Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(16)

Glancing from his daughter to his wife, feeling the heat from their hard, unwavering stares, Jase knew he didn’t have a choice. So, for the first time since he’d met her, he put Chrissy before himself. It was the least he could do after everything . . . he’d hadn’t done.

“Where do I sign?” he asked, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

The lawyer pushed a manila folder across the table. “I’ve made it easy,” the man said. “Anywhere you see a red tab, sign your full name, your initials, and date it.”

Muttering about the uselessness of needing both his full name and his initials, Jase opened the folder and quickly skimmed over the first page. It was all pretty cut and dried. She didn’t want a damn thing from him, not the house, not one damn penny. As for their children, all three of them were over the age of eighteen.

Fucking Christ, he needed a goddamn drink.

The pen felt cool within his clammy grip, and his first attempt at signing his name resulted in a barely legible scribble. But by the time he’d reached the final page of the document, his grip was firm, his hand steady and dry. Closing the folder, he slid it back across the table where the lawyer picked it up and promptly placed it inside his waiting briefcase.

“Thank you, Mr. Brady. I’ll be in contact if any further participation on your end is required.”

Jase nodded; what else could he do? What could he say? It was official, Chrissy was done with him. All those years they’d wasted together, him staying only for the children, her loving him, blind to all his faults, only to have it all blow up in her face in the worst possible way . . . and it all crumbled to nothing.

What a f*cking waste. All of it.

“Can you give us a second?” Chrissy asked, looking to her lawyer and then to Maribelle.

Surprise flickered through Jase’s gut. He hadn’t expected her to want to speak with him privately, but he supposed it made sense since she’d requested to see him in person.

The lawyer had no argument; he packed up his remaining things and was gone. It was their daughter who hadn’t so much as moved in her seat. She continued to sit, stone faced, glaring at her mother.

“Belle,” Chrissy said, using Maribelle’s childhood nickname. “Please.”

Her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes flared wide, Maribelle shook her head emphatically. “No,” she said tightly. “I cannot think of anything you could possibly have to say to the man who ruined your life.”

The man who ruined your life . . .

Not Dad. He hadn’t been Dad in a long time now. He was just some man who’d ruined her mother’s life. Fucking hell, he could practically taste the liquor he so desperately needed.

“Belle,” Chrissy repeated, this time firmer. The two women stared at each other while Jase waited to see whose will would win out.

When Maribelle slammed her hands down on the table, the noise loud enough to draw the attention of the guard, Jase knew Chrissy had won the battle. As the short, stocky, masculine-looking woman standing outside the door turned toward them and frowned, Jase gave her a weak smile, only succeeding in deepening her frown.

Fucking women. They all hated him. Even ones with facial hair.

Dramatically, Maribelle pushed herself out of her chair. “Whatever,” she snapped, “what-f*cking-ever. Just don’t take all day. The weather service is predicting another epic Montana snowstorm, and the last thing I need is to get stuck in Miles Shit City.”

Jase watched his daughter storm out of the small room before turning back to Chrissy. As her tired eyes met his, the guilt, the sadness, the regret he felt was overwhelming, stifling in its intensity. He wanted to look away from her, wanted to run from this room, from what he’d done to her. But like a car hitting a patch of ice, he could do nothing but watch as the guardrail came rushing up to slap him in the f*cking face.

Chrissy took a deep breath before slowly releasing it. “Dorothy,” she started, jolting Jase. “I want to know how she’s doing. And the child? The girls could never tell me much, only bits and pieces—”

“Chris,” he said, interrupting her. “Why are you bringing this up?”

Irritation creased her features. “Because, Jason, I shot a woman, a pregnant woman. I could have killed her and that innocent baby, and I’ve lived with that fact every day, every year, since it happened. There’s nothing I regret more than what I did to her.”

He supposed that made sense; even so, he didn’t want to discuss Dorothy with Chrissy. But this wasn’t about him, and he owed Chrissy at least that much.

Shrugging, he said, “As far as I know, she’s doin’ good.”

“You don’t see her?” Chrissy asked. “At all?”

Feeling incredibly awkward discussing his longtime girlfriend with his wife, or ex-wife, even after all this time, Jase shook his head. “Not really. She comes into town sometimes, only to see Tegen or Eva. She never stays very long.”

“Not you,” Chrissy said. It wasn’t a question, but an observation.

“Not me,” Jase repeated. Even before her memories had returned to her, Dorothy had repeatedly refused any attempt he’d made to speak with her. And then, after Cage had gotten shot, when she’d threatened to kill him if he came near her again, he’d given up altogether.

“You lost everything,” Chrissy said.