Nash (Marked Men #4)(57)

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I was young and figuring life out, Nashville. Anyway Grant and I got engaged and married before you were born. We were both excited with the prospect of having a little boy, and Phil had opened the shop and started his own kind of life. Everything was going to be perfect.”

She walked to the other side of the kitchen and I realized she had moved as far away from me as she could without leaving the room.

“It was pretty clear the second you were born that you were Phil’s and not Grant’s. You were all brown like me, but the hair was Phil’s and those eyes … even as a baby they were too bright and too unmistakable. They were Donovan eyes. Grant was furious, accused me of having an affair, and told me it was him or my bastard baby. He couldn’t face everyone in Brookside knowing the baby wasn’t his. I thought he was going to leave me for sure.”

I already hated the guy, but now I wanted to pull all his teeth out with rusty pliers.

“I didn’t want to lose him, so I explained about Phil, about the relationship. Grant eventually realized that no one would judge him for taking care of a child that was left by his father. He refused to be on the birth certificate or give you his last name, though.” I could literally feel the temperature of my blood drop.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “But Phil didn’t go anywhere. He just didn’t know I existed.”

“No, he didn’t, and, in a perfect world, it would have stayed that way. Grant took care of us, provided for us, and we told you that your dad had abandoned us. But as time went on you just looked more and more like Phil. One of his friends saw you with me at Cherry Creek Mall when you were about four and told Phil. He was furious, threatened to take me to court, to fight for custody. Grant didn’t want that kind of mess, didn’t want the whole sordid tale out in public and we didn’t need child support, so we made a deal. I begged Phil, pleaded with him to keep his real identity and relation to you a secret, to keep it quiet until you were older. He very reluctantly agreed, but only as long as he got to be in your life and only as long as I agreed to let you have his last name. I never put a father on the birth certificate, so making you a Donovan officially was the easiest thing in the world.”

She twisted her hands together and had the nerve to look at me like this was somehow my fault.

“When you got older, you were too much. Too wild, too loud, too hard to handle. You didn’t want to dress nice or play with the right kind of kids, Grant was already resentful that he was raising Phil’s kid, but the way you were, how much you looked like Phil, it was his breaking point. It was just easier to let Phil handle you, try and put you on some kind of path, because where you were going wasn’t any kind of place Grant or I wanted any part of. You were always so much more Phil’s son than mine.”

My back teeth snapped together, and I felt my temper start to surge in an angry torrent under my skin.

“I was a kid. Maybe if you hadn’t constantly been on me about shit I couldn’t change, like my eye color, I would have picked a more acceptable path to you. You never gave me the chance. You were always too busy trying to make Grant happy to worry about what all that vitriol was doing to your kid.”

“You were always too much like your father, even though you didn’t know who he was.”

“He loved you, still does.”

Her mouth tightened and turned white at the corners.

“He loved the idea of me. He never really knew the real me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I was older, when I went to live with him permanently?”

“He didn’t want to.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine, he wanted me to be the one to tell you and I refused. I didn’t think Grant or I needed to deal with the fallout. You had moved on, Phil was a better parent to you than I ever could have been. It was all said and done.”

I wanted to throw something heavy at her. I wanted to break every stupid piece of Williams-Sonoma cookware in her fancy kitchen. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

“But I’m still here, Mom. Still trying to live my life, and now the only father I’m ever going to have is dying and there is nothing I can do about it. You robbed me of that relationship because you didn’t want to deal with the fallout, because you didn’t want to inconvenience that dipshit husband of yours? How does any of that sound right to you?”

“What’s right for me has never been what’s right for you, Nashville. You don’t even use the name I gave you.”

“Because it’s ridiculous … all of it. What’s right for me isn’t what’s right for you because I’m an actual human being with feelings and emotions, and you, Mom … you’re a goddamn monster.”

I had always longed for her attention, thirsted for her love and approval, but now looking at her, seeing the absolute lack of remorse or regret in her eyes, I was thankful she had simply let me go. If I had tried any harder, worked any more to make her love me, who knew what kind of miserable, unfeeling robot I would have become at her hands. As an adult, I was still pissed at her, still resentful she had such an easy time letting me go, but I was also overwhelmingly grateful that I wasn’t anything like her and her people.

“I’m not a monster, Nash.” Finally, my name. “I’m just not the mother you wanted or needed, and frankly you were never the son I wanted or needed. Having you made it pretty clear I was never cut out to be someone’s mother. Why do you think Grant and I never had any more kids? We wanted it to just be us.”