Handle With Care (Shacking Up 5)

She puts a hand on my thigh. I wish I could feel the contact, but my whole body seems to be numb. “I don’t know, Lincoln, but there must’ve been a reason.”

“I have an address and a phone number for Jacqueline. Her daughter’s name is Hope,” Dani offers.

“Hope.” I press my palms against my eyes, trying to absorb this new reality. “I thought the sex room was bad. This is a whole different level of messed up.” I look at the pictures again, trying to unsee the similarities between Hope and me, but I can’t. We are very much related.

“I’m going to give you two some privacy.” Dani pushes up off the couch and rounds the coffee table. “Wren, let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, Dani.” Wren leans in and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “What to do want to do, Linc?”

“I want some answers. I want to see with my own eyes that this is real.” He motions to the spread of pictures.

“Do you want to take a trip to Jersey to see if we can get some of those answers?”

“Yeah. Okay. That sounds good.” I don’t actually know if it sounds like a good idea at all, but I need to do something other than sift through this pile of information with no history to tie it to. At least not one that I can understand.

“Why don’t we go back to your place and get Griffin’s SUV?” Wren says softly.

I push up off the couch, my body feeling like it’s disconnected from my brain. I don’t track anything during the cab ride back to the penthouse. Wren grabs the keys for the SUV, and then I’m in the passenger seat, staring out the window as we head toward Jersey.

She gives my hand a squeeze when we’re stopped at a light. “We’re going to deal with this together, Linc. You’re not alone.”

I turn to face her, those gorgeous gray eyes ringed in navy, so serious and stoic, meet mine. “Why does no one in my family seem to work on any normal plane of existence where they’re culpable for their actions? I don’t get it. How could my dad keep this whole other life a secret? Why lead it? Why would someone willingly be the other woman? I get that Gwendolyn isn’t a good person, but why not leave, then? Why would she be okay with this?”

“I don’t know, Linc, but hopefully we’ll get some answers to those questions.”

She adjusts my collar before the light turns green. I’ve come to realize it’s more of an excuse to touch me than anything else. “We can just pass by the house. If there’s a car in the driveway and you feel up to it, you can see if she’s home. No matter what happens, I’m right here with you.”

It takes almost an hour and a half to get to Jersey, thanks to all the stupid weekend traffic. The house isn’t anything grand, not like my parents’ penthouse in the city or the house in the Hamptons. However modest, it’s a beautiful home, and something I can appreciate. I wonder if this is the life my father saw for himself, but never had. Or maybe he did have it, and that’s why he was never part of mine.

There’s a Lexus sedan in the driveway; it looks to be a fairly new model, maybe only a year or two old. The front garden is neatly tended. Everything looks well maintained and pristine.

I grip the door handle, my stomach somersaulting, mind racing. “What do I do? Knock and see if she’ll answer? I don’t know what protocol is here? Do I call first?”

Wren runs her nails softly down the back of my neck, an action meant to calm me. “I don’t think there is a protocol, so whatever you think is going to be best for you is what you should do. But I do think you might want to keep in mind that based on the little we know, there was obviously a relationship here, and that your father’s death could be a significant loss. Let’s not go in guns blazing, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah. Don’t be a jerk, then?”

Wren nods. “Exactly.”

I take a deep breath. “You’ll come with me?”

“Of course.” Wren cuts the engine.

It’s warm today, and my palms are damp as I step out of the SUV. I wipe them on my thighs and reach for Wren’s hand as we cross the quiet street and walk up the driveway. Jacqueline might not be home. She could have two cars. She could be out shopping, or with her daughter. My sister.

I take a few deep breaths before I press the doorbell. A dog barks and the patter of nails across tile grows louder.

“Toby, sit!” The woman’s voice gets louder with the click of the lock. The door opens a second later, and the woman from the pictures appears.