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Nick was right. Two people with so much baggage shouldn’t be together. It all made perfect sense in her head—but not in her heart.
“There’s something you need to know. It doesn’t make this situation any better, but maybe it will help you understand my mindset and the real reason I agreed to marry Johnny.” She rounded the desk on shaky legs. “When I caught that bastard hitting Izzy a raging need to save her made me attack him but I don’t regret it. I’d do it all over again in a minute.”
Nick’s lips parted and she held up her palm. “Let me finish.”
“My number one fear was for Portia and what might happen to her if I got arrested for murdering that scumbag, so I called my father and he had Johnny fix it.” She drew in a cleansing breath. “What you don’t know, is I didn’t care about it being a fake marriage if it kept me out of jail and Portia out of the system, but there was more to it. After losing you, I gave up on having a real relationship. If I couldn’t have you I didn’t want anyone else, so I didn’t care. My fake marriage to Johnny saved me from the heartache of admitting it, or ever having to pursue anyone else. I hid myself away, and made Portia and the business my life. Much easier than admitting my fragile broken heart was damaged.”
Nick’s piercing gaze never wavered.
“And you wanna know why—because deep down I felt it was all I deserved.”
Nick shifted his feet, but she forged on. She had to make him understand.
“You’re right. I’m damaged inside, but I wanted us to work this time. After we were together at the Bellagio, I started wishing and hoping for a second chance like in those fairy tales I read Portia.” She squeaked out a nervous laugh. “Don’t worry I warned her there’s no such thing as a Prince Charming—and I’m certainly no Cinderella.”
Nick focused on the carpet. “You can’t go back, you can’t make bad shit right.” He suddenly backed away from her desk like she carried the plague. His expression devoid of emotion. His defenses firmly in place. How else could two wrecked souls exist if not for the facade they presented?
“Mama?” Portia burst through the office door and stopped.
Nick whipped around and they came face to face—father and daughter. Ebony eyes to ebony eyes. They stared at each other and the absolute resemblance was hard to miss. Portia stared at this stranger trying to understand why he looked so familiar. A few more seconds passed, then Nick bolted out of her office.
18
Nick tore out of Cheryl’s driveway and out of the development his mind torn and twisted. The fight with Cheryl, her expecting him to accept her excuses, then coming face to face with his daughter. The resemblance knocked the wind out of him. Swear to fuck for a few seconds he couldn’t breathe. There was absolutely no denying she was his child. He wanted to embrace her, tell her he was sorry for all the years he missed, and how he would make it up to her, but the words stuck in his throat.
When he finally did tell her it had to be slow and easy, carefully explained so she’d understand and not take on any of the blame. Then he planned on being a constant in her life. A father figure she would be proud of and respect. Neither him nor Cheryl had good father role models, but this was Nick’s time to right those wrongs.
He drove aimlessly for at least a half hour as his mind spun with the best way to work out all their issues. A lawyer would be needed because there was no way his daughter was living in the same house with Johnny Russo. He’d fight with the last dollar hehad before he’d let that continue. In his mind, he purposely left Cheryl out of the equation because that particular cut still stung.
Fifteen minutes later, he ended up in the parking lot of the Gold Mine. He parked in the lot and sat in his car for another five minutes to regroup. The last twenty-four hours drained the shit out of him.
When he entered the biker clubhouse Rattler was behind the bar washing glasses, Cobra and Joker sat at the far end while Mamba lounged on the couch watching football on their oversized flatscreen TV.
“There’s a man who looks like he needs a drink.” Rattler set down his rag and reached for the bottle of Jack. “Or two, or ten.”
“Fuck brother, Rattler’s right, you look like shit.” Joker shot him the fisheye as Nick slid onto a barstool.
“Only one thing puts a look like that on a man’s face.” Rattler set the glass of amber liquid in front of him. “A woman.”
Nick downed the whiskey, and motioned for another.
“So, why are we drinking—” Joker raised his glass. “To forget or to remember?”
Nick raised his glass. “We’re drinking to putting shit in the past where it belongs.” He only drained half the glass but Rattler topped him off anyway.
“You gonna tell us what the fuck is goin’ on or are you gonna keep spitting it out in code?”
The first shot hit Nick’s empty stomach hard. He rarely drank at two in the afternoon, but today’s revelation caused for an exception.
“Today I met my daughter for the first time.”
Rattler, Cobra, and Joker stopped mid-drink and even Mamba lowered the television.
“Your daughter?” Cobra choked out.
“Yup, I got a ten-year-old daughter. Crazy as shit I never even knew she existed.” He gulped down the second shot and Rattler quickly refilled his glass.
“Fuck, that’s amazing.” Mamba joined them at the bar, and Rattler shoved a filled shot glass in front of him. “Here’s to Nick’s daughter . . .”
