Xander took a deep breath. “Right after you worked for my grandfather?”
Isaiah seemed to steel himself at the mention of Tobias Hawthorne. “The entire time I worked for Hawthorne, competitors tried to steal me away.
Each time, your grandfather would sweeten my contract. I was twenty-two, a prodigy, on the top of the world—and then I wasn’t.” Isaiah popped the hood of the car. “After Hawthorne fired me, the offers dried up pretty damn quick. I went from young, rash, and flying high with a mid-six-figure salary to untouchable overnight.”
“Because of Skye,” Xander bit out.
Isaiah looked up from the engine to pin Xander with a look. “I made my own decisions where your mother was concerned, Xander.”
“And the old man punished you for them,” Xander replied, like a kid pushing on a bruise to see how much it hurt.
“It wasn’t a punishment.” Isaiah returned his attention to the car. “It was strategy. I was a twenty-two-year-old who’d been so flush with cash that I’d never imagined it would stop coming. I’d blown through most of what I’d made, so once I was fired and blacklisted, I conveniently didn’t have the resources to put up much of a fight for custody.”
It wasn’t about Skye. I realized with a start what Isaiah Alexander was saying. Tobias Hawthorne fired Isaiah because of Xander. Not because the old man had been unhappy about his youngest grandson’s conception but because he’d refused to share him.
“So you just gave up on your son?” Rebecca asked Isaiah sharply. She wasn’t a person who knew how to fight for herself, but she’d fight for Xander every time.
“I managed to scrape together enough for a third-rate lawyer to file suit when Xander was born. The court ordered a paternity test. But wouldn’t you know, it came back negative.”
So said the man with Xander’s eyes. Xander’s smile. The man who heard the word “flowchart” and asked if Xander built them in three dimensions.
“Skye named me Alexander.” Xander wasn’t, by nature, a quiet person, but his voice was barely audible now. “They faked the DNA test.”
“I couldn’t prove it,” Isaiah told him. “I couldn’t get near you.” He tweaked something, then slammed the hood of the car. “And I couldn’t get a job. Enter Vincent Blake.”
“I don’t want to talk about Vincent Blake,” Xander said with enough intensity that I half expected him to start yelling. Instead, his voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re saying that you wanted me?”
I thought about how badly I’d wanted Toby to be my father instead of Ricky Grambs, about Rebecca growing up invisible and Eve moving out the day she turned eighteen. I thought about Libby, whose mother had taught her she deserved a partner that degraded and controlled her, about Jameson’s hunger and Grayson’s punishing perfection, both of them competing for approval that was always just out of reach.
I thought about Xander and how scared he’d been to come here.
You’re saying that you wanted me? The question echoed all around us.
Isaiah responded: “Still do.”
Xander bolted. One second, he was there, and the next, he was out the door.
“We’ll go after him,” Rebecca told me, taking Thea with her. “You ask whatever you need to, Avery, because Xander can’t. He shouldn’t have to.”
The door slammed behind Rebecca and Thea, and I looked up at Isaiah Alexander. Your son is amazing, I thought. You can’t ever hurt him. But I forced myself to focus on the reason we’d come here and the questions Xander couldn’t ask. “So after you were fired and blacklisted, Vincent Blake just came out of nowhere and offered you a job?”