Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(55)

“Want me to take him and put him in the crib?” I asked.

“No, I’ll just hold him.” She looked down at her son and traced her fingers along his forehead, brushing the wisps of hair out of his face. “Some days it feels like he’s all I have.”

“Not anymore.”

Memphis looked up and there were those tears again. Seeing them hurt every goddamn time. “I told you my dad was angry when I refused to tell him about Drake’s father.”

I nodded. “You did.”

“He’s not used to being denied. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually heard anyone tell him no. So his ego is . . .”

“I get it.” I’d worked for chefs like that early on in my career. They’d get spun up about something trivial and go ballistic, simply because their arrogance made it so.

“When I refused to tell Dad, he pressed and pressed. The more he demanded answers, the less I spoke. It’s ironic because in the thick of it, he called me stubborn. I guess I learned it from him.”

“He’s an ass, Memphis.”

“Pretty much.” She sighed. “He could have just respected my wishes. I’d still be in New York if he had trusted me. If he had listened when I said I had my reasons for keeping the secret. Instead, we got into a huge fight and well . . . you know the rest.”

The rest meaning she’d fled home, moving across the country alone with an infant. Because Victor Ward couldn’t control his daughter.

Memphis glanced at Drake once more, her eyes softening. “Drake’s father isn’t a good man.”

I sat straight. “Did he hurt you?”

“Only my heart,” she whispered.

And for that, I’d hate the bastard for the rest of my days.

“Drake’s father is a man named Oliver MacKay.” She met my gaze as her shoulders slumped. “No one but you has ever heard that sentence.”

“No one?” Not even her mother? Or a friend?

“Just you.” She swallowed hard. “And I know you won’t, but I have to say it anyway. Please, never tell a soul. No one can know.”

No one could know? “Why? You’re scaring me, Memphis. If you’re in danger—”

“I’m not. Oliver wants nothing to do with me just as much as I want nothing to do with him.”

“Then why is this a secret?”

She dropped her chin. “Because his wife is the daughter of an Italian mafia boss.”

If my brain could have exploded, it would have. What. The. Fuck?

The room went still. The light outside seemed to dim, like the sun was covered in a cloud. And Memphis sat perfectly still, her confession ringing in the air as she clutched her baby boy.

“I don’t . . .” I dragged a hand over my beard, scrambling for something to say.

Fuck. The mob? I didn’t know a damn thing about the mafia other than what I’d seen in movies and television. Hollywood embellished, but I was sure there was a thread of truth.

“Is that why you moved here?” I asked. “To escape the city?”

“No. I could have stayed, rented an apartment and found a job in New York, but the city had lost its appeal. Mostly because of my family. Putting thousands of miles between me and Oliver was just a bonus. I moved here because Montana sounded like a dream. I wanted Drake to have space to breathe. To roam and play. A home where the Ward name meant nothing and no one would attempt to control his life by holding a trust fund over his head.”

“Makes sense.” If I had her family, I probably would have split for the countryside too. Except I didn’t know if I would have walked from that kind of money.

I’d thought it the first time she’d told me, but God, she was strong. Not many people would have walked away from millions. If Drake ever doubted her love for him, I’d be there to set him straight.

“Oliver . . .” She made a sour face. “When we met, I didn’t know who he was. I hadn’t heard his name before. It’s not like he’s ever in the news. And there are plenty of rich men in New York.”

I tensed, my shoulders stiffening. This was never going to be easy to hear. I didn’t like the idea of her with any other man, but especially the one who’d helped her make Drake.

Part of me would be jealous of that son of a bitch all my life.

“We met in a hotel in Miami,” she said. “In the bar. I was there for work. So was he. We hit it off and spent the weekend together. Neither of us shared a lot of personal details. It wasn’t that type of weekend.”

My skin crawled but I sat quietly and listened, my teeth grinding together.

“It wasn’t until the end of the weekend that we realized we were both from New York. He asked if he could see me again. I’d had fun, so of course I said yes. Oliver is older, in his early forties. He’s charismatic. Handsome. Wealthy. Powerful. Being around him was . . . addicting. And I was a spoiled, stupid fool.”

There was so much guilt in her voice. So much shame. It weighed on her slight shoulders and dimmed the light in her eyes.

“We started dating, if you could even call it dating. We spent most of our time at my townhouse. Some at his Upper East Side apartment. He was an entrepreneur. I worked constantly. But he was my escape. And I loved him. Or . . . I thought I loved him.” Her forehead furrowed. “Can you love someone when they keep you in a bubble?”