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He shakes his head. “The child is too young to be mine and too old to be Sebastian’s.” Tate had told us that she’d been pregnant before. I knew she had once been pregnant by Rowen when she was barely a teenager, and then she’d been pregnant before by her bastard of a husband. Both pregnancies resulted in miscarriages. She never mentioned a third pregnancy, a pregnancy that she carried to term and resulted in a daughter.
“Rachel Hollis must be the woman that Tate has raising her child. Why wouldn’t she tell us?” A frown curls on my lips, my eyes glossy with unshed tears. My butterfly didn’t trust us enough, didn’t trustmeenough to tell me about her daughter. She didn’t tell me she had a daughter, and I don’t understand why. “We need to find out who the father is. Olivia is ten, right?” I ask, wiping my fallen tears. My heart aches at the fact that she felt she couldn’t trust me enough to tell me something important.
Knowing where I’m going with my questions and train of thoughts, Rowen grabs his phone from his pocket and takes a picture of the photos in the album. “Ten years ago, she was seventeen. That’s the same time her foster family died in that fire.” His phone chimes, signaling that he’s sent the photos in a text message.
“The father must be either her foster brother or father. She told us that they’d both hurt her. The timeframe matches.”
“But they’re dead,” I deadpan, shaking my head. I know what Rowen’s thinking, and there’s no way either one of them is still alive or responsible for wanting Tate kidnapped months ago.
“There was a fire, yes, but that doesn’t mean they died. We’ve never looked that much into her last foster family. Eli discovered they died in a fire. Tate confirmed she set the fire, but that’s it. We never looked any further.” He brings his phone to his ear. “I think it’s time we look into it. Let’s go.” He walks away, carrying the album as he begins speaking into the phone.
I follow him, listening to him speak on the phone. “Malcolm, I sent you a few photos of Olivia Hollis. Look into her and the Adamson family that died ten years ago in a fire at their home. I want a full report on all three family members, including a list of all their living relatives and any close friends they had. Also, look closer into Rachel Hollis. See if she has any friends or known associates. I want to know everything about her and her daily routine.” After a few more words, he ends the call, shoving the phone into his front pocket. “He’ll report back on what he finds. Let’s get back to the hotel until we hear something.”
We don’t know where Rachel and Olivia disappeared to, but I fucking hope that the unknown fucker isn’t responsible for their disappearance. Now that I know about my butterfly’s connection to Olivia, I know I have to do everything I can to protect them both.
We don’t know where they are. If they left willingly or if they were taken. Tate would want to see them safe, and I’ll ensure they are for her. Based on the condition of the house, I’m assuming they left willingly since their clothing is gone, along with whatever photos had been hung on the walls. The album being left behind was clearly a mistake.
Rowen and I go through the remainder of the house, searching for anything else to give us some insight into who Rachel Hollis is and where she and Olivia could’ve gone. Unfortunately for us, there’s nothing left behind that can help us. Besides the photo album Ro’s placed in our car, there’s nothing important left in this small house.
The drive back to the hotel is quiet, much like our drive to the house. Only this time, I don’t bother with trying to make small talk, because I’m fuming over the fact I didn’t know she had a living child. I wish she would’ve told me. What we shared was special, but this reminds me that I don’t know much about her, and she still has many secrets that I’m more determined than ever to uncover.
We stop at a drive-through and grab burgers for lunch. Once we’re back at the hotel, I offer to come to Ro’s room to eat with him, but he declines and lies to my face by saying he’s going to take a nap and eat later. I’ve known him long enough to know when he’s lying.
Once I’m back in my room, I set my greasy bag of food on the coffee table and collapse onto the sofa, setting the photo album beside my food. Tears stream down my face.
I’ve slept in Tate’s room in our cabin every single day for three months. I’ve fallen asleep by hugging her pillows that still smells of her vanilla coconut shampoo. I’ve never missed anyone as much as I miss her. The feeling is new to me. The longing I feel is unbearable, and sometimes it feels like my heart is going to literally break.
I miss her. I miss her so fucking much, and I’m living with so many regrets.
At first, I was angry with Eli for playing a role in me turning against her and believing whatever he was saying. Now, I realize that he was right when he said we don’t know her. This trip proves it. She has a fucking child, for crying out loud, and no one knew about it.
My butterfly had been keeping secrets. Luckily for me, secrets don’t stay buried for long, and they have a way of exposing themselves when you’re dead.
Sooner or later, I will uncover everything she’d been keeping to herself.
thirteen
ROWEN
King doesn’t knowthat Tate’s alive, and I can’t tell him. Rachel and Olivia are gone, and there’s no doubt in my mind that Tate and Ace are responsible for their disappearance.
I now understand why she didn’t tell me about them when I asked last night. She was trying to protect them since she doesn’t trust me, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. Like I’ve said before, I can’t blame her. Eli, King, and I have given her nothing but reason after reason not to trust us.
The only difference is that I don’t have to live with it. There’s still a chance I can make it up to her and earn her trust again. I don’t yet know how, but I know that I will. I have to.
When King discovered that Olivia is Tate’s daughter, I thought about telling him that she’s alive, but seeing his reaction to knowing his precious butterfly kept that big of a secret from him, I knew I couldn’t break his heart even more. We’ve both been hurting for months, and I don’t see that ending anytime soon.
Guilt is weighing heavily on me. Keeping secrets from each other is the type of shit Eli does, not what King and I do. No matter how ugly the truth has been, we’ve never kept secrets from each other. I trust him with my life and know that he’ll never lie to me; I hate that I looked him in the eyes and lied to him.
I looked my brother in the eyes and carried on as if I hadn’t learned an explosive secret. Truthfully, I’m doing it to protect him. If I tell King that Tate is alive and she came to see me and not him, he wouldn’t take it well. He loves her. She’s the only woman he’s ever loved. The sick bastard found his equal in her, and then he lost it. He lost her.
No, I can’t tell him. Not yet, anyway. I’m not sure what he’d do if he found out. But at the same time, I know the longer I wait to tell him, the angrier he’ll be when he finds out—and I’m not foolish enough to believe that he’ll never find out. Secrets have a way of uncovering themselves.
For his own sake, I hope it’s later rather than sooner.
For my own sake, I hope I don’t have to tell him. I’d rather her visit him just like she did with me. He’ll find out that I knew and didn’t tell him, and he’ll be upset, but it would be best to come from her.
If I tell him, he’ll look for her, and I need him right now.
