AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That sounds remarkably convenient, as explanations go...” He heard the cutting sarcasm in his tone. India went white. But hell, he was the one who should be upset. And he would have been, if his emotions hadn’t been encased in ice.
“It’s true,” she said. “I was digging through one of Dottie’s boxes, trying to sort the envelopes by date. When I got to the bottom of the box, there were a couple of empty file folders. That one set of pictures was underneath. I didn’t want Dottie to find it unexpectedly and be upset. But then I wondered if she had hidden the photos deliberately.”
“Why would she be upset?”
India frowned. “Don’t play dumb with me. You see the date. I found pictures of your father in there.”
“I don’t have a father.” He removed the stack of black-and-white photos. Flipping through them made his stomach churn with nausea. “No worries,” he said curtly. “I’ll burn these.”
“No,” India protested. “I don’t think you should. Obviously, she kept them because of you. She wanted images of you to remember.”
Suddenly, something hit him. “You said maybe... Why maybe?”
India’s gaze was haunted. “Your mother’s married name is on the envelope. I thought she might have hidden that information from you.”
He frowned. “You thought I didn’t know the name I was born with?”
“You were little. It occurred to me that when Dottie had your names changed, she might have concealed your birth name.”
“I may have been small, India, but I can assure you I knew my name. And I didn’t forget it. How could I? It’s on my birth certificate.” He paused, struggling to juggle the emotions duking it out in his chest. “I hate Simpson to the depths of my soul. He made my mother have a baby out of wedlock. Do you know what that did to her? She thought she was married, but she wasn’t. And thus I am a bastard.”
“Nobody cares about stuff like that anymore, do they?”
“Perhaps not. But it mattered to my mother. It matters even now. She was conned into having an illegitimate child.”
“I’m so sorry, Farris.”
India’s sympathy was like acid on his raw emotions. Especially since Farris possessed information India did not. He stuffed the pictures back into the envelope.
“Give it to me,” she said. “I’ll talk to Dottie about the pictures.”
His fingers gripped the packet until his knuckles turned white. “I don’t want to see myself with him.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll take it. But you can’t destroy the photos without Dottie’s permission.”
He knew what India said was true. But rage boiled inside him, corroding his morality, destroying his peace of mind. Fuck morality. He wanted these photographs out of his house. Now.
India climbed out of bed, her body concealed in the soft blanket. When she came closer, he flinched. “Stay away from me,” he said curtly.
“Hand them over, Farris. Please.”
In the end, she had to tug the envelope from his nerveless fingers. She tucked the pictures in a dresser drawer and returned to where he stood. She put a hand on his arm. “Come back to bed,” she said softly. “Let me hold you.”
He allowed her to pull him, only because he had lost his way. He had no father, no wife, only years of regret. Seeing those damn photos sent him back to the time when he had been a confused, hurting boy...powerless...devastated. He hated that boy. He hated being helpless. He had spent years constructing his armor, refusing to let anyone or anything get too close.
India had been the only person he’d allowed himself to care about, besides his mother. But he had screwed that up beyond repair. Failure. Failure.
Beneath the covers, she spooned him this time, stroking his hair, whispering words of encouragement and comfort. Nothing penetrated his fog of pain and confusion, nothing except the sound of her voice.
His aching body felt much like the time he had come home from work with the flu. Dottie had been out of town. Farris and India were already divorced. Farris had holed up in his New York apartment, bedridden, for seventy-two hours. Solitary. Bereft.
He had shivered and slept fitfully, barely managing to take medicine and drink liquids. It was the most alone he had ever felt in his life.
Now, even though he ached all over, there was something different. India offered peace. He closed his eyes and pretended the last five years hadn’t happened. Hell, while he was at it, he pretended that his father was a gentle giant of a man who loved playing catch with his son and didn’t have another family stashed away somewhere, a legal family.
India was singing to him now, soft ballads that he used to play for her on the guitar. Her voice was low and sweet, even when the melody was not quite in tune. When was the last time he had picked up his guitar? The beautiful instrument India had given him for their second anniversary brought back too many memories.
He drifted, half awake, half asleep, reluctant to leave this place of warmth and absolution. But, gradually, he came out of his funk. “I should go,” he said, hoping she would argue with that.
