Rose (22 page)

M
ax gives
me a look full of love and wariness as he hands me a cup of coffee. He’s probably frightened after last night that I’ll throw it in his face. And I’ll admit that the urge is there, but I love the man, no matter how much I resent him for fucking up my life.
What life? You can’t stand your fake parents, and they certainly have never had any love lost for you. You should give the man a medal for finding you a new mommy.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says softly as he sits beside me on the sofa. “I let Lucian and Lia both know we wouldn’t be in today. I hope that’s all right with you.”

I can tell he expects me to be pissed off at his high-handedness, but I’m actually relieved. I need to work some stuff out in my head before I face my best friend. I love her dearly, but I know she’d handle me with kid gloves and I’m too weary to deal with more sympathy.

“Could you please go over everything that you told me about my parents and the … other woman … from beginning to end? I’d like to attempt to process it again.” He seems surprised by my request, but like the outstanding lawyer he is, he covers each point clearly and concisely and pauses to answer any of my questions before continuing on. By the end, my hand is clutching the coffee mug I’m holding as if it alone can anchor me against the storm. “And you spoke to the woman who gave me away face-to-face?” I can’t call her my mother. Hell, I didn’t even know she existed until a week ago.

“Yes.” He inclines his head. “Both Lucian and I met with her.” He appears to hesitate before saying softly, “You may not want to hear it, but she’s a nice lady. You were both victims of greed and have suffered in your own ways.”

His words enrage me and I struggle to remain in control. “How has she suffered, Max? She’s lived just miles away from me my whole life and didn’t bother to take me back. I spent every day with people who hated me, and now, I know why. They resented the fact that I was the proverbial keeper of the keys. Without me, their money train would have slowed considerably. The same money that paid that woman to give me up!”

Max leans over and pries the mug from my hand before setting it on a nearby table. He then pulls me into his lap and holds me so tight, I have difficulty taking a full breath. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. As much as the Maddens never deserved a gift like you, the last thing I wanted to do was take your family away from you. I know a part of you must hate me, but please know that I love you so much that the thought of losing you is tearing me to shreds. You need time to process, and I’ll take anything you can give me at this point. Just stay and let me help you work through all of this. No decisions have to be made today. Take the time you need to think things through.”

As much as I want to be angry with him, I am also calmed by his presence. When I think logically, he doesn’t deserve my anger. Is he not just the messenger? Did he not love me enough to find out the cause of my disquiet? In some sense, he is like the white knight going after my parents for me. But he went behind my back and it feels as though he thinks of me as a child, and I’m incredibly sick of that. “You’re afraid I’m going to cut if I’m not here for you to watch me, aren’t you?” There’s no judgment in my voice because I have the same fears. How could I not?

“It concerns me, yes,” he answers truthfully. “But regardless, I want you with me. You’re going through a trauma that most can’t even imagine. You need me and I need you, sweetheart.”

And so we spent the morning locked securely in each other’s embrace. Neither of us mentions the situation with my parents during our long walk around the neighborhood before sleeping for a few hours. Max makes shrimp pasta for dinner, and I smile for the first time that day, thinking it’s finally happened. A perfect pasta meal was created after months of trying. The sappy part of me wants to believe it’s a sign that everything will be okay.

I return to his bed again that night without thought or discussion. There are no sexual overtures made. Simply put, it’s about the giving and receiving of comfort. I’m close to drifting off when I say sleepily, “I want to confront my parents tomorrow. I can’t go on with this hanging over my head. I won’t know my next step until that’s done.”

He’s still against me for a moment before sighing. “I told you, baby, whatever you need, I’m here.”

That night I dream again of a girl named Poppy and a frantic woman yelling her name. This time, though, when I wake, I know that person to be my real mother and myself to be the child who has been lost to her for twenty-three years. That time can never be recovered, but can there be something more for the little girl inside me who’s never felt wanted? I felt like a burden my whole life—to my parents, to Jake, and perhaps to Max too. Perhaps that is not a flaw but something that was imprinted on me at birth?

R
ose appears strangely
peaceful as my car pulls into the circular driveway of the Madden estate. I’m tempted to frisk her for firearms as we step out onto the pavement but resist the urge. A part of me had hoped she’d back out of coming today, thinking it might be too soon for an encounter where tensions and emotions are bound to run high. We’re effectively blindsiding her parents. But the other part of me has been in awe of her strength. Instead of being nervous this morning, she’s been resolved.

Things between us are in no way back to normal. She has been courteous and allowed me to hold her when I thought she or I needed it. But there is also resentment there, and I can’t blame her. Many a messenger had probably been shot through the years delivering far better news than what I’d heaped upon the woman I love. She’s correct, though. The healing process cannot begin until she’s faced Hoyt and Celia. I haven’t asked her what she plans to say, and she hasn’t volunteered it. Possibly, she doesn’t even know.

She chose a simple black pencil skirt today but paired it with a bold magenta blouse. I fell in love with her a little more over that simple rebellion against the people who raised her. It’s her silent way of saying she’s not going to back down, no matter how unpleasant it may get.

I have a rare moment of uncertainty as my hand settles on her lower back to lead her up the walkway. Do I hold her hand when we reach the door or will she rebuff me? She takes the decision from me. After pressing the doorbell, she slips her hand into mine and our fingers intertwine. “I love you,” I say in a strangely choked voice just as her father opens the door.

He looks confused for a moment then huffs impatiently. “Since when have you bothered to knock?” He leaves the door ajar and grumbles, “I was attempting to read the paper.” I’d give anything to kick his pompous ass. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge my presence, nor temper his disdain for his daughter in front of a guest.

