Chapter Eight
As usual, William Connelly looked completely calm and pleased with himself. Cassidy could barely bring herself to pour him coffee as he perched on a stool at the counter. Ever since she’d called the bank to find out why her automatic withdrawal hadn’t come out of her account—it would have been a lot more satisfying to dump the coffee pot on his lap and see how smug he was with that to deal with.
There were two tables of people still finishing breakfast, so she tried to keep her voice low as she hissed at him, “You paid the hospital bill?”
He blinked, then nodded. “I should have told you. I meant to—I just didn’t realize you’d find out so quickly.”
That was all? He thought the problem was with the timing of his notification? “You should have minded your own business!” She saw a couple heads turn toward them and forced herself to lower her voice. “That was my bill. My responsibility. I had a payment plan.”
He was still frustratingly calm. “It was your sister’s bill, not yours. I’m not sure why you’d have to take responsibility for it when it’s so much easier for me to take care of it. And your payment plan was either going to drive you into bankruptcy or keep you deep in debt for over a decade. That’s not a plan. It’s a disaster.”
“Who do you think you are, coming in here and taking over?” She shook her head and stopped worrying about who overheard what. “You have money? Big deal. I looked it up. You were born with money. You think you’re impressive because you were able to use the money you were born with to make more money? You think you know anything about my life or my disaster just because you can hire snotty lawyers and pay a few bills?”
“Okay, ‘disaster’ was the wrong word—” he started, but she didn’t want to argue about a stupid word choice. This was much bigger.
“I let you do one thing, pay for one stupid roof repair, and now it’s all out of control! We’re living in your house, and you’re paying my bills without even asking. You couldn’t be bothered to even check whether it was okay? You can’t buy your daughter, you know. And you sure as hell can’t buy me!”
“Give me a break. I’m trying to help you out, not buy you. And remember that this isn’t really about you anyway. It’s about my daughter, the one nobody bothered to tell me about for thirteen years.” His eyes were a bit narrower, now, and it felt good to know he was getting angry. They’d been getting too close, too easy with each other, and it had made her careless. But if the two of them were angry, she’d be able to use it to keep herself sharp.
“I came by to tell you I was going to the city,” he said now, the words level but falling like weights onto her shoulders. “And while I’m there? I’m going to be doing a hell of a lot of other things to help my daughter. I’ve got people setting up a trust fund and rewriting my will and taking care of medical insurance. And I’m going to be talking to child psychologists and education experts and whoever else I want, and when I’ve heard what’s best for Emily, I’m going to make it happen. So brace yourself for more changes.”
Her fear made her even more aggressive. “You honestly think a bunch of strangers in New York are going to tell you what’s best for a girl they’ve never even met? You’re deluded. You know nothing about being a father, and nothing about Emily!”
“I know education is important. I’ve seen the SAT scores from the local high school, and they’re a disgrace. And I know it’s my job as a father to make sure she gets the education she deserves.” He leaned a little closer, dropping his voice so the others in the diner wouldn’t hear him. “And I know that time with parents is important. Quality time, not doing her homework in a booth while her aunt tries to keep a restaurant running and stresses about bills she can’t pay. So I’ve done something about the bills part of that. I’m planning to do more—”
“What more?” Cassidy demanded. “You want her to move away from here, to go to school, let me guess, in the city? And you think you’re going to be giving her more quality parenting time than I am? You’re not her parent! You’re a sperm donor and a curiosity, not a parent.” She was out of control now, she knew. All the stress of the last few days, the last few months, was roaring out of her. She should stop, but she didn’t want to. “You didn’t change her diapers or clean her when she puked all over herself, you didn’t comfort her when she was bullied at school, you didn’t hold her while she sobbed when her mother died. You’ve never told her no, and you probably think you never will! You’ll just buy everything for her, buy her a fantasy world instead of letting her learn to live in reality. You think it’s bad parenting because a kid does her homework in a booth instead of a mansion? No. You don’t know shit about parenting, so you’re in no place to judge mine!”
“I wasn’t part of all that because your sister didn’t let me be part of it. And I’m not judging your parenting. I think you’ve done a great job, given the limitations of your situation.”
“The limitations of—” She stopped. Being angry didn’t feel good anymore. The energy was gone, and she was left feeling exhausted and sad. But she had enough pride to keep that from showing, at least. “You’re on your way to the city? Fine. Go. I’ll take care of Emily while you’re gone, because that’s what I do.”
She turned away and wiped hurriedly at her eyes; she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. Damn it, she needed to be stronger than that. And smarter. She needed to be way smarter. Will Connelly was Emily’s biological father, and he had money enough to make sure he got whatever rights he wanted based on that. It was stupid to antagonize him, no matter how arrogant and controlling he was.
