Chapter 74 (1/2)

“I want you to be a part of the baby’s life, Hardin. I think this could be a really good thing for all of us.”

“Us?” I scoff.

“Yes, all of us. You’re a part of this family. When I married Karen and took on the role of Landon’s father, I know you felt like I was forgetting about you, and I don’t want you to feel this way because of the baby.”

“Forgetting me? You forgot about me long before you married Karen.” But I don’t get the same thrill out of throwing shit into his face now that I know the truth about his past with my mum and Christian. I feel for him and the shit those two pulled, but at the same time I’m fucking pissed at him for being such a shitty father up until this last year. Even if he wasn’t my biological dad, he was in charge of taking care of us—he accepted that role and then just gave it up to drink.

So I can’t help myself. I should, but the anger is buzzing in me, and I need to know. I have to know why he would attempt to make amends with me if he isn’t completely positive that he’s my father.

“When did you know that my mum was fucking Vance behind your back?” I ask, releasing the words like a grenade.

All the air leaves the room, and Ken looks as if he will pass out any second.

“How . . .” He stops and rubs a hand across the stubble on his chin. “Who told you that?”

“Cut the shit. I know all about them. That’s what happened in London. I caught them together. He had her on the kitchen counter.”

“Oh God,” he says, his voice strangled and his chest heaving. “Before or after the wedding?”

“Before, but she still got married anyway. Why did you stay with her if you knew she wanted him?”

He takes a few breaths and looks around the room. Then he shrugs. “I loved her.” He looks me in the eyes, naked honesty seeming to remove any distance between us. “I don’t have a reason aside from that. I loved her, and I loved you, and I kept hoping that one day she would stop loving him. That day never came . . . and it was eating me alive. I knew what she was doing and what he—my best friend—was doing, but I had so much hope for us, and I thought she would eventually choose me.”

“She didn’t,” I note. She may have chosen to marry him and spend her life with him, but she didn’t choose him in any way that mattered.

“Clearly. And I should have given up long before I turned to alcohol.” The shame in his eyes is humbling.