it to buy meth.” I look up at him.
His face is unreadable, and he’s not saying anything, but he’s doing it—looking me over.
“Look, you and Frank are the only ones who know. Tony—whatever he went by then—never mentioned it. Wasn’t until I saw Truth at the shop that Frank put two and two together. He told me the story Mom had told him about that piece of shit.”
I look back up at him. “It’s hard enough being the kid who’s been alone since sixteen, so I’d really like to ask a fucking favor.” I laugh at how stupid it sounds knowing his kid is in my bed.
He doesn’t say anything, so I just throw it out there, hoping maybe he’ll show me some grace. “I only have a couple months here, and I really don’t want people talking shit about me or trying to ruin my chance at becoming someone good, doing something good, even though I was born in this situation.”
He finally speaks, and it’s the most up-front question, too. “Why were you still sending him money after you knew who he was?”
“Kept saying he was gonna come here, wanted to meet his boy. I thought if I threw him a bone, he’d stay away. Never gave him enough for bus fare at one time. Played the game to shut a fucking door that should have never been opened. But Gabrielle thought maybe I had someone out there who gave a fuck. Never told her. I prefer she doesn’t know.”
I look up to see his head is hung low.
“My birth certificate says father unknown. Once I get to Columbia, I’m not looking back.”
“Your home is here.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not coming back.”
Fighting fucking tears again, I look toward the ocean. “I care about her. A fucking lot. So, I’m going to ask you another favor. Keep her the fuck away from me. If it takes telling her who I am, then do it. Just keep her away.”
I stand up, pull my keys from my pocket, and then toss the spare to him. “She’s in my room. Get her out of here.”
“You and she didn’t …?” He stops himself.
“Do you think I would take that from her, knowing what I know? Knowing my father beat her mother up and tried to sell her … fucking innocence? I may be from shit, sir, but even I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror if I did that, knowing what I know.”
I start to walk away, and he calls after me, “Tobias!”
“Just get her the fuck out of here!”
“Dad?” I hear Truth and start running. “Oh my God, what did you do to him, Dad! What did you do!”
“Come on, little bird; let’s get you home.”
“He didn’t do anything! He didn’t even try! I did, though, and …”
I outrun her voice, and then I fucking lose my mind.
Chapter Twenty Four
Cyrus
“How are you doing?” Tara asks from over her shoulder as I walk in on her rearranging shit on her dressing table before she turns around and looks at me with eyes that I know will see through my shit if I spew it.
Normally, I can hide shit, avoid conversations, micromanage situations, have little conversations about shit that might get heavy before it does with the kids, taking every fucking precaution I can to ensure that they don’t get weighed down by anything they don’t need to be weighed down with.
Sounds like a lot of stress, but it’s a fucking walk in the park compared to days passed, and nothing, not one fucking thing has come up that I couldn’t handle, knowing that I have this woman, who I love, who loves me, and makes me a better man.
“Come here, Birdie,” I say, sprawling out on our bed and patting my lap.
She smiles and floats over. Yeah, my birdie doesn’t walk; she either flies or floats.
Straddling my lap, crawling her fingers up my abs, outlining every fucking piece of art, she then bends down and kisses the kids’ names.
“On a scale of one to five, how bad is whatever you’re hiding from me?” She looks up, green eyes soft and the tiny little worry lines around her eyes crease a bit more.
I sigh and roll her over onto her back, spread her legs with my knees, and press my forehead against hers. “That all depends on how we deal with it, yeah?”
“But not a five, right?”
I shake my head and rub my nose across hers.
“Is she still not talking to you?” she