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And she’d lied to all of us.
To me.
To Kane.
Penelope has suffered the greatest consequences.
Hurricane Alma had been churning for two decades, and the aftermath was devastating.
His expression was haunted as he stared at me. If anyone understood what my sister was capable of, it was Kane. He’d survived this long but appeared as if he were barely hanging on.
“Am I supposed to just agree to be one big happy family now? You didn’t want to have this weekend in the first place. And you expect me to believe you’ve suddenly seen the light?” His voice rose with every word. Anger and hurt and disappointment swirled in them.
“I have a different perspective on you,” I said quietly. “The curtain has been pulled back. I see what I didn’t before.”
“Because you never took the time to see what was right in front of your eyes. To seeme.” He jabbed his finger into his chest.
“I thought I had.” I wanted to look down in shame. I had judged him. While a lot of my assumptions about him had been based on his actions toward me, I had never given him a real chance to reveal himself. I would’ve chastised Penelope for doing the same thing.
“At least we don’t have to figure out a visitation arrangement.”
Thank God for small mercies . . . and massive ones.
“I want the two of you to have a relationship,” I said, realizing that I meant that wholeheartedly.
He lifted a brow. “Twenty-four hours ago you were hell-bent on making sure I never knew I had a daughter.”
I swallowed hard. “I-I was going to tell you. After you made progress on clearing Penelope’s name.”
“You damn sure did have something on Alma, didn’t you?” He turned his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before looking at me again. “The crazy thing is I’d have given her all of it just to have my daughter.”
My chest tightened to the point I couldn’t breathe.
I believed him.
And if I hadn’t fully realized it before, I did now.
Underneath all those exterior layers that drove me insane was a good man. No, a great man.
How was I ever going to convince him I saw who he was?
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
KANE
“Say thank you, Kane.”
I pressed the phone to my ear as I stared out the window of the study.
“It’s after ten, on a Saturday night. I’m not going to thank you for bothering me,” Whitley said. “Although my wife would be happy to give you her own special version of thank you.”
I shuddered. Marlow was . . . not a woman I wanted to piss off. “I’ll pass.”
“Why are you bothering me?”
“I have nothing else to do.” My fingers itched to hold a cold glass of whiskey. But I had a daughter to think about now. And I needed a clear head.
“Zegas, for the love of all that’s holy—”
