“But I can control this. Or else, I could have before I stupidly started the ball rolling.”
Libby sighed loud enough that I could clearly hear it over the phone. “Don’t confuse the situation, Harry,” she said. “This is about your son. That’s it.”
I sat heavily on the edge of the couch. “You’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
I laughed. “Not always. Just occasionally.”
She was right. I came here to claim my son. I came here to fix what my parents screwed up so many years ago. JT should never have been given up for adoption. He never should have been raised by these people. I understood they did the best they could, but look at the mess they left behind when they died – the mess their daughter was left to clean up. It wasn’t right.
I was going to fix this even if it meant taking JT away from Penelope. He deserved what his birthright offered him. And I was going to make sure he had everything I lost out on.
Chapter 13
Penelope
JT wouldn’t talk to me. But he also wasn’t sassing me or resisting me when I woke him in the mornings as he had done every morning for the past year. And he showed up at the bakery right after school as he was supposed to. But then he would go to Harrison’s.
I wanted to ask what they talked about. I wanted to know what Harrison told him about our parents, about me. If they were making plans to move to Oregon, I thought I had the right to know.
I lay awake in bed at night, torn between my fear of losing JT and my need to relive the night I shared with Harrison. I hated him. I did. He was the one who was going to take my whole world away from me. But, at the same time, I so desperately ached for his touch.
It was insane. How could I want the man who had hurt me so deeply? How could I remember the way his kiss had tasted when I knew that in just a few days he was going to take my brother and disappear? How could I want him when it was pretty clear he couldn’t care less about me? I was probably just another notch on his bedpost, another one night stand that he enjoyed, but never thought about again.
Three days. That’s how long we had until the next hearing.
I climbed out of bed and went down the hall to JT’s room. He was asleep under a pile of blankets and dirty clothes. His room was always such a disaster. I could never get him to clean it. I don’t how my mother ever did. But I remember it was always pristine when I came home from college for the holidays or the few trips home I made when I moved to New York.
I picked up a few things, wrinkling my nose at the pungent smell of a pair of socks that were stuck under his desk chair. There were more clothes on the floor than he had in the closet. I wonder: did Harrison have a maid who would take care of these issues once they were back in Oregon
I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. I dropped the clothes where I stood and walked, rushing to the front door. It was unlocked—even in this day and time, hardly anyone locked their doors in this town—and I burst through and just wandered toward the street. I still couldn’t breathe despite the cool fall air that immediately penetrated the thin sweats and t-shirt I was wearing. I just walked, my mind such a whirlwind of thoughts that I couldn’t really concentrate on one thing. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know what I wanted. I just…I just needed to go.
I ended up at the bakery. Maybe I was hoping to find Nick there, but it was still a couple of hours until he would arrive to begin making the donuts that would go flying out the door the moment the storefront opened. The place was dark, the sweet smells of cake and frosting and donuts permeating the air. I was convinced that even a hundred years from now when this building was nothing more than rubble, it would still smell of cakes and butter cream frosting and donuts.
I had a huge pile of paperwork I needed to do. And since I was here…I let myself into the office and stared at the bills from suppliers that were waiting to be paid, the bills to our customers that still needed to go out, the orders that had come in over the last few days and were waiting to be put on the schedule. I really didn’t want to touch any of it, but I was the only one who could.
I’d spent the last four days meeting with lawyers, trying to find one who understood that I wanted to fight this case and that I didn’t want to just lay back while Harrison left the state with my little brother. But once I told them that I was fighting the Harrison Philips, they all backed out as gracefully as they could. Except for one. One simply stated that he would rather cut off his left hand than face the kind of legal super stars a man like Harrison Philips could bring to the table.