Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires, #3)(12)
His lips moving soundlessly catches my attention, and I raise the volume on the app loud enough that I can hear him.
“What if I suck at being a parent?” he asks himself.
“Well, it’s not like you can be any worse than your father,” he replies to himself.
“He’s a narcissistic psychopath. The bar wasn’t set very high to begin with.”
I don’t want to find him endearing—not even in the slightest—yet I find my lips curving upward at the sight of him having a full-blown conversation with himself.
Why are you smiling at him of all people?
The thought is sobering, and I lock my phone to avoid stealing another glance at him.
I roll my shoulders back before opening the door. Cal looks up at the sound of the creaking hinges, revealing his red-rimmed eyes and haggard appearance. I’d put money on the fact that he is most likely hungover rather than sleep-deprived like me. It’s obvious in the way he winces at the bright light hanging above me, illuminating the entryway.
My nails bite into my palms at the evidence of his addiction.
Not your problem.
Then why does the piercing pain in my chest intensify at the thought of him continuing to suffer through his life?
“We need to talk,” he blurts out.
I check to make sure Cami isn’t sneaking around the corner before shutting the door behind me. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now. I would’ve wanted to have this conversation last night, but someone kicked me out before we had a chance to clear something up.”
A sigh slips out of me before I have a chance to squash it. “All right.” I crack the door open. “Cami! I’m going to grab the mail, so I’ll be back in a few minutes!” My voice echoes off the high ceilings.
She shouts her reply, but it comes out muffled, most likely due to her stuffing her mouth full of pancakes.
“Do I really only get a few minutes for a conversation like this?”
“I can’t leave her alone for long. Last time when I was working outside, she stole my mascara and ended up with an infection after stabbing her eye.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t so much as crack a smile, which is unusual for him.
He’s nervous. Without him having a drink to ease his anxiety, the truth is glaringly obvious as we walk to the mailbox in silence. The mansion looms behind us, casting a massive shadow over the overgrown front lawn, making the estate look even larger than its fourteen-thousand square feet.
Part of me wishes he would take over the conversation and force the answer out of me, but his lips remain tightly pressed together while I grab the mail.
What are you waiting for? Just tell him the truth.
That’s the thing. I’m not sure how to go about doing that without having a breakdown about my sister. No matter how much time has passed, I still can’t speak about Antonella without getting teary-eyed or spitting mad. I hope there is a day when I can think back on our memories and smile.
Except today isn’t that day.
Instead, I’m flooded with a wave of negative emotions. Pain. Worry. Heartache. Each one hits stronger than the last. Usually, I have a good grasp on them, but I’ve always been weak when it comes to my older sister and her challenges.
Struggling with drugs isn’t a challenge, Alana. It’s an addiction.
My hand clutching the mail trembles, making the envelopes shake.
Cal places a hand over mine to halt my task. “Hey.”
I find the idea of staring into his eyes impossible, so I keep my gaze focused on the open mailbox. Any reply gets trapped in my throat.
“Is Camila mine?” The way he asks it—soft and nonjudgmental—nearly breaks me.
I wonder for the smallest second what he would do if she was. Is he the kind of man who would step up and offer to help, or would he walk away like always, proving yet again how much of a disappointment he is?
None of this matters.
I steel my spine and look straight into his eyes. “No. She’s not.”
He releases my hand like his skin might catch on fire if he touches me for a second longer. A dark look passes over his face, completely uncharacteristic. “Who is the guy you slept with?” His question has a sharp edge to it.
I suck in a breath. “Are you seriously accusing me of this again?”
“I know how babies are made, and if I’m not the dad, someone sure has to be. So I’m curious who caught your attention not even a month after I left.”
My mind goes blank as I charge forward and stab him in the middle of his chest with my pointer finger. “You’re right. Someone has to be Cami’s father, although I’m not sure who since my sister was high for most of her pregnancy.” The words come out loud and clear despite the ringing in my ears.
His thinly pressed lips part, and the creases in his forehead soften until they disappear. “I’m sorry, Alana. I was stupid to assume you slept with—”
Whatever look is on my face has him scrambling back a few steps.
“Sorry? You thought I slept with someone right after you left and then had their child?” My voice booms.
He holds up his hands in submission. “If you did, it’s not my place to judge.”
“Do you really think that little of what we had together?” I think taking a thousand needles to the heart would feel less painful than this conversation. I’m careful not to let my emotions show on my face, but inside, I allow myself to feel every single stab of hurt. If I cling to the pain, then I won’t run the risk of falling for his usual bullshit—the kind that makes my heart soft and my knees weak from a single smile.