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“Does my grandfather know? Is that why he suddenly wants to get rid of the cars?”
“Definitely not. I’ve never shared my suspicion. When I asked him about the cars, it just reminded him that he’d wanted to donate them.”
Bella stared off at nothing in particular. “Did he kill my mother intentionally?”
“I don’t know, Bella.”
She was quiet again, until her eyes grew wide. “Oh my God. Is John Barrett even my father? Or is the team a payoff for what he did to my mother?”
My brows puckered. “What do you mean? Didn’t you have to prove he was your dad during the probate contest? I remember Tiffany and Rebecca holding a press conference when news first broke about the inheritance. They’d said they were going to court to ask for proof that you were John’s daughter, because they didn’t believe you were.”
“My lawyer said it didn’t matter because it wouldn’t change the outcome of the inheritance. The will had been worded so that the team was left to Bella Keating, not to his daughter. All the stuff about him being my father was in a separate letter that wasn’t part of the will. I actually didn’t mind taking a test, but my lawyer was against it because it would have wasted more time and money. He also thought it was an unnecessary violation of my privacy and was against my DNA going in some database for no reason. The judge agreed. Plus, why would a stranger leave someone a billion-dollar inheritance? And my mom worked there, so it made sense since they’d have known each other.”
“Jesus Christ.” I raked a hand through my hair. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. I need some time to process this.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Bella just kept shaking her head. “You should have told me, Christian.”
“I was planning to. I’m sorry you found out this way instead.”
“I am too.” She frowned. “I’d like you to go.”
“Go where?”
“I need to be alone, to think. I can’t wrap my head around everything.”
Leaving was the last thing I wanted, but I wasn’t going to give her a hard time, not after the bomb I’d dropped. So I nodded. “Okay. I’ll go to give you space, but promise you’ll call me if you want to talk later or if you need anything?”
She sort of half nodded, not really committing.
I rose to my feet. “Can I at least help you up and walk you back to sit on the couch?”
“I’m fine.”
I stopped at the bathroom door and looked back. On the tip of my tongue was to tell her I loved her before I left. Because I was head over heels in love with her. But this wasn’t the time.
An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as I walked out of the apartment. Pulling the door closed, I just hoped I got the chance to tell her.
CHAPTER 28
* * *
BELLA
The next morning, I left the house to go to Miller’s apartment. But that wasn’t where I ended up.
“Kiddo?” My grandfather opened the door. “Well, this is a nice surprise. At least I think it is. Or did you tell me you were coming and I forgot?”
I leaned down to kiss his cheek, and tears unexpectedly stung my eyes. I’d come to get answers, but then it hit me that I might be about to hurt my grandfather, too. I hadn’t cried before now, though tears had threatened a few times, and I’d stubbornly fought them back. Suddenly I couldn’t do it anymore.
My grandfather took one look at my face and opened his arms. “Oh, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it’s going to pass. Come here…”
I leaned down and let him console me. It had been a long time since I’d cried in the arms of someone and let it all out. When I finally stopped, my grandfather’s shirt was all wet.
“I made a mess on your shirt.” I laugh-cried as I pointed.
My grandfather’s own eyes brimmed with unshed tears, yet he smiled warmly. “It’s alright. As long as you don’t blow your nose in it.”
I snorted and wiped wetness from my cheeks. “I promise.”
He tilted his head toward the living room. “Come on. I’ll make us some tea, and you can tell me whose ass I’m going to kick for making you sad.”
I followed him, but part of me regretted coming as I settled in. Maybe I should’ve gone to Miller’s after all. But I needed answers, and I knew he’d only have more questions. When he returned, Coach balanced two steaming mugs on a tray on his lap, while his good arm moved his wheelchair. It wasn’t easy to not get up and help, but he’d told me on more than one occasion that he liked to do things himself, that that wheelchair wasn’t who he was, it was only his mode of transportation until PT could get him fully walking again.
