Page 85 of The Heartbreaker (Chandler Brothers 3)
Confined to bed, she was unable to do more than nod.
“But I can tell you the man’s harmless or I wouldn’t have let you come up here,” Michael assured her.
Sloane sat upright—or tried to—and immediately suffered the consequences. Tears poured down her eyes as the pain robbed her of breath.
“Oh damn.” Michael wrapped an arm around her, holding her until the agony subsided.
“I’m okay,” she finally whispered.
He released his tight hold but remained by her side. He reached out and tapped her nose. “You know I have to keep tabs on all my girls.”
She smiled through her lingering tears.
Madeline squeezed Sloane’s good hand. “How could I not tell him where you were? He’d have killed me. Besides, your father and I don’t keep secrets.”
Sloane’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, I get it. You just keep secrets from your children. That’s quite the double standard.” She regretted the sarcastic words as soon as they passed her lips. Embarrassed, she leaned her head back on the pillows and stared at the old cracked ceiling. Okay, so maybe the resentments weren’t completely gone, she thought. But still that didn’t give her the right to be cruel. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Madeline said.
“We’re the ones who are sorry.” Michael knelt down before her, and Sloane had no doubt he meant the gesture as supplication and apology all wrapped into one. “I had no right to keep something like that from you. Adopted children have the right to know they were adopted, and you deserved to be told and to judge whom you want in your life.”
Sloane met his gaze. “But I understand why you didn’t tell me. I’m an adult now. You were dealing with a child and you made your choices accordingly. It’s done now. We need to go on.”
“I love you as much as if you were mine,” Michael said as he stood once more.
She smiled, her tears returning. “I never doubted that. Ever. That’s why we can go on,” she assured him. “But we need to talk about—”
Before she could finish her thought, the door opened wide and an unfamiliar young woman wearing a business suit walked in, tablet in hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is important.”
“That’s okay; come in, Kate.” Michael turned to Sloane. “This is my new personal assistant, Kate Welles.”
Sloane smiled and the other woman acknowledged her with an apologetic nod before turning her attention to Senator Carlisle, her boss. “The press is getting antsy. What they know so far is that you’re here because your daughter’s been admitted. They don’t know why. They don’t know about the shooting,” she said, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper.
“It’s okay, Kate. Everyone in this room knows what happened,” Madeline said, laughing. She glanced at Sloane. “She’s new,” she whispered.
Sloane grinned, but one look at the efficient Kate reminded her that they had a serious issue on their hands. The press had sniffed out a story and wouldn’t be satisfied until they knew all. And in small-town Yorkshire Falls, the entire town would be happy to oblige with information about Sloane, Chase, and their exploits. With heaven knew what kind of elaboration.
Unfortunately, they didn’t need embellishment. The truth was enough to derail a political campaign. Sloane’s stomach cramped with the knowledge she could destroy everything her father had ever worked for.
“It’s not your fault,” Michael said, reading her mind. “It’s mine for keeping a secret I knew had explosive potential.”
“But blame won’t get us anywhere, so let’s work on strategy instead.” Madeline sat on the edge of Sloane’s bedside and motioned Kate over.
The young woman pulled up a chair, while Michael leaned against the wall, clearly in thinking mode.
Kate clicked her pen, clearly ready to work. “The police put a lid on the story, but honestly, I don’t know how much longer we can hide the truth.”
The senator nodded his understanding. “Well, I say what I’ve always said. I should go public and deal with the consequences. I’ve already spoken to Kenneth,” Michael said of the current president, his running mate. “He knows what’s coming. I offered to withdraw before going public, but he insists on standing by me.”
“Dad—”
Michael shook his head. “No arguments. It’s about time I accept responsibility for what I did—to you, to Samson, and to the public. If the constituents can’t value honesty and apologies, then that’s that.” He spread his hands out in front of him. “I am who I am.”
“I’m proud to be your daughter,” Sloane told him. “And that will never, ever change.”
“So we agree?” he asked the people in the room. “We hold a press conference?”
“No.” Madeline spoke up. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” Sloane asked. “Dad’s right. It’s the logical answer.”
Madeline shifted, crossing, then uncrossing her legs. “I agree with the idea of revealing the truth, but I have to alter the means by which we do so. I’ve already promised a certain reporter an exclusive story.”