“I need to speak with you and Mother,” Rose says firmly. I wonder if Hoyt caught the pause in her words before she uttered the word “mother.” I highly doubt it. He’s far too smug to think that she might know something.

Without turning around, he tosses over his shoulder, “Then call back and arrange a time. We both have other obligations and can’t drop them on your little whims.”

He’s almost through the doorway of what appears to be a study of some sort when her voice rises. “I know that I’m not your real daughter. A woman named Daisy gave birth to me and then you forced her to give me up.”

I can almost hear his feet screech to a halt as he freezes in place. He remains facing away for long moments before slowing turning around. “What in the hell are you talking about?” he blusters, but there is little heat behind it. He knows by the confident tone of her voice that she has him.

“Go get your wife now and we’ll meet you in there.” She points at the room that he was in the process of entering before she knocked his world on its axis.

Without a word, he stalks off in another direction and there is nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing as we regroup. “You were magnificent,” I say sincerely, in awe of the strength she’s exhibited so far.

She chokes a laugh out of me as she admits, “I was scared shitless. I was afraid he would hear my knees knocking.” She pulls on our clasped hands, and we walk into a decadently appointed room heavy with the smell of cigars. Wealth seeps from every wall. Rose and I have barely taken a seat on one side of the dark leather sofa when Hoyt returns with his wife in tow. Even this early in the morning, her eyes are glassy, and I’m fairly certain she’s either hungover or has already started on the alcohol today—possibly both.

She pulls the concerned parent card almost immediately. “Rose darling, is everything okay? Your father said the craziest thing. Are you not sleeping again, darling? We can get you some more sleeping pills. You know how you imagine things when your insomnia is acting up.”

I feel Rose draw into herself, and I fear she may lose her nerve. She’s been manipulated for so long that it would be easy to fall back into the ingrained passive pattern of behavior the Maddens have created in her. But again, she surprises me by inhaling sharply and collecting herself. She holds up a hand and effectively cuts off Celia’s sickening diatribe. “Please, just stop. I know everything, and if I should forget any of it, Max can easily fill me in. You’re not my biological parents. You blackmailed the Wheetens and forced their daughter, Daisy, to give me up.” She turns to stare at Hoyt before adding, “Otherwise, your father would have given the majority of the Madden money to charity. I was a means to a financial end, pure and simple.”

It’s Hoyt that then shocks the room. He shrugs indifferently and says, “That’s exactly what you were,
daughter.
” I gasp at the ease with which he confirms my accusation.
Does he have no shame at all?
“
When Celia couldn’t manage to get pregnant, we began looking at other options. The old man would have discounted adoption, so we were forced to get creative. I’ll admit that I was close to giving up when I noticed how plump Daisy Wheeten had become. It was a happy day around here when some of my other staff confirmed that the little whore had gotten herself knocked up. Then when her drunk of a father stole some useless trash from our attic, it all fell into place beautifully.”

“Hoyt, I think that’s enough,” Celia snaps. She gives Rose a look that
almost
appears apologetic. Hoyt’s mouth drops open at the interruption by his wife, but surprisingly, he doesn’t voice an objection. “I was never meant to be anyone’s mother. There were times when I wanted to do right by you; truthfully, there were. But I could never forge the bond to make that happen. In the end, I had to believe that it was because you weren’t of my blood. I talked Hoyt into letting you attend college and live on campus because I thought it was something small I could do for you.” She shrugs as if to say, “that’s all I’ve got,” and then goes to a side table and splashes a liberal amount of amber liquid in a glass.
What the actual fuck? Is this some sick, twisted movie? They have no remorse whatsoever. I can only imagine the internal screaming going on inside Rose’s head. Fuck.

“So I guess that’s it.” Hoyt sneers and points toward the door. “You know the way out, Rose. Make sure you leave your key. Your pretend home here is no longer available to you.”

Rose laughs as she gets to her feet. “I agree. We are finished today. But you’ll hear from me again when I decide what I want to do about the papers you forged with my name.” Celia gasps and Hoyt’s face turns a sickly pale as he stares at the woman before him. “Thank you, Hoyt. Thank you for tossing me out on the street and denying me every financial privilege I had owned. You were so smug in your perceived cleverness thinking I’d come running back to you, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. Without you tossing me away, I would have never found out the truth. How despicable and callous you really are, how vapid and fruitless your lives really are, and how thankful and appreciative I am that I am no longer a part of it or you in any way. Thank you.” It’s as if he’s never seen her before. She pulls a key from her purse and tosses it onto the floor. “I’ll be in touch,” she says ominously. I rise and follow the splendid creature from the room and out of the cold house that couldn’t possibly ever be a home.

We are a few miles away when she suddenly turns in her seat and asks, “Will you take me to the shooting range?”
Oh, fuck.

“Pardon?” I choke out, thinking maybe I heard her wrong.

She gives me a grin full of mischief and says, “It’s the one thing that bastard taught me that I enjoyed. I’d give anything to put a few clips in a target with his name written across it.”

And just like that, I’m hard and a bit terrified. Who am I to judge what another person needs to move on? So I follow her directions, and soon, we arrive at the private club where she holds a membership. She’s obviously well known here, and within moments, she’s holding an impressive handgun. We both put on headphones and goggles. Then I nearly come in my fucking pants when she spreads her legs as far as her skirt will allow and takes up a stance that would make a professional weep. She shoots the first clip before ejecting it and smoothly loading the next one. She repeats the process six times before her arms are limp and her body is spent. I lead her back to the car, fighting the urge to fuck her against the shooting range sign.
So not the time for it, Decker.