Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)(50)

I nod. My heart is aching. I lean over the counter to gather my rising anger before it explodes. I push it down, swallow my contempt and look her in the eyes. Olivia and I never had a chance. The whole time we were destroying ourselves, someone else was having a go at it too.

“Leah,” I say, closing my eyes. “The hospital … after you took those pills-” my voice cracks. I rub a hand across my face. I am so tired. “Were you pregnant?”

She raises her chin and I already know the answer.

Oh God. She lied. If she lied about that baby, what else has she lied about? I remember the blood. All the blood on our bed sheets. She said she was losing that baby and I believed her. It was probably just her period. How long after that had Estella been conceived?

I pace the length of the kitchen, my hands behind my neck. I say her name again; this time it’s a plea.

“Is she mine, Leah? Oh f*ck.” I drop my hands. “Is she mine?”

I watch her face as she takes her time answering. She looks conflicted as to whether or not to tell the truth. Finally, she shrugs.

“Yeah.”

The whole world goes quiet. My heart crashes. Rises. Crashes.

Grief cleaves me in two. Two years, I haven’t seen her in two years. My daughter. My daughter.

The empty glass I drank tequila from sits to the right of my hand. I let my anger come, swiping the glass to the floor. It shatters and Leah flinches. I want to shake her, I want to throw her like that glass and watch her shatter for all the things she’s done. I head for the stairs.

“Caleb.” She comes after me, grabbing my arm. I yank myself free, taking the stairs two at a time.

She calls my name, but I barely hear her. I reach the top of the stairs and turn left down the hallway. She’s behind me, begging me to stop.

“Caleb, she’s sleeping. You’re going to terrify her. Don’t…”

I fling open the door and take in the soft pink light. Her bed is in the corner, a white four-poster. I walk in slowly, my steps muffled by the carpet. I can see her hair fanned out on the pillow, shockingly red and curly. I take another step in and I can see her face — pouty lips, chubby cheeks and my nose. I kneel next to the bed so I can see her, and I cry for the second time in my life. I cry quietly, my body shaking from my sobs.

Leah’s pleas have stopped. I don’t know whether she’s behind me or not — I don’t care. Stella’s eyes flutter open. For being woken up in the middle of the night by a stranger, she is surprisingly alert and calm. She lies still, her blue eyes watching my face with the gaze of a much older child.

“Why are you cwying?”

The sound of her voice, raspy like her mother’s, startles me. I cry harder.

“Daddy, why are you cwying?”

I feel like someone has just poured ice water over my head. I lean back; suddenly sober. I take in her disheveled curls, her full chubby cheeks, and I melt for my daughter.

“How do you know I’m your daddy?” I ask gently.

She frowns at me, her little lips pouting, and jabs her finger at her bedside table. I look over to see a picture of myself, holding her as a baby.

Leah told her about me? I don’t understand. I don’t know whether to be grateful or furious. If she wanted to make me think this little girl wasn’t mine, why would she bother making Estella think anything different?

“Stella,” I say cautiously, “can I give you a hug?” I want to pull her to me and sob into her beautiful red hair, but I don’t want to scare my daughter.

She grins. When she answers, she lifts her shoulders up and tilts her head all the way to the side.

“Sure.” She leans forward, arms outstretched.

I hug her to my chest, kissing the top of her head. I can barely breathe. I want to pick her up, put her in my car and drive her away from the woman who has kept her from me. I can’t be like Leah. I have to do what is best for Stella. I want to hold her to my chest all night. It takes everything I have to separate from our hug.

“Stella,” I say, pulling away. “You have to go back to sleep now, but guess what?”

She makes a cute, little kiddie face. “What?”

“Tomorrow, I’m going to come pick you up so we can hang out.”

She claps, and again, I’m tempted to pick her up and carry her out tonight. I curb my enthusiasm. “We’re going to go eat ice cream, and buy toys, and feed ducks, and kick sand at the beach.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth. “All in one day?”

I nod.

I help her snuggle back under her covers and kiss both of her cheeks and her forehead. I kiss her chin for good measure. She giggles, so I pull back the covers and kiss her toes. She squeals, and I have to press my fingertips to the corners of my eyes to stop the tears.

“Night, pretty baby.”

I close her door softly. I don’t make it five steps when I find Leah sitting against the wall. She doesn’t look at me.

“I’ll be here first thing in the morning to pick her up,” I say as I walk toward the stairs. I want to get out of the house before I strangle her.

“She has school,” Leah argues, standing up. I double back and come within an inch of her face. I am breathing hard, my chest heaving. She squares her jaw. I hate her so much in that moment; I don’t know what I ever saw. My words are gruff and full of anguish.