“I know.” I leaned away and looked up at my son. A beautiful baby boy with blond hair like mine.
And like his father’s.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KNOX
It was noon by the time we made it home from the hotel.
I’d called and asked Roxanne to cover for me again. So while we’d waited for her to come in, I’d busted out some prep work as Memphis and Drake had waited in my office.
The drive home had felt too long, just like the hours before. All I wanted to do was find out what the hell had happened with Memphis’s parents, but when we finally walked through the door at home, Drake started crying.
“He missed his morning nap.” Memphis propped him on one hip while she mixed a bottle with the other. Then she took him to the chair, settling him on her lap.
“Are you hungry?” I asked her.
“Not really.”
Yeah, I wasn’t either. My stomach had been in a knot since she’d walked into the kitchen with tears in her eyes. So I went to the couch and sat on its edge, propping my elbows on my knees. Waiting.
Drake finished his bottle in no time and then as Memphis held him, he quickly drifted off to sleep.
“Want me to take him and put him in the crib?” I asked.
“No, I’ll just hold him.” She looked down at her son and traced her fingers along his forehead, brushing the wisps of hair out of his face. “Some days it feels like he’s all I have.”
“Not anymore.”
Memphis looked up and there were those tears again.
Seeing them hurt every goddamn time. “I told you my dad was angry when I refused to tell him about Drake’s father.”
I nodded. “You did.”
“He’s not used to being denied. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually heard anyone tell him no. So his ego is . . .”
“I get it.” I’d worked for chefs like that early on in my career. They’d get spun up about something trivial and go ballistic, simply because their arrogance made it so.
“When I refused to tell Dad, he pressed and pressed. The more he demanded answers, the less I spoke. It’s ironic because in the thick of it, he called me stubborn. I guess I learned it from him.”
“He’s an ass, Memphis.”
“Pretty much.” She sighed. “He could have just respected my wishes. I’d still be in New York if he had trusted me. If he had listened when I said I had my reasons for keeping the secret. Instead, we got into a huge fight and well . . . you know the rest.”
The rest meaning she’d fled home, moving across the country alone with an infant. Because Victor Ward couldn’t control his daughter.
Memphis glanced at Drake once more, her eyes softening.
“Drake’s father isn’t a good man.”
I sat straight. “Did he hurt you?”
“Only my heart,” she whispered.
And for that, I’d hate the bastard for the rest of my days.
“Drake’s father is a man named Oliver MacKay.” She met my gaze as her shoulders slumped. “No one but you has ever heard that sentence.”
“No one?” Not even her mother? Or a friend?
“Just you.” She swallowed hard. “And I know you won’t, but I have to say it anyway. Please, never tell a soul. No one can know.”
No one could know? “Why? You’re scaring me, Memphis.
If you’re in danger—”
“I’m not. Oliver wants nothing to do with me just as much as I want nothing to do with him.”
“Then why is this a secret?”
She dropped her chin. “Because his wife is the daughter of an Italian mafia boss.”
If my brain could have exploded, it would have. What.
The. Fuck?
The room went still. The light outside seemed to dim, like the sun was covered in a cloud. And Memphis sat perfectly still, her confession ringing in the air as she clutched her baby boy.
“I don’t . . .” I dragged a hand over my beard, scrambling for something to say.
Fuck. The mob? I didn’t know a damn thing about the mafia other than what I’d seen in movies and television.
Hollywood embellished, but I was sure there was a thread of truth.
“Is that why you moved here?” I asked. “To escape the city?”
“No. I could have stayed, rented an apartment and found a job in New York, but the city had lost its appeal. Mostly because of my family. Putting thousands of miles between me and Oliver was just a bonus. I moved here because Montana sounded like a dream. I wanted Drake to have space to breathe. To roam and play. A home where the Ward name meant nothing and no one would attempt to control his life by holding a trust fund over his head.”