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“I’m glad,” he says. “Dad already thinks I’m a loser. God knows what he would have thought if he’d known I’d knocked a girl up.”
I don’t say anything, thinking about the lectures I received when I told him I’d gotten a girl pregnant, and his cruel, vocal disappointment. He still occasionally drops sarcastic comments about my lack of discipline, even though I like to think I’ve proven myself many times over since then.
“Why did you come here?” I ask, my voice husky. “Why not just call me?”
“Claire wanted me to meet her parents—they live on the North Shore. And I wanted to see you, and tell you that I’m doing all right. Because of you, bro. It’s all down to you.”
I sigh, and we exchange a cautious bearhug.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For everything.”
I release him, taking deep breaths to contain my emotion. “I’m just thrilled to see you turning things around.” I take out my phone, bring up my banking app, and transfer a generous amount of money over to his account. “It’s all done. Buy her something nice for your new place.”
“I will. Thank you.” Guy shoves his hands in his pockets. “Will you tell Brandy I’m sorry? I was a different man back then.”
“Of course.”
He looks at the elevator, as if he’s holding himself back from returning to the apartment. “A daughter,” he whispers. “She was pretty.”
I fight with the resentment that rises in me at his discussion of my girl. I need to show pity, not anger. He missed her birth, her first steps, her first words, and all the love she’s shown me over her nine years of life. He’ll never have the relationship with her that I have.
“She’s gorgeous,” I admit. “And with a beautiful nature to go with it.”
“Does she… take after Brandy?”
I know what he’s asking—does she have his flaws? “She’s the perfect daughter. She works hard at school, she’s well behaved, and she does what her mother tells her. She’s going to do just fine.”
“Thank you,” he says.
I nod.
“Are you and Brandy an item?” he wants to know.
I shake my head. “Never have been.”
“But you’re not married?”
“Not yet.”
“Who was the brunette?”
I decide not to tell him that she’s the girl I lost because of him. “An old friend.”
“She’s pretty.”
“Yeah.”
“She looked pissed off. She didn’t know you weren’t Joanna’s father?”
“Iamher father.”
He meets my eyes for a moment. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Sorry.”
He gives one last, longing glance at the elevator. Then he nods at me, turns, and heads out of the front door.
I blow out a long, shaky breath, then go back into the elevator and hit the button. The doors close, and the carriage ascends.
When the doors part again, I walk slowly along the corridor toward the apartment. Part of me doesn’t want to go in. Joanna hasn’t shown any sign of knowing about Guy, but I can’t help but wonder if she feels any anger toward me for lying to her for so long.
