Page 16 of Holden’s Resurrection

Why were we talking about Paul when he’d just dropped a life-shattering bomb?

“Let’s talk about—"

“No, Leigh-Leigh, he wasn’t a friend. Not to me, not to you. On more than one occasion, I had to have words with him, to tell him to keep his distance.”

“What?”

Paul had been friendly. He was always hugging, wrapping his arm around someone’s shoulder. He’d been a little touchier than I normally would’ve liked and had zero sense of personal space. But that didn’t mean…

“And not just me. Jameson straight out told him if he didn’t stop touching you, he’d break his hands.”

“What?”

I didn’t want to discuss Paul, I wanted to know why he thought he couldn’t have children. But he seemed hellbent on slandering my dead husband.

“Jesus Christ, really? Honest to God, Leigh-Leigh, he was always putting his arm around you.”

“So? He was friendly.”

“You ever see him do that to any other females that came around with one of the guys?”

Off of the top of my head I couldn’t, but I’d see him plenty of times in bars put his arm around women…before he took them home for the night.

Wait.

I didn’t like the insinuation that Paul had done anything wrong. He’d never tried anything inappropriate until that one night I was at the bar with Alison. By the time he showed up I was already three sheets to the wind.

I only vaguely remembered what happened that night.

“Paul’s gone and you’re trying to paint him as some sort of villain. He didn’t do anything wrong, either. We weren’t together. As a matter of fact, before we left the bar I remember him asking me if I was sure you were done with me.”

Wrong thing to say. Way wrong. The hostility rolling off Holden was so thick I was surprised I hadn’t choked. But when his face screwed up in disgust and his hate-filled words filled my ears, my world rocked.

“Don’t you ever defend that asshole to me. He’s gone so he can’t answer for what he did to you. But make no mistake, he did wrong. He’s not the villain in this story—that’s me. I fucked up. But he’s the fucking devil. He fucked you over so badly, you can’t even begin to dream of all the ways your perfect husband screwed you over. And I hope for your sake when he came home to you and took you to your marital bed he gloved up.”

“Are you saying—”

“I came here to make you an offer,” he cut me off. “Our investigator in Virginia Beach called and informed me Beatrice has taken a second mortgage out on her house. She’s prepared to fight to get Faith away from you. They’ve hired a PI in Virginia to try to dig up dirt on you, which they won’t find because I already dug and there’s nothing to find. Which means they’ll make shit up. Word is, he’s on his way to Maryland. Again, they won’t find jackshit. You’re a great mom, you have a good job, you give Faith a nice place to live.”

“What’s your offer?” I croaked, still stuck on the fact that Bitchface Bea had taken out a second mortgage on her house.

I couldn’t afford to fight them unless I used Paul’s money. I hadn’t used a dime of it since he died and I never wanted to, but I would to keep Faith safe.

“They don’t want Faith, they want Paul’s death benefits.”

“No shit, Sherlock. But they’re not getting the money. And before you say something shitty and insult me, I haven’t touched it. I never wanted it, but Paul would roll over in his grave if those bitches got it. He hated them. He never wanted them to have it.”

“You’re willing to risk Faith to protect a dead man’s money?”

“How dare you?” My temper flared. “How fucking dare you, Holden.”

“Give it to them and I’ll replace the money. I’ll make sure you and Faith are taken care of.”

“No way. I don’t want your money, either.”

“Leigh-Leigh, think about Faith.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to think about Faith. She’s all I think about. Every decision I’ve made since I found out I was pregnant has been about her. What was best for her.”