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Another mouthful burns its way across my tongue in an attempt to summon solace.
This bastard was far from the upstanding man I looked up to.
What kind of real man goes to the lengths he did to keep this a secret?
To create coverups?
Destroy evidence?
Finnegan, the P.I. Park hired, worked every person possible in that dusty watermelon town, even threatened to have official’s badges and attorney’s disbarred, yet no one would talk.
No one would hand anything over.
Even the fucking town’s public records had been tampered with.
It’s as if the only proof my father and Will Cox were even the same person was the one woman who knew it to be true.
The woman he would eventually knock up.
Have a secret child with.
Abandon, but keep in a comfortable living situation literally until her death.
Something funneled through our company – my fucking company – without my knowledge!
I thought I knew everything we touched.
Handled.
Considered.
All the fine print and the fine print’s fine print and the loopholes.
I didn’t.
I don’t.
And not knowing…knowing he’s the reason for my not knowing…only makes me hate him more.
Which is impressive given how much I hope he’s rotting in hell now.
One final gulp empties the glass and convinces me to visually scour the cluttered room for reinforcements. Despite my somewhat blurry gaze, I do my best to find the tiniest glimmer of hope I haven’t run out of alcohol again.
I’m told our household supply is low; however, I know that’s a lie.
Because that’s what everyone does.
Especially around here.
They lie.
And keep lies.
And create more fucking lies.
Rising to my feet to conduct a more hands on search is not only a terrible call, it’s one that leads to me stumbling into the edge of the desk, knocking all the air out of me. My backward movements have me thumping into the nearest wall and that collision causes me to veer to the side to experience another with the door, ultimately resulting in me cascading to the ground where I sprawl myself out on my stomach.
Mmmm.
