Page 52 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Feeling like an observer out of my body, I walk toward him, my insides vibrating with a slew of emotions I can’t name. When I reach him, I fist my hands.

“Lennon.” That’s it. That’s all he says.

My eyes burn, like I’m sad and I miss this asshole. The absolute last thing I want to feel. Forcing a harsh swallow, I slide into the bench seat.

He sits too, neither of us holding eye contact for long. My attention keeps snagging on his too-dark hair and the stains at his scalp, like he dyed it recently. The urge to grab a cloth strikes. The vicious need to rub his scalp until I see the gray.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat. “For coming. It means a lot.”

“Sure.” I drum my fingers on the table, my attention hopping around the diner. A few patrons sit at the counter reading newspapers. Half of the booths are occupied by eating and chatting family or friends. We no longer classify as either.

A server comes by and asks what we want. An escape hatch. “Just water for me.”

The Life Wrecker asks for a refill on his coffee.

When she leaves, I resume looking anywhere but at my father.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice stronger this time. I whip my attention to him. “I never told you I’m sorry, but I am.”

“What exactly are you sorry for?”

“For putting all of you at risk. For making a string of bad decisions. When you read the book, you’ll understand more, but I wanted to tell you to your face. Shame is the reason I never explained back then or apologized, but I want to explain now.”

I have nothing for this man. No words of encouragement or anger or compassion. I don’t understand what he wants. Why I’m here. All I manage is a stiff nod.

He leans his elbows on the table, slumping forward. “When you kids were young, I did some creative accounting for a longtime client. Nothing drastic, just used some loopholes for her gain. It wasn’t a big deal. Accountants do it all the time, but I also…”

He glances down, scrubs a hand over his mouth. “I also had an affair with her. Short-lived and meaningless, but I did it. Turned out the client was tied to the cartel, and they’d been tailing me. They used the transgression against me, demanded I work for them or they’d tell your mother what I did. I couldn’t risk losing her or you kids, so I did it. Laundered money and got in deeper until I knew too much. They made it clear if I tried to quit or leave town, you’d all be in danger. So I was basically a prisoner, until the FBI got to me and showed me a way out for all of us.”

For all of us. As if we ever had a choice in the matter.

After Dad left, many of our early Bower meetings revolved around the why of his betrayal. Why did he launder money? Why would he risk our lives? Mom said she had no clue about his motives, which means my mother is reading about his affair now, learning about it for the first time on the pages of his salacious tell-all, and I want to punch my father’s face. Break bone. Draw blood. Explode like Desmond used to in a mess of growls and broken glass.

Alas, I’m me. I opt for a hard stare. “Am I supposed to feel bad for you?”

“No, no. This isn’t about that. I never told any of you or your mother what I did, out of disgust for myself. I didn’t want to see the hurt and disappointment on your faces, so I just kept digging myself deeper. I took your anger and hatred as my sentence, didn’t want to offer excuses. If any of you asked me why I worked for the cartel, I refused to explain that I was protecting you. That’s not how it started, but that’s why it continued. I didn’t think I deserved your forgiveness.”

E told me about a conversation they once had—E lashing out, demanding to know why Dad risked our lives to work for a cartel. The Life Wrecker said, “I had an opportunity and I took it.”

If that was his way of punishing himself, he sure didn’t consider how his cavalier comment sucker-punched his kids.

“So, what is all this? This meeting we just had to have? You think you deserve our forgiveness now?”

“Of course not. I know we’re beyond that. I’ve been seeing a therapist recently, realized I need to own my truth. I’m here to face what I should’ve faced a long time ago. I wanted you to hear the truth from me, before you read it. I also wanted to give you this.”

He slides a folded paper across the table, but I don’t touch it. My jaw aches from the pressure of clamping my molars. My heart hurts for my mother and my family and all we’re still going through.

I flick my fingers at the page. “What the fuck is this?”

“Read it and you’ll see.”

Wanting to get this over with and get out of here, I open the page and scan the writing. Details for some bank account. “I don’t understand.”

“I opened the account in your name. That’s why I needed time before meeting you. Organizing the account with my old name wasn’t easy, but it’s done. It’s just waiting for your signature. It holds the advance money for my book, the foreign deals, and any royalties I eventually earn. It will all be deposited there. The money is for the family. All of you. I know it doesn’t undo the past, but it’s all I have.”

All he has? All he fucking has? “So…what? You’re trying to buy us off with your drug money? Beg for forgiveness with cash?”

Maybe this is his way of worming into his grandson’s life after all, getting to Max through money since he clearly doesn’t have a heart. There’s no fucking way in hell I’d touch a drop of this dirty money.