She needed to apologize. She needed to crawl, if that was what he wanted to see. She knew that, but instead she grabbed the coffeepot and headed toward the customers, who were now pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. “Anyone need a top-up?” she asked, her voice desperately, emptily cheerful.
And when she was done fussing with the coffee and turned back toward the counter, Will was gone.
…
“You called her life a disaster?” Trevor asked with a disapproving shake of his head. He was sitting in the leather wingback chair by the fireplace in Will’s apartment. It was the chair Will usually sat in himself, and he wondered whether his friend had taken it deliberately.
“You know better,” Beckett vanDorn said from his spot on the couch.
“And you’re usually pretty smooth,” Silas Grant added, pulling the label off a fresh bottle of Glenfiddich. “Has instant fatherhood got you that shaken up, or is there something else going on?”
Will wanted to bury his head under the pillows, or maybe punch something. These were his oldest friends, the guys he’d gone to school with and stayed close to ever since. When he’d come back into town and said he had something important to talk about, they’d all dropped their Friday night plans and shown up without complaint. Well, Trevor hadn’t had any plans, since he’d just come back to town the night before himself, and since all he ever seemed to do was work. But he’d given up some valuable Friday night work time to come be part of the team. These men knew Will better than anyone else in the world did, and they were completely happy to use that knowledge to ask him the tough questions.
Which he didn’t really want to answer. “It’s partly the fatherhood thing throwing me off,” he said, trying to avoid the other half of the answer. He’d already shown the guys Emily’s picture, done a bit of bragging about her, and been soundly and genuinely congratulated. But once they’d started talking about the more serious parts of the situation, their honesty had become pointed.
“You’re screwing this up,” Trevor said now. “You really need to see things from Cassidy’s perspective. Mother bear, remember? And she let you—I don’t know, she let you pull a thorn out of her paw. It wasn’t easy for her to trust you with that, but she did. Now you’ve caught her and put her in a zoo for her own protection, and you’re expecting her to be grateful?”
“Put her in a zoo? What the hell are you talking about? She’s still roaming in the damn forest. All I did was pay to get some hunters off her back. And I want to… I don’t know; this analogy is kind of falling apart, but maybe I want to set up a game preserve for my cub? Does that make sense, without sounding like I’m totally into bestiality?”
“Did you catch the use of the word ‘game’?” Trevor asked. “Game is wildlife that’s valued as something for humans to hunt, not for its own sake.”
“You’re playing with semantics. You know what I meant. Call it a fucking national park and focus on the real issues.”
Trevor grinned and leaned back in his chair. He lived for this sort of thing, watching his friends’ lives and making comments that were wise and insightful just often enough to make up for the times they were offered only for his own amusement. The problem was figuring out which type of comment he was giving at any given time. “You hurt her pride,” he said, and it felt real enough that Will made himself keep listening. “We’ve already been through this, haven’t we? Her independence, her pride, and her niece. That’s all she’s got, and from where she’s sitting, you’re trying to take all three of them away from her.” He shook his head. “Seriously, would it have killed you to hold off on the hospital bills for a few weeks, until she was more comfortable?”
“Until she was more broke.” Will held his glass out for Silas to refill. “You’ve seen how serious the financial situation was, and I’ve seen how stressful that was for her. I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.”
“What would you have done if she were a man?” Beckett asked.
Short and to the point. Typical Beckett. Will made himself think about the answer. “I don’t think I would have paid the bill,” he finally admitted.
“Because?” Silas prompted as he sank into the sofa at the far end from Beckett.
“I don’t know.” Will was pretty sure that was true. “I guess it would have felt—paternalistic? Demeaning? Like—damn it, if she’d been a man, I would have been aware of the importance of her pride and independence, and I would have respected it more.” He threw a glare in Trevor’s direction. “Is that what you wanted to hear, you smug bastard?”
Trevor just grinned and took a sip of his scotch.
“Yeah, okay, but back to the current problem,” Will prompted. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this woman?”
Trevor’s smile turned wicked. “What do you want to do with her?”
No, Will wasn’t going to let his mind wander in that direction. At least, not when he had three friends staring at him, hoping to see a reaction. “I want to help her help herself,” he said, possibly a little primly.
“Nope,” Beckett said.
“Wrong answer,” Silas agreed.
And Trevor, like a genial game show host, smiled and said, “Would you like to try again?” His expression softened a little as he added, “You’re among friends, Will.”
Will sighed and tossed his head back against the cushions of his chair. “I don’t know. I want her to help me with Emily. Absolutely. I’m sure about that, and I think she’s essential. You guys are right. I screwed up by pushing too hard, and I’ll figure out a way to make that better.” He stopped talking, hoping his confession would be enough to get him off the hook, but he should have known better.
