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“We’ll have to look,” I called back. I swung my legs off the bed, but paused when my feet hit the floor. Should I give them this time together alone?
I didn’t know.
For the first time in two decades, I didn’t know my place in my family.
“Daddy, what do I do?” I whispered.
I waited for an answer, though it never came.
CHAPTERTEN
KANE
“That’s a bowl of slop.Not . . . what did you call it?”
I winced as Penelope put a bowl of something in front of me. Blueberries. I recognized that at least.
“Açai.” She dragged out the word as if I were a toddler learning to speak. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
“You should try bacon. You’d like it.”
I stopped short of holding my nose as I lifted the spoon to my mouth.
Penelope watched me, though I wasn’t sure if it was to gauge my reaction or make sure I actually tried it.
I sucked in whatever it was on the spoon and swallowed.
When I didn’t say anything, Penelope craned her neck. “Well?”
Her expression was so hopeful, it tugged at something in me.
“It’s not bad.” I forced another bite in my mouth for emphasis.
“You’re a terrible liar.” She dug into her own bowl.
It really wasn’t bad, but I certainly didn’t want her thinking I liked this stuff or I’d be forced to eat more weird things. Whatever happened to eggs and bacon?
JoJo slipped into the kitchen and poured hot water into a mug. She looked uncertain as she took in Penelope and me at the table. Even though she clearly hadn’t slept well, she was still beautiful.
I hated that I noticed.
I hated that the hard edge of my anger toward her had softened the slightest fraction. I might be a terrible liar, but she was the queen.
It was inconceivable she’d believed me capable of physical or mental harm to Alma or my child. Though part of me knew damn well Alma could convince anybody of anything.
I shoved another spoonful in my mouth and looked at my daughter. I still couldn’t get used to the idea, yet it had settled far more easily than I would’ve anticipated. With every passing moment I grew more comfortable—and uncomfortable all at the same time—with the role.
But my instinct screamed at me not to taint this young lady with the other truth she’d yet to discover.
Alma could crush her.
I’d defended criminals. Liars. Just because I didn’t want to know the truth from my clients oftentimes didn’t make me any less complicit.
My father hardly anything to do with me because of my career choice.
Maybe I was a professional liar by trade.
But I didn’t do it in my personal life. I didn’t knowingly do it in the courtroom.
