Clearly she didn’t give a flying fuck about what I wanted. Her half-baked plan was more important than my right to make my own choices.
Except that wasn’t quite true, was it? Maybe she hadn’t cared when she met me, but her apology just now had seemed sincere. She hadn’t shied away from the ugly truth, hadn’t tried to downplay or rationalize her mistakes. I could tell how deeply sorry she was.
And then she’d said . . .
I knocked back the rest of my shot and poured another.
She was in love with me. And the most fucked-up thing of all? I believed her. I could feel that she was telling the truth. If she really didn’t care about me, she would have either abandoned me or tried to guilt-trip me into staying her boyfriend. Instead, she had looked me in the eye and asked me what she should do next. Giving me this new choice couldn’t make up for all the choices she’d stolen from me, but it was still a peace offering. An attempt to show that she understood how I felt.
I could tell Lacey that I never wanted to see her again. Hell, I could probably tell her to leave town by sunrise. It’s all up to you, her remorseful blue eyes had said. Whatever you need.
No matter how pissed I felt, no matter how badly Lacey wanted atonement, there was one tie that couldn’t be broken: I loved her back. She had made me feel things I never thought possible. She had shown me so much. Made me want to risk so much.
Every relationship was flawed somehow. Nobody was perfect, and putting two imperfect people together wouldn’t magically fix them.
I couldn’t deny that I still wanted her in my life. And while I hadn’t lied to Lacey, I had acted pretty fucking childish—clinging to Daniella, desperately trying to ignore my growing feelings, unwilling to face anything that might shake up my life. Could I really bring myself to leave Lacey just when I’d finally worked up the courage to commit to her?
The fallout from her lies had been bad, no question, but it didn’t necessarily have to end our relationship. It wasn’t something we couldn’t overcome. Provided that Lacey was serious about earning back my trust, and it really seemed like she was . . .
I wanted to give her another chance.
Immediately a weight lifted off my shoulders. This was the right decision; I could feel it. Although I was pretty sure her father was going to freak out. Speaking of which, I owed him a phone call. About thirty minutes ago.
Fuck.
Barton answered on the second ring. “Status?”
“The takedown was a success. Your daughter is safe.” I heard a noise that might have been a tired sigh of relief. “She’s here with me for the night in my home. And the police should apprehend the kidnappers soon, if they haven’t done so already.”
“Excellent work, Maxwell. I’ll expect a full debriefing tomorrow morning.”
Before Barton could hang up, I interrupted. “There’s something else, sir.” The honorific slipped out, but I didn’t correct myself; I needed all the ass-kissing I could muster for this next part. “I, um, didn’t know that Lacey was your daughter. I mean, I didn’t know Lacey and Lucky were the same person.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized how asinine I sounded.
Evidently Barton agreed. “What the hell are you talking about? Lucky’s her nickname.”
“Well, it turns out, we kind of . . .”
I rubbed my forehead, which was starting to get damp. This man was well-armed, well-connected, and knew how to use high-powered rifles with deadly precision.
Fuck, I’d rather be back at the drug house getting knifed in the gut.
“We have a history,” I finally bit out.
A moment of silence. I swore I could feel the air temperature drop.
Then Barton replied stiffly, “I’m listening.”
Oh shit. I had a maximum of ten seconds to explain myself before I was as good as dead. “I met her in a local bar about a month ago. She called herself Lacey, so I didn’t know she was your daughter. And we became . . . close. Romantically.” I almost choked on that last word.
“Why are you telling me this? I fail to see its relevance to your assignment.”
I took a deep breath and steeled myself. “It’s not relevant, sir. But now that I know she’s your daughter, I wanted to ask your blessing to date her.”
There was another moment of silence. This one, though, I couldn’t read at all.
And then Barton laughed. It was only a chuckle, a short, gravelly huff, but it was still the most laughter I’d ever heard from him. “It’s not my permission you need, son. Although, for what it’s worth, I think my daughter could do much worse than you.”
Before I could think of a response, he hung up.
I stared stupidly at the phone in my hand. She could do worse, huh? Coming from Barton, that was pretty high praise. Then again, Troy the dead druggie wasn’t exactly a high bar to clear.