She turns to me. “The day that photo was taken, I was here with my dad. He’d bring me with him sometimes, whenever he’d go on trips. It was the only time we got to spend together,” she adds with another glare in Beckett’s direction. “Anyway, I took that picture for no other reason than I was so excited to be a part of his life.”
“The day he died, I’d begged to go with him. But no matter how much I asked, he refused. The next thing I know, he’s not answering any of my text messages. I saw it on the news report the next morning, though I was so distraught that I didn’t put two and two together on the dates.”
“Text messages. There were never any text messages.” Beckett is trying to rationalize.
“He didn’t think you’d handle my existence very well,” Lauren replies. “Which is why he hid the phone he used to talk to me from you.”
“Okay, you need to watch your tone,” I counter, already infuriated that she seems to have an axe to grind against the woman whose life she’s currently tearing apart. “It’s not Beckett’s fault your dad didn’t know you existed, and it’s not her fault that he didn’t tell her.”
“No, it’s not. But it is her fault I had to be hidden like a dirty secret for the two years Ididknow my dad.”
“I—how? I didn’t even know about you!” Beckett exclaims. “I knew nothing.”
“And if you had known? If you’d found out that your husband already had a kid when you couldn’t have any, what would you have done?”
That does it. The blood drains from Beckett’s face, and her own ice-cold mask slips into place. “Take us back to the club. Coming here was a mistake.”
“A mistake? No. You’re already here. You have to help me solve this.”
“I don’t have to help you do anything,” she replies. “And you already said you didn’t want us here. So, you’re going to drive us back, and we’ll leave.”
“Beckett—” I start.
“No.” She settles back in the seat, completely shut down.
“Are you serious? You came all this way, and you’re not going to help me?” Lauren looks over at me like I’m going to defend her and insist we help. But I’ll back Beckett, no matter what.
“No,” Beckett says. “I’m not.” She fixes her gaze out the window, and Lauren glares at her a moment longer before turning on the motor again and flipping the UTV around to head back toward the club.
“He was wrong about you. He told me that you were this big, bad lawyer who was just getting started but already making waves. I assumed you’d want to know the truth as badly as I did.”
Beckett doesn’t respond, and we ride the rest of the way in silence. Once she’s parked, she turns, plasters a fake smile on her face, and says, “If I were you, I’d fix your expression. If they so much as catch a scent you’re not telling the truth, you’re going to end up just like him.” She opens the door and climbs out.
I hesitate a moment, trying to meet Beckett’s gaze, but she slips a fake smile into place and climbs out before I can say a word.
So, I follow.
“Mr. Andrews, if you’d like more information on the security, please let me know. I’m more than happy to give you a more detailed explanation.”
“Thank you,” I reply, offering her a smile as she veers off in the other direction.
Beckett falls into step beside me, her expression neutral, as we step onto the elevators and then down the hall toward our room.
The moment we’re inside, though, and the door is closed, that mask falls—just enough for me to see the cracks beneath.
“Talk to me,” I tell her.
“About what? How my marriage was a lie?” she snaps. Tears fill her eyes. Cheeks red, she jabs her finger at me. “How I gave myself completely to a man I didn’t even know?”
“He didn’t know about her at first.” I try to defend him, not for him but for her. Because she doesn’t deserve to feel inadequate because some man made a poor choice over a decade ago.
“No, but he found out. She was ten, Shawn. Ten years old. He didn’t think I would understand?” Her bottom lip quivers, and tears stream down her cheeks. “I would have—” Her voice breaks, and she takes a ragged breath. “I would have understood because she was his. I would have embraced her. Loved her. And he told her—” She sways, and I rush forward to steady her. “He told her we couldn’t have a baby.”
“She had no right to say what she did to you,” I snarl, my own anger resurfacing. In the moment, I’d been so focused on keeping us composed so we’d stay alive that I didn’t let myself really feel the weight of the words Lauren was slinging toward Beckett.
But they’re crushing me now.
“Did he really see me that way?” she asks. “Am I so awful that he didn’t think I could handle the truth? That I wouldn’t love his daughter?”
