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My fiancé waits until his non-sister has flopped onto the edge of her mattress to sincerely state, “I offer my deepest apologies that the test results were not favorable to you.”
Her eyebrows pull together in obvious puzzlement. “What?”
“Obsessing over this…over you…over our parents…it almost ruined my entire life, and I only had to deal with it for a few weeks. I can easily see how having to deal with it for months…alone on top of it all…could drive you insane.”
She barely nods as she crosses her ankles.
“I understand the agony of having more questions than answers. Of having more accusations than those to hold accountable. Of feeling completely alone because the person you had been counting on in your life died before you were truly ready.”
New tears begin to line the rims of her lids.
“I also understand the anger…that…deep seated rage…the one that you swear won’t be sated until someone else…hell, everyone else…is experiencing the same pain that you are.”
“Your life just seemed so fucking perfect.” A single tear falls in tandem with her whispering, “And I hated you for it.”
“My life Monica, has never been perfect.” An almost amused beam is delivered. “Money doesn’t make it perfect. It never has. I learned that from a very early age.”
“Same,” slips free from me.
“You just…you seemed to have this magical, fairy tale life, with the world’s greatest father, who could do no wrong, who had never done anything wrong – according to everything my mother ever said or wrote – and I couldn’t accept that. I wanted him to fall from grace. I couldn’t accept that this man…this perfect man…that the entire world claimed to love…refused to openly be there for both of his children. To keep one a dirty secret. I couldn’t accept that the man my mother claimed to be the most important one to ever be in her life could just…abandon one child over the other for the sake of his legacy.” She slowly shakes her head before defeatedly shrugging. “But he didn’t. Because I was never really his. I was just…there.”
“You meant more to him than you think,” Wes unexpectedly claims. “He paid for all of your education – including college – through a shell corporation hidden so well that I had no idea it even existed until you brought their…affair to my doorstep.”
It’s her turn to look shocked. “He did that?”
“That same shell corporation was also used to fund you both with top dollar medical care and covered the cost of operations and taxes for the ranch you grew up on.”
“I didn’t find any record of that.”
“My father was clever.” An almost admirable expression graces his face. “Resourceful.”
Her jaw lowers a smidge further.
“And I. Am. His. Son.” The proclamation is filled with so much notable pride and adoration that I can’t resist wrapping my arm around his lower back. “Which is why I’m going to have Park arrange a meeting for you with Nedi Fernadez, a highly recommended investigator that specializes in locating and reconnecting separated relatives.”
The wide mouth look remains.
“I’ll cover the costs for you up to a year while you reevaluate your life.” His arm drapes around my shoulder as he continues. “I suggest redirecting your impressive journalism skills to do something perhaps more positively productive behind the camera like highlighting injustices or hidden dangers in certain industries rather than destructive in front of it as you agreed to retire from.” My thumb gently strokes his side in additional support. “I also highly suggest grief counseling or talk therapy to explore some of your unresolved resentment regarding me, my father, and the absence of yours.”
“Why?” Monica brushes away another tear prior to further investigating, “Why are you being so kind to me in spite of what I put you through?” Her gaze latches onto mine. “What I put you both through?”
“Because despite the way you’ve spent your time portraying my fiancé, he’s actually not a monster.” Our grips tighten in tandem. “He’s kind. And generous. And maybe a little overprotective at times but just the right amount at others.”
“I learned those things from my father,” Wes warmly compliments, “and my godfather. They’re the same things I hope my son – or daughter – learns from me.”
Beaming up at him is attached to a loving coo, “They will.”
“I’m sorry,” she abruptly fumbles out, tone still stricken with thick tears. “To both of you.”
“Hurt people, hurt people my psychiatrist often reminds me,” compassionately escapes the man I can’t wait to spend forever with. “And healing people…have the power to help heal people.” An off-kilter grin grows on his face. “I’m choosing to use my power for good, Ms. Simmons. I hope one day you choose to do the same.”
Chapter 25
Wes
“I don’t think that live event unfolded the way anyone foresaw it,” Clark casually claims at the same time he places a dish full of couscous in the middle of their kitchen table. “Self-included.”
“You honestly had no idea that Monica wasn’t his sister?” J.T. investigates from the other side of the table. “Like…none?”
