Cherished (Steel Brothers Saga 17)

“Did he…die?”

“I don’t know yet. He was transferred to the hospital. That’s all I know.”

“You need to call the hospital.”

“I will. I wanted to tell you first.”

My words surprise even me. Not that I have any feelings for my birth father, but telling Ashley something about myself—no big secret, but more than I’ve ever even thought about telling her before now—took precedence.

Her cheeks flush that adorable pink. “You wanted to tell me? Something?”

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“You’re usually such a closed book.”

She has no idea. “I was pretty open last night, I think.”

Her cheeks pink further. “When you said you love me.”

I don’t respond.

“Can I go with you?” she asks.

“Why would you want to?”

“To support the man I love,” she says. “Why do you think?”

Surprisingly, I don’t hate the idea. But…no. I need my father with me. He’s the only one who…

Who understands.

Except maybe he doesn’t. I still don’t know any details of what befell him. And it occurs to me.

Never once has Ashley mentioned her father.

Perhaps she’s the one who will understand better than my father, who knew his father.

Do I dare ask?

“Ashley…”

“I won’t get in the way,” she promises. “I just don’t… I don’t want you to be alone, is all.”

I draw in a breath. “Ashley, you’ve talked about your mother. Tell me about your father.”

She bites her lower lip.

“Ashley…”

“I don’t talk about him.”

“I understand. But if you want to go with me, I need to know if…” I shake my head. “Oh, hell. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“You’re right,” she says. “My father doesn’t matter at all.”

Her countenance is…different. Her usual vibrancy has taken a vacation. I want to press her, but how can I? Knowledge of my birth father notwithstanding, I’ve shared so little of who I truly am with this woman. For her own good as well as mine.

“You may come with me if you’d like,” I say, surprising even myself.

More of a surprise is that I actually want her there. By my side. I have no emotional attachment to Floyd Jolly, but he’s still a part of me. A physical part of me the way Talon Steel isn’t.

She smiles, her vibrancy returning. “I’ll go to the house and shower. When do you want to leave?”

“In an hour, if possible.”

“Sure. No problem.” She stands and drains the last of her juice from her cup. “I’ll be back before then. You should call your brother.” She gives me a quick kiss and then runs out the back door and up the pathway.

She’s right. I need to call Donny. And I need to call Dad. But first, the hospital.

To find out whether my father is dead or alive.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ashley

I sprint—even wearing sandals—to the main house.

I shouldn’t feel so jubilant, given that a man has had a heart attack and is in the hospital, but if this is the catalyst that can bring Dale and me closer, I can’t help feeling pretty good.

Laced with the joy, though, is the fact that I didn’t answer his question about my own father.

Not that I owe him any explanation. He’s pretty closed off himself. But he did ask, and I didn’t answer.

I try not to think about my conception. In fact, until a few weeks ago, I thought my father had died when I was young.

Which isn’t wrong. He did die when I was young. When I was two, to be exact.

My father died in prison.

But that’s not the story my mother originally told me. I heard a story about how he died in a car accident, leaving us destitute, and several years later, we ended up on the streets.

It was a big fat lie, but when I learned the truth, I understood why my mother told it.

Recently, she sat me down and told me I had a right to know where I came from, and I’m still numb about the truth.

I haven’t let myself think about it. Until now.

Dale asked about my father, and the truth is—

My father was a rapist.

A serial rapist.

I’m a product of a rape.

Think about it tomorrow.

My mantra when it comes to unpleasantness, but I have to face it. Dale asked me about my father, and I owe him the truth.

My mother was right to tell me, but it’s not something I want to talk about.

To anyone.

Especially not the man I love.

I don’t want him to see me as tainted in any way.

Not that I feel tainted. I’m the same person I always was. I know that, and I truly feel that inside. My mother may not have been able to give me much, but she gave me enough love for two parents. And she may think I have my head in the clouds for chasing a career in something as bourgeois as wine, but still she loves me and always will.

I reach the main house.

“Done,” I say aloud.