AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He tucked the photo back into its envelope, tucked it under his arm and started for the door.
“Boss?”
“Yeah?” he asked, turning.
“Don’t let this woman play you for a fool.”
He felt his lips pull into a bitter smile. “Don’t you worry, Bobby. I’m a grown-up.” But he didn’t feel like one. He felt sick and queasy and lightheaded.
He left the office, taking the elevator to the basement parking garage and then driving back to the mansion. But the symptoms didn’t ease up. His hands were shaking, for crying out loud! His palms were damp. He didn’t know what the hell to think. He was so distracted that he drove the Lexus right through two stop signs on the way home, and at the second one, he nearly got hit. He skidded to a stop in the driveway, ran straight upstairs and tugged a suitcase from underneath his bed. He whipped open the closet and stared in at the rows of expensive suits, the drawers full of designer shirts.
And then he thought to himself, what if she wasn’t the one who sent that photo? What if she still didn’t know who he was?
Okay, so it was wishful thinking. But it could happen, right? And if there was even a chance….
He thought about her eyes, the honesty in them. And how sincere she’d seemed when she’d talked about trying to be respectable, to get the town’s elite to accept her. He’d believed her.
He still believed her. Damn, what must this pregnancy have done to all her efforts? He winced at the thought.
Slowly he reached for the bottom drawer and pulled out his entire collection of worn-out jeans—all three pairs. He put two in his suitcase and put one pair on. He dug for sweatshirts, found an old fleece-lined denim coat way in the back of his closet, and dug out that stupid battered cowboy hat, as well, for good measure. He wanted to see her as a man—not as a billionaire.
He finished his packing hastily, then carried the suitcase, coat and hat downstairs and set them on the floor near the back door, before forcibly slowing himself down, taking a few calming breaths.
He couldn’t just walk out on his father without a word.
Look at what had happened last time. Stiffening his spine, he went to his father’s study.
The wheelchair turned slowly when he entered the room. Cain didn’t use it all the time—only when he was tired or stubborn. He could walk, though his uneven gait required the use of a cane. His stern face was more disturbing now, since the stroke. One side reflected his feelings—that side was looking decidedly pissed off just now—while the other side remained lax and limp.
His father lifted his good hand, and Caleb saw the photograph he was holding. He glanced quickly around the room, half expecting to see Bobby lurking in a corner somewhere, but there was no sign of him.
“No, it wasn’t Bobby,” Cain said, speaking from one side of his mouth, his words still slightly slurred. “But I did call him. Whoever sent this to you at the office wanted to be sure you got it. Sent a copy here, as well. And I’m glad they did. This is something I ought to know about, don’t you think?”
“No. You don’t need the stress of this—and I can deal with it. I’m about to deal with it.”
“Sit down, son.”
“Father, I’ve made my decision. I have to go out there, see for myself what’s going on.”
His father glared at him, and Caleb finally sat down. He didn’t like upsetting the old man. He didn’t want to set off another stroke, or worse. Mean as hell he might be, but he was also in a fragile state right now, though he would rather die than admit it.
“You were a twin, you know.”
Caleb sighed, closing his eyes, wishing to God his father would deliver any other long practiced speech than this one. He hated this one.
“Your mother carried two of you. Two boys. One bigger, stronger, and the other small and weak. Only one of them born alive.” He knuckled a button, moving his wheelchair closer. “The doctors said it was just as well. One strong child was much better off than two weak ones. As it was, the stronger of the two survived. And that one was you.”
“Right.” Caleb had never accepted this, and it was largely why he refused to go by the name Cain. But though he rejected it, hearing it dug deep. “I’ve heard this story a hundred times, Father, and it has no more merit now than it ever did. Fetuses do not think or plot or conspire. I didn’t kill off my weaker brother so I could survive, and the fact that I lived and he didn’t is nothing more than genetics.”
“Garbage!” his father said in a burst. “You’re my son. Your mother died giving birth to you. You carry my name. So you’ll always do what you must to survive. You understand?”
He opened his mouth to argue, closed it again, and said nothing, getting up to leave.
“I was a twin, too, you know.”
Caleb, frowning, turned to stare at his father. “No. I didn’t know that. You never told me.”
“It never came up. My birth was just like yours, Caleb. The stronger twin survived, the weaker one didn’t make it.” He shook his head. “It’s genetics, yes, but it’s also a marker, Caleb. A reminder that the strong survive, and that we, you and I, were destined for something more than ordinary men. And that sometimes sacrifice is necessary to keep the dream alive.”
