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“That’s part of it,” I said honestly.
Her brows knit.
The answer wasn’t satisfying, but I still couldn’t find the right words to explain. I wasn’t sure there was an explanation. I didn’t know where to start.
“Does Aunt Alma know?”
She thinks I slept with Alma’s husband.What a mess.
Penelope and I were standing at a crossroads, but I was the one with the choice of which path we’d take.
I’d vowed not to lie to my daughter, except about the identity of her father.
And for the first time in her life, I wanted to lie.
I brushed the errant tears from under her eyes. And my already broken heart fractured again.
Penelope would never look at me the same after what I’d already revealed. I just prayed she’d even look at me at all when it was said and done.
“Yes. Alma knows.”
CHAPTERTHREE
KANE
Whiskey sloshedas I poured it into a glass.
Daughter.
Suddenly that was the only word in my vocabulary.
How could one word be powerful enough to crumble an entire foundation?
I slugged back half the contents of the tumbler and refilled it to the brim. Wind swirled through the open front and back doors like a vacuum. Paintings rattled on the walls. Old magazines fluttered on the coffee table.
And as I looked out into the blackness of the night sky, that same word throbbed in my skull.
Daughter.
Daughter.
Daughter.
Was she okay? Did she need me?
I sniffed bitterly. Who did I think I was? I’d been a dad for less than half an hour. That didn’t exactly qualify me for father of the year.
That anger crashed over me like a wave.
Why would JoJo lie to her own daughter? Hurt her? She’d betrayed both of us.
And now it made perfect sense why she’d stayed away from New York for so long.
I’d been wrong. And it wasn’t even that hard to admit.
JoJo was the worst of the Cunningham women. She made Alma look like a saint.
I rubbed my temples.
