“No,” he says, “but I can touch her.” When he taps the file, ashes fall from the cigar, scorching the folder. He pushes it toward me. “Go on. Take a look. It will tell you everything your girlfriend doesn’t know about her mother, including her real name.”
I’d been staring at the file, tempted to study the information to give to Story until he said that. “What do you mean?”
“I think you’re smart enough to figure it out. You’re a college graduate, after all.”
I thought my mom was bad, devious to the core, but I hate him. I fucking hate them both so much. I feel sickness growing in my stomach, the ultimatum they’re threatening—arms and legs crawling from the ashes he discarded—and gaining strength. “This was never about me getting my inheritance back, was it?”
His body language eases from the battle he appeared to be armored for when he walked into the office. “It was.” A calmer tone is frequenting his tone. Unlike the reputation he’s built as a hard-ass in the courtroom, I’m wondering if it’s finally dawned on him that he’s treating me like the enemy he’s trying to take down instead of the son he’s supposed to love. “It’s a package deal.”
Guess I was wrong. Again. “Which includes Camille . . .”
“Your mother really has her heart set on Camille. It would be a shame to disappoint her.”
“They can fuck themselves before I end up with Camille Arden again.”
“You’re talking about your mother.”
“And you’re talking about my life.”
“You have no life without us, Cooper.” His anger finally surges, his own patience unraveling. “We’ve given you everything you could ever want.” The chair hits the wall behind him, and he jabs his cigar into the ashtray.
“Except the one thing you refused me?”
“What?”
“Your love.”
“Our love?” He laughs humorlessly, unable to hide the disbelief in his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Cooper? Everything we have fucking done is because we care about you more than you have ever cared about yourself.”
“I hated myself because I saw character traits of you in me.”
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
He will never understand that I’d rather be beaten than to endure their hatred of me. A black eye, broken ribs, physical pain that I purposely sought out to make me feel anything other than this torture would heal. The hatred they have for me lives on. Eyeing the paperwork in front of him, I can’t leave now. It would expose Story to more pain she can’t survive. She’s warned me before. I’m not sure how I can protect her now.
I ask, “What are you going to do with that file?”
“Whatever I need to.”
I stare at him through a suspicious lens flooding red with anger. I’ve lost this battle, and it may have been the war. I can’t protect her any more than I can save myself.
He’s won the case against me.
He knows it, and I know it.
Now I have to act from the standpoint of damage control. “What are my options?”
He pulls his chair back toward the desk and sits down again. “Can we have a civil conversation?”
Cornered like a wild animal, I shout, “What are my fucking options?” Anger shoots through my veins, blinding me with rage. I should have known that using my happiness against me isn’t beneath them. It’s my fault.
I should have never brought Story around them.
They see her as a weak link, a way to force me to cooperate. How can they not see how good she is for me? If they just gave her a chance, they’d get to feel the warmth of her sunshine as well.
Fuck them and this whole damn town.
I’m close to leaving again when he says, “Sit. Down. Cooper.”
Tugging my hair, I finally give in to the demand and sit in the chair. For someone who thought I’d gotten rid of anxiety, my bouncing knee tells a different story. So does my anger.
He says, “The girl has a good thing going. She just graduated, a job at some coffee shop, and a mother who, let’s just put it bluntly, would have held Story back in life.”
I feel like a traitor for sitting here listening to those words coming from his mouth. He’s made me an accomplice to his dirty deeds, willing to sacrifice the only thing that matters to me to get his way. He’s quite the role model. “Get on with it.”
“Give us a five-year commitment and a grandkid. Is that too much to ask for?”
“Yes, it fucking is. Camille aside because I know she’s all in for this bullshit, but you’re not only talking about my life but also another human’s—a kid’s life. You fucked me up, and now you want to fuck up my kid? Do you hear yourself?”
“That was a rhetorical question.”
“Is it in the contract? If it’s in the contract, it’s not fucking rhetorical.” Waving my hand to hurry this along, I say, “What’s the blackmail portion of this scheme?”
Disapproval wraps around his brows, and he steeples his fingers. “Like I already said, let’s not degrade this to some street hustle deal made in a back alley. We’re gentlemen, Cooper.”
“Just save me the lecture and tell me the catch? What’s the trade?”
“You serve your time, and this file gets burned.”
Serving time? That’s the most honest thing he’s said in a long time. “I think you’re underestimating what Story can handle. What if she wants to know the information contained inside?”
“Let me ask you something, Cooper.” He picks up the file again and taps it against the desk twice. “How’s Story doing?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Emotionally?” Now he cares about the damage she’s suffered? I don’t trust him. “Well . . . I heard there was a glitch with grades, that some of the diplomas were mistakenly distributed. The system will be corrected, and the diplomas rescinded.”
I’m not sure when my heart stopped beating, but I’m fairly certain it worked when I walked into the room.
“Hit ’em where it hurts, huh, Dad?” Outplayed and outsmarted. For what? Grandkids with Camille? It just doesn’t make sense to me, but it never did. “Let me ask you something. What kind of relationship do you think we’ll have under these circumstances?”
“Sometimes people can’t see what’s best for them, son. We’re happy to support this healthier journey you’re on along with offering our guidance—”
“Guidance,” I balk. “Is that what you’re calling it?” Something catches my eyes, and I glance out the window.
Story.
When she starts running, I push up from the chair so fast that it wobbles on its back legs. I know what I’m leaving behind, but they’ve forced my hand in the matter. I rush to the door, but this time, my dad says, “I’ll let you think about it.”
“I don’t need to. The answer is go fuck yourself.” I cut around the corner and run out the front door. “Story?” I call, dashing down the steps after her. She hasn’t gotten far but just out of hearing range.
I pick up speed and call her once more. She turns back, which slows her, but then keeps running. Catching up, I jog beside her and even show her my moves by turning backward and keeping pace, hoping to make her smile. “I saw they opened a new chicken—”
Her tear-streaked face has me stopping in my tracks. “What’s wrong?”
She only makes it a few more feet before she drops forward at the waist, huffing for air. I rub her back, but she angles out of my reach. “Don’t touch me.”
That heart that died in my dad’s office has now revived in her presence, beating so hard that I’m not sure my ribs can contain it. I give her the distance she needs but plead with her for more. “Talk to me, Story.”
Her breathing starts to even, but the tears are still in her eyes and falling. Pointing at the house, she screams, “They’re awful people.” She walks away and then stops and turns back, crossing her arms over her shoulders. “I love you. I love you so much, Cooper, but I can’t have people like that in my life. They’re hateful. They’re evil.”
“They are,” I say, approaching slowly. “They’re horrible and will destroy you if you let them.” Her breathing is heavy in her chest, her hair as wild as her eyes from running, but she stays, even when I reach for her hand to hold it.
A soft sob shivers through her, and she shakes her head. “I’m not strong enough.”
“We’ll be strong together. We’ll always have each other.”