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“Well, you created a pretty big disruption anyway,” Axel added.
“We could have handled it,” I told him.
“Could you? Those early years with all three of ya, they were tough. I’m not lying. You two came into our lives, and I thank God every day that you did, but we were breaking our backs to make ends meet. And the transition was rough for everyone, even without that. Don’t you remember?”
I did remember. It took me years until I could let my guard down fully with the Fairchilds. Our year bouncing between foster homes produced double the amount of damage and distress. Deb and Gary and Trace had done everything right with us—a safe home, warm meals, lots of love and understanding—but it still took Axel and I a while to soften up.
And then once we were settled with Deb and Gary, financial pressures mounted. Axel and I shoveled shit for spare change. Trace did the same until he found a local business that needed bookkeeping help under the table, which gave him his start with finances. He was fourteen years old keeping the books for the Sip n’ Suds, a car wash and ice cream shop in one. We’d all worked hard to make ends meet.
“I never intended to step out on your mom. But it happened, and I live with this guilt every day. I had a weak moment. We’d just taken you two in, and the stress was eatin’ me alive. I wanted an escape."
I knew a thing or two about stress relief. But it was different, coming from my foster father turned adoptive dad. The Fairchilds were a beacon of stability in my life, the rock I’d leaned on after my biological parents had passed, leaving Axel, Kaylee, Jordan, and me unmoored and lost at sea.
And now even that was crumbling.
“You gotta tell Mom,” Axel said in a raw voice. “You tell her or I will.”
“Axel,” Dad started.
“He’s right,” I added. “You can’t keep it from her. Not anymore. If Ian came all the way up here, what’s to say he’s not on his way to your house next?”
There was some commotion in the background. It sounded like Mom talking.
“Boys, I gotta go,” Dad said suddenly. “We’ll talk later.”
“Did we shock ya?” Axel asked.
“I’d say you did.”
The line went dead. Axel and I shared a long, heavy look.
“Well, let’s mark that off the to-do list,” I finally said, once the silence had grown too suffocating.
“Clearly we were the ones who were raised right, back when we were Hayneses,” Axel muttered, looking down at his hands. “Trace kept that secret for how many fucking years? Just like Gary.”
“Don’t start,” I said.
“I’m starting,” Axel warned.
“You would have said worse shit about Cora six months ago, and look at how things changed once you get the full story,” I reminded him. “Do. Not. Start.”
Axel’s frown turned into a scowl. “Don’t rope Cora into this.”
“I’m just keeping perspective,” I said. “You’re so quick to throw Trace under the bus. He’s all but moved out of the penthouse because of you. He’s halfway across the world because you don’t want to run the risk of running into him. But he lives and dies for us, Axel. Just like Dad does. Regardless of whatever you think about the fucking mess they made.”
It was complicated. And yes, I was confused and upset. But I wanted a shot at my only remaining family coming back together some day.
“Dad needs to do the right thing,” Axel said, pushing to his feet. “Then we can figure out the rest.”
“Agreed.” I leaned back in my chair, the air whooshing out of me. The conversation had left a sick knot in my gut, one that didn’t seem close to loosening anytime soon. Axel squeezed my shoulder before he headed toward the kitchen, in the direction of the private elevator that led directly to our office suite.
“You didn’t answer me before,” Axel called out as he meandered through the kitchen. “You plan on coming back to the office anytime soon, or do I need to install a vacuum tube from my office to this dining room?”
“The tube would probably work best for now,” I said wryly.
“Everything’s still good with Jessa, right?” He paused, turning to look back at me. He loved playing matchmaker with us, which I resented as much as I appreciated. And I knew that our pseudo double date at the Monaco Lounge last week had satisfied him on some haughty, brotherly level.
“Just fine,” I said, probably too clipped. I didn’t want him to know how fine things had gotten on Monday afternoon. Or how fine they would become the second I was alone with her again.
