That would explain the cryptic email. Of course, they had to suspend the competition in that case, but?—
Something else made the hairs on my neck stand up.
It couldn’t be. Last night…at the hospital….was it…no.
I tore the eviction notice off my door. It should’ve sent me into a frenzy, but my head was spinning, frozen between wanting to know if John had played me for a fool and never wanting to find out. I braced myself on the kitchen counter, finding a bottle of red.
Courage. I needed courage. I unscrewed the bottle and took a large gulp before sliding down to the kitchen floor.
While I typed with shaky fingers into the search engine, my thoughts raced, doubling over themselves. Memories. Things he’d said that I’d brushed off as odd. The way he moved around the cabin. Like he knew it. His comments about Elliot. How people undeservingly put him on a pedestal.
I typed:Lew Elliot John Kater.
Nothing but articles about the competition popped up.
I typed:Lew Elliot children.Nothing at first. But when I scrolled through his Wikipedia page, underpersonal life, there it was—a mention of a late wife. And then?—
An adopted son. Name: Jonathan Elliot.
My heart beat so fast it felt like it wanted to tear itself from my chest.
I typed:John Kater pen name.
Several links popped up: “People also search” and “Famous people behind their pen names”.Nothing of real interest until the bottom of page two, when my eyes snagged on an article.
“Sci-Fi Author John Kater, Known forThe Collisionand Recent BestsellerEarth’s Core, Winner of the Nebula Award, Early Life…”
I clicked.
And there it was.
John Kater, pen name. Real name: Jonathan Elliot. Raised until age seven…
Instead of letting out a painful gasp, I took another swig of wine. With numb fingers, I searched:Jonathan Elliot Lew Elliot.
It felt like a ramrod had hit me straight in the gut.
A picture of John at his graduation. Lew Elliot beside him, his face stoic, a hand on John’s shoulder. A shiny new watch gleamed on John’s wrist—his graduation present. My phone slipped out of my hand, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen.
John had told me he was adopted.
What he didn’t tell me was that he was adopted by none other than Lew Elliot.
Lew Elliot, the man I’d looked up to. The man who had helped me through puberty and culture shock with his stories. Who was supposed to be part of my future. His stories were my salvation.
The man who had abandoned his son.
My nails dug into my palms as grief overwhelmed me, like diving into an ice-cold ocean.
I didn’t think I was breathing. When the corners of the room narrowed, I realized I wasn’t.
It all clicked into place. Made so much sense. All these clues had been here, hidden between the cracks. A man who wanted so desperately to be like the father who’d never wanted him. John hadn’t just known the cabin. It had been his childhood home. The box of children’s things under his bed…
My phone buzzed, startling me. The theme song ofThe X-Filesplayed while the screen lit up. John was calling me.
I pressed decline. Then again. And again. I couldn’t talk to him. I wouldn’t even know what to say. All the times I’d talked about his…father, and he just stood there. Letting me make a fool of myself. Letting me believe I could win this. That I had a fair chance.
A bet. I felt sick.
