Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(24)

She should have worried.

The ugliest part was the statement she’d been with “numerous boys”. Everett knew he’d been her first. He’d gloated about it.

Legal action. She’d been so stupid, so na?ve. A terrified teenager. Otherwise, she’d have known the legal action taken should have been hers. She’d have known to demand a paternity test and gotten child support. Instead, when he’d threatened her with legal action, she’d panicked.

She swallowed. The pain of that letter still lingered, like an open wound in her chest.

The paper shook in Carson’s hand as he stared at her with his big brown eyes—his father’s eyes. “Is he my father? Everett Lanning?”

She’d dodged this day for years, even while telling Carson the truth—that his “father” hadn’t wanted to be a parent. That they did fine on their own. “Yes, he is.” Her voice sounded dry as the dust covering the box lid. “He was—”

“You were—you fucked—a married man?”

The coarse accusation made her flinch. Because she had…oh, she had. How could she tell her little boy that infatuation didn’t look for the lies beneath the words? That hope swept uneasy doubts away. Everett had treated her like someone special and said he loved her. Back then, she’d yearned for kindness and love with all her heart.

“I’m afraid so.” She pulled in a breath. “He told me he was getting a divorce.”

“Oh, please.” Carson’s voice cracked and dropped to a baritone that sounded like Josie’s father—scorn and all.

When she’d told Pa that she was pregnant, he’d gone into a rant over her ingratitude and lack of morals…and over the damage to his reputation. He’d given her an hour to pack and leave—and told her never to come back.

She’d driven straight to St. Petersburg, certain Everett would take care of her. He loved her, after all.

Looking back at that time, over a decade ago, she could forgive herself. She’d been awfully young.

Well. Young or not, she’d learned how the world worked. And, as she often told Carson, life lessons tended to be the ones that hurt. She’d discovered how quickly a man—father or lover—would jettison an inconvenient woman. She’d also found out she could make her own way, even as she raised a child on her own.

Knees shaking, she sat on a box. Where were all the calm, reasonable explanations she’d practiced for this moment?

“Yes, I was stupid, Carson. However, your birth father”—damned if she’d call him a real father—“lied to me, got me pregnant, and then wanted nothing to do with me.”

Carson’s gaze dropped to the note. “But he didn’t believe you. Didn’t believe you were pregnant.”

In hindsight, she could see how carefully Everett, an investment banker, had tried to cover his ass. How could she explain that to her son? “He knew I wouldn’t lie—and knew I hadn’t been with anyone else.”

“He was, maybe, really mad. After I was born, did you go back and tell him he had a kid? Try to talk with him?”

“No, Carson.” She nodded at the paper. “His opinion seems rather clear, don’t you think?”

Carson looked away.

She bit her lip. Her tone had been too harsh…because she hurt. After this many years, her wounds had healed, but her son’s disbelief was ripping the scars open. She held her hand out. “Honey, I know this is hard.”

He pushed her hand away. “You didn’t even try. Didn’t try to get my father to want me.”

The stubborn set of her boy’s chin—something she saw in her own mirror—let her know any explanations at this point wouldn’t be heard. Her arm dropped.

He shoved to his feet, kicked the box over, and ran for his room. The door slammed with a finality she could hear echoing in her heart.

Closing her eyes, she pulled in a despairing breath through her nose and tried not to cry.

Tomorrow. Surely, he’d be ready to listen to her tomorrow.

*

“Oh, Master Holt, your poor face.”

The submissive’s gooey sympathy set Holt’s teeth on edge, as did the way she stared at his scars. She wasn’t the first. A shit-ton of the Shadowlands members—especially the younger women—acted this way.

“It’s healing.” He forced a smile and patted her arm.

As he turned away, he noticed Nolan and Beth nearby. They’d undoubtedly overheard.

Nolan pointed to a chair. “Sit with us and take a load off.”

“I look that bad?” Holt sat and hated that it felt so damn good. Then again, he’d insisted on taking a dungeon monitor shift and had been on his feet for far too fucking long.

“Not bad, just tired,” Beth said in her soft voice. She shook her head. “I know it’s draining when people get all focused on the damage instead of seeing…you.”

The pretty redhead would know. Her psycho ex-husband had left scars all over her body. Holt’s anger rose on her behalf. Sure, he didn’t like people staring at him, but he could take it. No one should treat sweet Beth that way.

After a calming breath, he gave her a rueful smile. “Not to be conceited, but when I was younger, I made a ton of money because I had a pretty face. It’s disconcerting when a subbie bursts into tears on seeing me now.”