Unedited.
Chapter Eight
Before:
Grady
"So this is you."
Grady didn't reply, just stared across the table at the other man. He felt nothing but hate. For a few minutes he tried to spot some sign of Harlow or Brett. Some shared feature but there was nothing to be found. The closest he got was eye color. Brett had a shade darker than his dad but that was it.
They were their momma's children.
"The great Grady Sinclair." The other man scoffed. "If I were anyone else, I'd ask for an autograph."
"We only need yours," Butler said.
The papers were slid over to him but the man wouldn't break eye contact with Grady. The two men glared at each other; no one else in the room mattered. Various things flowed between them. Hatred, blame, more hatred. More blame.
Blame, blame, blame
lots of hate, hate, hate
Say it, say it, say it
There were plenty of things Page hadn't told him and he saw them there in the other man's eyes. Blazing out of him. All Grady had to do was light the match and watch him
Burn, burn, burn.
"And what exactly am I supposed to be signing?"
"Confidentiality agreement," Butler answered.
"'Bout?"
"Anything and everything you may learn concerning Chance—"
Grady heard the match strike in his head as he, himself, said, "Gage."
The cocky look dropped off the other man's face and was followed by cold distain then anger.
"Gage," the other man stated. "That's what it all comes down to, doesn't it? Always Gage."
"Meaning?"
Strike, strike, strike
"You know, the first time I met Page, she was dressed like a high-end hooker, three sheets to the wind, and mumbling about a painted red stocking. No one knew what the fuck she was talking about."
Strike, strike, strike
"Of course it wasn't the first time I saw her. Bartenders tend to notice the regulars, get a feel for them so we know when to cut them off. Because that was Page's motto back then: too much, too far, over a fucking cliff without deploying a parachute."
He shifted in his seat, going from sitting back to leaning over the table in a defensive manner.
"I was the one who stepped in. I'm the one who cleaned her up and made her human again. I'm the one who sat through crying fits, blubbering run-on sentences, and the explosive anger. The anger was the worst but its how I got my daughter so I can't complain."
The match struck and caught fire but not in the person Grady intended. He felt it ignite in his gut and spread through his body until—"Shut. Up," Grady hissed.
"But that's what drives her, right? That anger, that bitterness. It's all she has. Even as she had Harlow and as she had my son—"
"Which you abandoned her to have. Because the only way you could get a boy was to have nothing to do with her, right? To put distance between you and her to the point where she wanted nothing to do with you afterward."
