her cheek. “Not anything.”

I can see how Sybil and her mother probably struggle to understand each other, but the love between them is there. And as much as I hate some piece of shit invading Sybil’s home, I’m not mad that it brought Paula here.

Paula takes a deep breath, her perfect posture fully back as she stands tall. “I’ll write down everything I remember about the man in your apartment.” She looks between me and Sybil. “Is there a reason you haven’t reached out to the police with your concerns?”

“Yup.” Sybil pops the P at the end of the word. “Don’t say anything to anyone. Not Deidre. Not Constance. Don’t even tell Biscuit.” Her brow furrows as she looks around. “Where is Biscuit?”

I thumb over one shoulder toward the front of my house. “Sitting in a chair in my office, looking out the window.”

“I’m sure she loves getting a change of scenery.” Paula smooths down the front of her shirt. “I should probably shower and get changed since I’m still wearing the same clothes I had on last night.”

Sybil smiles. “Did you ever think you’d be getting shit-faced with Deidre Bradshaw?”

“Of course I did.” Paula gives her a wink. “Where do you think you got your eternal optimism from?”

She gives me a pat on the shoulder as she passes. When she pauses at her suitcase, I give myself a mental slap.

“Let me carry those up for you.” I should have done that before now, but I was busy. Occupied by other, significantly more enjoyable acts.

“I appreciate that very much.” Paula yawns. “I might take a nap. Yesterday was a long day.”

“I can imagine.” My aunt is hell on wheels on a good day. I would guess she’s hell on a rocketship when Constance is in town.

Once I carry Paula’s bags up and get her situated in her room, I rejoin Sybil downstairs, finding her in my office, sitting at my desk. But for once, she’s not on the computer.

She’s reading the letters my mother wrote to her father.

I approach slowly. Cautiously. “How bad is it?”

“I actually can’t tell.” She purses her lips. “These are much more legible than the one from the nightstands, but they don’t make any sense.” Her mouth tips in a frown. “I am pretty sure they aren’t love notes, though. It’s a bunch of random letters and numbers.”

I can’t explain the magnitude of the relief that washes over me. Thinking my mother and Sybil’s father may have been linked romantically terrified me. Because it might make her choose not to stay here. And I wouldn’t blame her. I know what it’s like to live with ghosts of your past lurking in the shadows.

But Sybil doesn’t seem to share my relief. She actually looks more upset now than she was before.

Going to her side, I lean one hand against the desk and rest the other on the back of her chair as I study her face. “What’s wrong, Snoopy?”

“I’m just so tired of never getting any real answers.” She drops the letters to the desk and leans back, pressing the heels of both hands against her eyelids. “I’ve been chasing my tail for years, Walker. I’m exhausted.” Her hands drop to her lap. “At least finding out how our parents were really connected would have been something concrete. A place for me to start.” She lifts one hand, gesturing at the letters. “This is just more shit I don’t know what to do with.” For the first time since meeting her, her chin wobbles. Like she’s about to cry.

I’ve seen her after being almost shot. After learning not only had her hotel room been ransacked, but her home as well. She’s been yelled at by my family. Accused of being responsible for the awful things that have happened at my company. And not once has she cried.

Which is good, because it turns out I can’t fucking handle it.

Dropping to my knees, I turn her chair and scoop her out of the seat, bringing her against me as I drop back onto my ass so I can lean on the shelves at my back. I tuck her head under my chin, sliding my fingers through her hair as I try to soothe her. “Deep breaths.”