Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

“Thirty-two. But that’s …” Gayle is surely doing the math in her head. “Well, that’s not possible. Violet is fifteen. That would mean …” Her voice fades, unable to utter the words. “That’s not possible, is it?” Again, she looks to her husband for an answer that explains her fears.

Howard reaches over and pats his wife’s hand. There’s no anger in his expression, though. There certainly doesn’t seem to be any doubt either. It’s as if he’s already accepted the disgraceful truth. “Audrey never told us who Violet’s father was, and she said she wouldn’t because it didn’t matter, he would never be in Violet’s life. At first, we assumed it was a married staff member she worked with at that boarding school, but then she bought the house on Acorn Way with cash, which we knew she couldn’t be making at her teaching job.” He shrugs. “I thought she must have had an affair with a student’s father. There’s plenty of wealth at that school.”

“I was her student,” Henry admits, and none of the bravado that laced his words last night—the boy who bagged his smoking hot teacher—lingers today.

Gayle makes a strangled sound, then covers her mouth with a hand. “Good God, Audrey. What did you do?”

Drip … drip… drip goes the tap as this elderly couple comes to terms with the giant skeleton that just jumped out of their deceased daughter’s closet.

Will they hate Henry for his role in this?

“How did Violet find you?” Gayle asks, her voice strained. “Did Audrey tell her about you?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen or spoken to Audrey since I was a student at Hartley. Violet showed up in my building last week, pretending to be my niece. She ran almost immediately before I could question her. I suppose she was testing the waters, or maybe she was unsure? Then, last night, she came back, declared herself my daughter, and left me with a legal document that all but confirmed it.”

Gayle scratches her chin in thought. “We were moving some boxes of Audrey’s a few weeks ago. Paperwork and such that Audrey had told us to keep after she was gone. Preparing for what we knew was coming, you know? We put them all in our basement for safekeeping. Violet must have found it in there.”

“It doesn’t matter. Wherever she found it, she found it. Now she knows who her father is, and now I know that I have a child.” The look on his face doesn’t suggest he’s pleased about that, but Henry’s never been easy to read.

“We came here to make sure Violet made it back safely after she left us,” I say.

“We didn’t even know she’d left. With Audrey passing away, we didn’t think twice about saying yes when she asked if she could sleep over at her friend’s house, and now we find out this? Who knows where she could be!”

“Do you have a way to message her?” I ask gently. “Like, on a cell phone?” A beige receiver for the house phone hangs on the wall nearby.

Gayle’s face lights up as if she’d forgotten that option. “I can message her. Howard, where is that thing?”

“I think I saw it by the toaster. Give me a sec.” He eases out of his chair and moves gingerly toward the kitchen counter.

“Audrey bought it for us two Christmases ago. We hardly ever use it, but we’ve been keeping it on lately, especially with all that’s been going on.”

Howard ambles back. “Let’s see here … how do I … Violet taught me how to do this, but …”

Henry holds out his hand. “I can message her for—”

“Why don’t I?” I move fast, before Henry gets a grip of it. I’ve been at the receiving end of his messages in the past, and I highly doubt a teenage girl in an emotional tailspin will be any better equipped to handle them than I was.

Together, Gayle and I craft a simple, innocuous message, asking Violet when she’ll be home.

“There, see? She’s already responding.” I point out the three bouncing dots for Gayle’s benefit. For myself, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Violet: I’m walking home now. Fifteen minutes?

“She’s on her way. Fifteen minutes,” Gayle declares.

Henry’s shoulders sink and a soft “good” slips from his lips.

“I’m not sure how she’ll handle you being here when she gets home,” Howard says between a sip of his tea. “Though I guess she wanted to meet you, so there’s that.”

Henry’s lips purse. “I’m afraid we might have gotten off on the wrong foot last night.”

Howard hums. “She’s a good kid. Audrey did a decent job raising her, while she could, anyway. But Violet’s been through a lot these last couple of years. Watching someone you love die will do that. And now this bit of news. If she’s done the math in her head and figured out what it means—”

“She has,” Henry confirms.

“Yes.” Howard scratches his cheek. “Then I imagine she must be confused and angry.”

“You said there was a legal document?” Gayle asks.

“Yes, between Audrey and my father. He found out about Violet somehow and …” Henry’s voice trails as he chooses how to describe one of William Wolf’s many betrayals. “I supposed he wanted to protect everyone involved.”

And I guess he did, in his own warped way. Audrey avoided jail and ridicule and kept her child, Henry avoided the burden of teenage fatherhood and focused on his future empire with no obligations, and with Grandpa Wolf’s bank account, Violet probably never wanted for much.

Except maybe a father.

“About a year ago when it became clear that Audrey’s illness would take her sooner than we had hoped, Audrey told us that there is a trust in Violet’s name, for her to receive when she’s twenty-five,” Howard says.

“For how much?” Henry asks.

“She didn’t say. All she said was that Violet would be well taken care of and that Audrey didn’t want her daughter knowing anything about it. She was afraid she’d turn into one of those spoiled kids like the ones she taught back in Hartley.” Gayle offers Henry an apologetic smile.

He smirks. “Smart on Audrey’s part. I don’t want Violet turning into that either, especially now that she knows who I am.”

Gayle cocks her head. “And who are you, dear?” It’s such an innocent and honest question, asked by a sweet old lady. “Are you an actor?”

Henry chuckles.





“There she is,” Gayle whispers, peeking through the blinds like she did when we approached the house.

I steal a glance over her shoulder to see Violet trudging up the path in the same black hoodie and jeans as last night, seemingly oblivious to the SUV parked on the street. She clutches a paper coffee cup in both hands and hunches as if the backpack slung over her shoulders weighs a hundred pounds.

My heart sinks for the girl.

The door creaks open. “Gramma! Gramps! I’m home—” Violet freezes in the foyer, her face paling as she sees Henry seated next to Howard on the three-seater couch.

Did she sleep last night? The dark bags lining her eyes suggest not. Did she even go to this Alison girl’s house? I doubt it, but then where did she stay all night?

“Hello, Violet,” Henry says in a calm voice and stands.

She stumbles back a step. “What are you doing here?”

“We have some things to discuss.”

She shakes off her backpack, letting it fall to the floor with a thump. “How did you find me? I thought you had no idea who I was.”