“Kyle’s out with friends,” he told her, “and don’t worry. I’m having him followed. He’s in town.”
Smiling to herself though her stomach was churning with worry, she mentally thanked him. “I’ll be there soon.”
Peighton sat beside Frank on the couch, one leg bent up under her, her hands resting on her knee.
“Okay, so let’s hear it,” she said. He rubbed his beard, standing up and walking away to lean up against the wall. He kicked one leg out, rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. “Frank, stop stalling,” she said firmly.
“I don’t know what to say, Peighton. This secret was Todd’s to tell you.”
“Well, Todd isn’t here to tell me, is he? So, you’re going to. You have to. I need to know the truth.”
“You’re opening up a whole can of worms that doesn’t need to be opened here. You can leave it the way it is, the way it’s always been. Nothing has to change for you.”
“Everything has already changed, Frank. All this time, Todd let me believe Kyle was Drew’s. And all this time I’ve felt guilty about that. I felt bad because my body wouldn’t cooperate with my own husband’s child. And then, when I found out Drew wasn’t the father…I felt so relieved. I was so hopeful that maybe I’d been wrong, maybe Todd really had been Kyle’s father after all. But now I know that he doesn’t belong to either of them. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Kyle is Todd’s son, Peighton. He is, and he always will be.”
“Of course,” she said, surprised by his harsh tone.
“Biology doesn’t change that.”
“I know that,” she told him, standing up and walking toward him. She stood in front of him, begging him for the answers only he could give. “If Todd trusted you with the truth, I believe he’d be okay with me knowing.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, looking away. “He never wanted you to know. He told me that.”
“But why? What can be worse than not knowing?”
“Knowing can be worse, Peighton. I don’t think you know what you’re asking.”
“Frank, please,” she pleaded with him, her eyes locking with his. He sighed, his hard expression softening as his crossed arms dropped. He rubbed his chin and she could see how close he was to telling her. “I can handle it,” she assured him, reaching up and touching his arm.
He looked down at her hand, moving his hands to hold hers. “Todd didn’t want Kyle’s father to be anonymous,” he told her. “He wanted to know what his son came from.”
“Okay,” she said, urging him to go on.
“He weighed all of his options. But, in the end, he wanted Kyle’s father to be someone he trusted, someone he knew.”
Peighton’s jaw dropped, realizing what he was telling her. Of course. It had been right in front of her the whole time.
“He swore me to secrecy. He was embarrassed that he even had to ask. He never wanted you to know the truth.”
She couldn’t respond, though her mouth remained open. She stared at him, her whole world crashing around her.
“No. Oh my god. You’re—”
He reached up to his head, pulling out a hair and holding it out for her. “I’m Kyle’s father.”
Thirty-Five
CLAY
Clay dug through the dresser drawer, searching desperately for Sarah’s wallet. He was nervous, wondering what the day would bring. His wife had always kept a spare key for the house in the back of her wallet. After she died, he’d had no use for it and, so it stayed in its place, hidden away from the world.
He’d woken up this morning with a terrifying idea. He wasn’t sure if they were ready for it. They’d technically only been dating for a very short time, yet he’d rarely felt so sure about something. After their fight the other night, Clay wanted nothing more than to make sure Peighton trusted him. Wholly. He wanted her to feel safe with him, to know that he was doing everything in his power to make their relationship work. And so, he’d offer her a key. He wasn’t going to ask her to move in, he wasn’t delirious enough to believe they were there yet. But, he wanted her to know where he stood. He was all in. And this was how he was going to prove it.
Groaning, he threw a stack of sweat pants in the floor. The wallet had to be there somewhere. He moved to the nightstand, sifting through his sock drawer, where he knew it couldn’t be. Finally, he walked to the closet, looking through boxes full of old Christmas decorations and random knickknacks Sarah had wanted to keep. After she’d passed, he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of them. They’d always meant so much to her. He didn’t want to think of anyone else having them in their home.
He was sure he hadn’t packed the wallet away, but running out of options, he opened the first box, searching through it carefully. As he opened the third box, he let out a sigh of relief, placing his hands on the familiar red wallet that lay on top. He pressed it to his lips, kissing it softly, and missing her.
When he opened it, he stared down at her license, a picture she’d always hated. He missed her smile and the way she’d twirl a loose strand of hair around her finger. It never went away, he realized, no matter how much time had passed. She was still with him, still taking up a piece of his heart he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.
He moved past a few of her credit cards, ones he’d long since cancelled, and into the back zipper. He pulled out the silver key, knocking a slip of white paper to the ground. Already on his knees, he leaned over, reaching for the paper: a business card.
He turned it over in his hands, staring at the lettering. Suddenly, his blood ran cold and his heart began to pound.
Peighton.
Thirty-Six
CLAY
Clay drove through the streets of Pawley’s Corner at lightning speed. He had to get to her. He turned his cruiser lights on, causing the cars to part and let him through. He cursed himself for not seeing it before. It was his job to protect her, for crying out loud, to protect the one he had left.
He was driving past the neighborhood grocery store when something caught his eye. He slowed down, his brow furrowing at the sight. He pulled over to the shoulder of the road, rolling down his window.
“Kyle?” he called to the kid.
He looked up at him, his eyelid purpled, a trail of dried blood down the side of his face. His mouth housed a deep red cut upon a swollen lip. Instead of looking away or ignoring him like he usually did, he stood there, his face full of defeat, waiting for Clay to respond.
“Kyle, what happened to you?” he asked, leaning out of his window further.
“It’s nothing,” the boy said, rubbing his swollen lip with his arm.
“Get in, son. I’ll take you home.”
Without argument, the boy walked to the door behind Clay, attempting to open it. Clay stopped him. “You can ride up front with me, if you’d like.”
Kyle looked as though he were thinking for a moment before he walked around to the passenger’s side and climbed in.
Clay got a better look at his face once he was close to him. “My god. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“It looks worse than it feels,” Kyle said softly, shrugging his shoulders.
“Yeah, well, it looks bad. Grab a napkin out of the glove box there and try to clean up a bit. Your mother is going to freak out when she sees you.”
“You can’t tell her!” Kyle begged, fear filling his face.
Clay half-laughed. “You don’t think she’s going to notice?” he asked. “Buckle up.”
Kyle did as he was told, buckling his seat belt before grabbing a napkin and wiping off the blood on the side of his face.
“Who did this to you?” Clay asked, as he pulled back out onto the road.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, as someone who came home with quite a few bloody noses in my day,” Clay said, “I can tell you that it does matter.”
“You got in fights?”
Clay shook his head. “I wish I could say I didn’t, you know…good role model and all, but the truth is I was a head strong teenager and I started a lot more fights than I could finish.”
Kyle looked at him. “My dad always told me I had to turn the other cheek. He said fights weren’t worth it.”