All the swirling butterflies in my stomach seemed to flutter away as soon as “Mr. Jonathan” greeted us in the driveway. He radiated with warmth, kindness, patience… safety—all thequalities Rory exuded. Something in my little soul told me I could trust him.
I didn’t know what to expect when Grant led me to my new bedroom. My emotions hit me like a kick to the chest from a donkey. It was overwhelming—the pink Corvette bed, the race track rug, the mountain of toys, and the street sign on the wall with my name on it. And fuck if I didn’t bawl my little eyes out because all I could think about was how amazing my new room was and how I couldn’t share the moment with Rory.
Rory was gone, but I didn’t grow up without a father’s love because Dad had a well of love that overflowed when it came to me. He taught me how to ride a bike and cared for the cuts and scrapes I earned when I thought I could be a badass and pop a wheelie. He took us to a NASCAR race for my tenth birthday. He stayed up late with me to help me with Pre-Calculus homework even though he had court first thing in the morning. I called myself stupid for having to rework a problem repeatedly. A little bit of Granddad came out of him when he scoffed and told me that no child of his was dumb and to gather myself and focus. We wrapped up at 2:00 in the morning but were nowhere near ready to lay our heads down for the night. We left a note and snuck out of the house for an early morning hot chocolate and pancake breakfast at a local diner. He taught me how to drive and how to defend myself, and he attended every track meet.
And most of all, he taught me what it looked like when a man loved a woman unconditionally.
And as I sit here with paperwork clutched between my fingers for an estate valued at $50 million, I can’t think of one thing I did to deserve it. Especially after all the hurt and pain I put our family through.
“We can’t accept this,” Grant grumbled, cutting through my self-deprecation.
“Give me a good reason why you can’t,” Dad challenged. A thoughtful look overcame Grant’s hardened features as he tried to come up with a solid reason. “Maxwell, you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be. Your grandparents aren’t returning home, and the house can’t sit there and rot. I might be presumptuous, but do you plan on making me and your mother grandparents one day?”
We peeked at each other before returning our gaze to Dad.
“We do,” Grant affirmed.
“Good. It’s a great place to raise a family—I can attest to that.”
Knocking on the open door interrupted us.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Mom said, sashaying into the office with Rob Zombie tucked under one arm and a cup of coffee in her other hand. I smiled warmly at her appearance. Her hair was piled high on her head in a messy bun. She wore a ratty band T-shirt with sweatpants she obviously stole from Dad, and she looked like death warmed over.
“You’re not interrupting, dear. You arrived just in time. Please, take a seat,” he said, motioning to the couch.
She paused and observed our shell-shocked and anxious faces. “What’s going on?” she asked skeptically, sinking onto the chocolate leather couch. The worry on her face was palpable, and I hoped and prayed we wouldn’t send our beloved mother to the hospital with our secret.
“I’ll explain in a moment, dear,” Dad said, rounding the desk to join her. “Grant?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You have pictures for me? Correct?”
Grant dug his cell phone out of his pocket and fumbled with it, dropping it once before picking it up and unlocking it with his thumbprint. He scrolled through his gallery until he found our wedding pictures.
“Here,” he said, handing the phone over.
“Thank you. Kierra, can you put your coffee and Rob Zombie down?” Dad requested, joining Mom on the couch. She didn’t hesitate to set her coffee on a side table and toss the cat on the floor.
“What’s going on, Jon?” she asked worriedly.
“What I’m about to show you may be shocking, but I need you to remain calm and open-minded.”
Dad flipped the screen towards her. Mom’s brow crinkled in confusion before sliding to the top of her forehead. Her eyes bulged cartoonishly, and her jaw nearly hit the ground.
“No,” she whispered. “This is a joke. Please tell me it’s a fucking joke.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Grant
Mom’s accusatory gaze pierced right through my soul.
“It’s not a joke,” I finally spoke. “Kiyah and I started dating during my freshman year of college, and we’ve been married for the past seven years.”
She shook her head furiously and bounded from the couch, stalking towards the bar in the corner of the office.
“Dear, it’s—”