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She shrugged. “The usual stuff. Skiing, ice-skating, bowling, horseback riding. In the summer we hang out at Angel Lake. There’s a cool rope swing off a big madrona tree at Currigan Point. ”
It sure as hell wasn’t “the usual” in Los Angeles, not for a celebrity’s kid, anyway. If J. C. had grown up with Julian, she’d have spent her life behind iron gates and sheltered by bodyguards. She wouldn’t have known what it was like to ride her bike to town for a drugstore soda.
For the first time, he understood what Kayla had asked of him all those years ago. She’d used words like rehab and safety, but that wasn’t right. What she’d wanted was a normal life for their daughter.
Just that. A normal life.
It was something Julian had never wanted. But now, as he held this daughter who was and wasn’t his, he wondered about the price he’d paid for his fame.
It struck him hard, left him breathless, the sudden realization of how deeply he’d failed his daughter. As if he’d just walked into a room as familiar as his own bedroom and suddenly found it empty.
He should have known it all along, of course, but he hadn’t thought about it until now.
He wasn’t J. C. ’s father. She had a man at home who’d loved her, who knew if she’d worn braces or snored in her sleep, who’d been there to pick her up when she fell down.
Julian had planted the seed of her, but he hadn’t chosen to nurture it; he could never have helped her grow into the vibrant, beautiful flower he now held in his arms. How could he help another person grow when he needed so much sunlight for himself?
Even though he was smart enough to know the truth—that he wasn’t this girl’s father and never would be—he couldn’t help wishing, dreaming, that things could be different.
The song came to an end. Sadly he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Then he did what he did best: He walked away.
Liam was in the living room, nursing a watered-down Scotch, when he heard the car drive up.
Immediately he tensed. He’d been sitting here for hours, by the light of a single lamp, thinking about the decision he and Julian had made. The more he considered it, the more he saw how reckless and dangerous it was to withhold the truth from Jacey. This was a small town; gossip moved like bees from one backyard flower to the next, over picket fences and through telephone lines. The Make-a-Wish ruse would work for a while, but Liam didn’t really trust Julian to understand the stakes. Anyone who said, “You know how it is—we were in love and then we weren’t,” had a pretty hazy understanding of love and heartache.
The bottom line was this: Liam hated deceiving Jacey. He couldn’t quite believe that deceit was ever really in a person’s best interest. Now, every time he looked at her, he felt the heavy, ugly curtain of this lie between them.
The front door swung open suddenly, and she breezed into the room. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, rosy pink and her espresso-dark eyes were shining.
He couldn’t tell her now, not on this night that should hold only magical memories.
“Hi, Dad,” she said dreamily, twirling around, her arms poised like a ballerina’s.
He grabbed the camera beside him and snapped a few shots—for Mike. “How was it?”
She swept over to the couch and dipped down like a hummingbird, planting a feather-light kiss on his cheek. “Totally awesome. Perfect. I took tons of pictures for Mom. ” She stifled a yawn.
He gazed up at her, loving her so much, it was an ache in his heart. “She’ll want to see each one. ”
Smiling, she spun around and floated toward the stairs. He followed along behind her, turning off lights as he went.
At her bedroom door, she stopped and grinned up at him. “Guess what happened. ”
He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “What?”
“Julian True showed up at the prom. He asked me to dance. Me. He called me Jacey of the midnight hair. I’ll remember this night forever. ”
Liam’s hand froze against her cheek. “But—”
“Good night, Dad. ”
Before he could answer, she kissed his cheek and went into her room, closing the door.
He stood there a long, long time. Then, slowly, he knocked on her door. When she answered, he tried to find a smile. “I … uh … just got an emergency call—don’t worry, it’s not about Mom—but I have to run to the hospital. I’ll be right back. ”
She smiled dreamily; he could tell that she was barely listening. “Okay. Drive safely. ”
He nodded and closed the door. Anger seeped through him, rising steadily. It fit uncomfortably on him, this dark and stinging emotion, like a cheap wool sweater that was a size too small. He raced down to the garage and jumped into his car.