“What else do you want from her?” Silas prodded.
“I’ve read articles,” Will said, mostly to his ceiling. “I’ve learned that men express their emotions physically. They do not value long, abstract conversations about feelings or other feminine topics. That’s what I’ve read.”
“Do we have a picture of her?” Silas asked, and Will watched as Trevor pulled out his phone and passed it around. It shouldn’t have made Will anxious, or defensive, or…jealous?
“Not flashy,” Silas said when he’d seen the picture.
“That’s what you’re looking for?” Will demanded. He knew he was walking into a trap but couldn’t seem to help himself. “Flashy? Seriously? Since when have we valued flash over substance?”
“And she’s got substance?” Trevor asked, even though he should know better than any of them how substantial Cassidy was. He was the one who’d done the research that gave Will most of his facts on the woman, since of course Cassidy wouldn’t share them herself.
“She was seventeen when Em was born. Didn’t go away to school because she stayed home to help raise her sister’s kid. Works her ass off at a stupid restaurant that no one in town even appreciates, still manages to make Emily feel safe and wanted, and is willing to fight me for the privilege of maintaining that lifestyle, even though it would be easier for her to just walk away and start over? Hell, yeah, she’s got substance.”
It probably wasn’t the words, he figured. Or at least, not just the words. There was something in the way he’d felt as he said them, something that had clearly transmitted to his friends, who now sat watching him expectantly.
“So you’ve spoken to Victoria?” Silas prompted.
Will sighed. Yeah, they’d heard him. “She said she was busy tonight. I’m having lunch with her tomorrow, before I leave.”
His friends didn’t say anything, but he knew they approved. They’d never really warmed to Victoria, or she to them, but they’d still expect him to treat her fairly. If his attention had been drawn elsewhere, no matter how futile his new interest might be, he owed Victoria the courtesy of a formal breakup.
He wasn’t doing it because he thought anything was going to develop with Cassidy, but having spent time with her made him realize how little he wanted to spend time with Victoria. For all Cassidy’s anger, there was something real about her, something honest that she didn’t seem to be able to hide even when she tried. Victoria? Will had known her for years, dated her off-and-on for most of that time, and still didn’t feel like he’d ever seen her true self.
“I’m not saying I wasn’t right to be mad at Cassidy,” he clarified, trying to get the conversation back on the topic he’d hoped to get resolved. “It was her sister who kept me from knowing about Emily, so she’s got no right to act like I’m a deadbeat dad. And I’m not going to pretend it’s not better to have money than to not have money. Yeah, Cassidy did the best she could, and the best she could was really, really good. But they had to sell Emily’s horse to pay the bills. A thirteen-year-old-girl and her horse? That’s a sacred bond, isn’t it? You can’t tell me Em’s life wouldn’t have been better if there’d been a bit more money.”
His friends sat quietly and sipped their scotch. They were getting a bit too good at being neutral.
“Okay,” Will admitted. “I said it wrong, or maybe shouldn’t have said it at all. But seriously, this whole thing started because I dropped six figures to pay off a hospital bill for the mother of my child. Why am I getting shit for helping someone out? Maybe I wouldn’t have done it if Cassidy was a man, but maybe that would have been the mistake. Letting someone else’s pride get in the way of helping them out? Maybe it wasn’t sexist to have helped a woman; maybe it would have been sexist to have not helped a man.”
“Is that the approach you’re going to take with her when you talk this through?” Trevor asked, back to being amused. “Because if it is, I’d like to be there for the show.”
“Oh, you’re going to be there,” Will assured him. “Not for this part, but I want you to be the one who goes over all the paperwork with Cassidy and Emily. The trust fund and insurance and whatever. And I think I want you to present the ideas from the panel this afternoon, too. That list of the best schools, and all the different features for each one. You think you’ve got the great insight into how Cassidy is thinking? Fine. You need to use it to make her understand that I’m not the enemy, and I want the best for Emily. Okay? You can do that?”
Trevor sighed. “I could probably do it a lot more easily if you’d stop interfering. But I have the feeling that’s not likely to happen. Is it?”
“It’s not interfering to be involved in my daughter’s life.”
“And your involvement with the aunt’s life? That’s essential, somehow?”
The argument was clear. Will could say that of course it was essential, because Emily was under Cassidy’s influence, and therefore Cassidy needed to be under his. But the truth was a bit more complicated. “You focus on the financial side of things. The facts. I’ll—I don’t know. I’ll try to get her to trust me.”
“I think I’ve got the easier job,” Trevor said. Then he raised his glass. “But good luck to you. Nothing worth having comes easy, right?”