The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,27
Cat’s secrets, wherever they were, weren’t anywhere obvious.
The good thing about Sparrow was that she thought like a criminal. Maybe because she married one. So instead of asking nagging questions, she said, “Check the nightstand drawers or the little nooks in her closet. That’s where women usually stash their secrets.”
“Done, and also duly noted. Nothing.”
“Ripped the carpets and floor up?”
“Every inch of them,” I answered, flicking books off the shelf by her bedroom window. All four of them. “Any other ideas?”
“Are there any pictures hanging there?”
I looked around, about to say no, when I found one.
Cat always had one picture hanging up everywhere she lived.
It was in the bathroom, of all places. A lone sole picture of Troy Brennan, my adoptive father and Cat’s ex. Catalina Greystone had never gotten over Troy Brennan, and I couldn’t blame her. No one else could measure up to the man so feared and loved his name was whispered on the streets of Boston.
“One,” I said distractedly, refraining from adding who was in the picture.
“Rip it. It’ll be behind it,” Sparrow said with conviction.
“This is why I don’t trust women.”
“That’s okay. We don’t trust men right back. Oh and, Sam?” she asked before I hung up.
Here we go.
“Mmm?” I casually flicked the picture to the floor. Sure enough, there was a square-shaped hole in the wall behind it. Just big enough for me to shove my hand into.
“I’m sorry for your loss. And I know you don’t see it as a loss, I do, but I cannot find joy in knowing the woman who created you has passed away. Because at the end of the day—she gave me you. And I love you so very much, son.”
An unpleasant shudder ran through me. Sparrow wasn’t the emotional type, but she sure as shit had her biannual little speeches that made me want to vomit.
I hung up and pulled the shoebox Cat had stashed inside that hole, ripping it open.
The ice around my frozen heart cracked, just an inch.
Letters.
Two hours after finding the letters, I was still sitting on the floor, looking like Gulliver in a Barbie house—the junkie, whore edition—reading through them again and again and a-motherfucking-gain, digesting what I’d just learned.
Apparently, Catalina made Mrs. Masterson promise she’d make sure I’d find these letters, and she had a damn good reason for it.
My estranged mother wanted me to know her life story. At least a part of it. Question was—why?
Even as I read the letters for the hundredth time, I still couldn’t figure out if she wanted sympathy, revenge, or to give an explanation for her behavior.
All twenty-three letters were addressed to Gerald Fitzpatrick, then CEO of the oil company Royal Pipelines and the man I currently worked for on retainer as a fixer.
Coincidentally, he was also the father of Hunter Fitzpatrick, my sister Sailor’s husband, and Aisling Fitzpatrick, the woman I had fucked hours ago. I could still feel her sweet warmth wrapped around my cock whenever I thought about it. I pushed the memory away bitterly.
What I’d read in those letters changed the entire course of my life.
My dearest Gerald,
Thank you for bringing new hope into my life. For making me see that there is more than what I was left with after Brock passed away.
The word ‘mistress’ rings licentious and cheap, doesn’t it? It doesn’t do justice to what I am to you, my dear. To how I feel about you.
I know you’ll never leave Jane for me. I’m not stupid. I’ve learned to live with the burden of being the other woman. All I ask is for a part of your heart. It could be small. A fraction of what you gave to her.
Could you offer me a chunk of that organ that beats inside your chest?
Thank you for inspiring me to become a better person, a better mother, a better lover.
Yours forever,
—Cat.
My dearest Gerald,
We are having a baby! Can you believe it? I sure can’t.
I’m so excited. I know it wasn’t in your plan. Trust me when I say it wasn’t in mine, either. Not when Sam is practically a little boy. A pre-teen. Look, Gerald, I know you and I haven’t been together for very long, and here I thought the diaper-changing days were behind me, but I really think it’s a sign. I guess life has its way of showing us our paths.
I included our pregnancy test. Would you like to come with me to my first OB-GYN appointment? No pressure, but I would love that.