Page 216 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
I shake my head softly, waiting for more.
“The old man kept me on an IV money drip for years. Just a monthly stipend, enough to cover the essentials. Never enough to spend on the shit I wanted—casinos, poker tournaments, speculation, the usual. He had more sense than I gave him credit for, and it pissed me off.”
Holden meets my eyes from across the room, like he knows I need something to hold on to. His earthy gaze grounds me.
And the words keep coming, like my father’s purging a disease, gut rot in his soul.
“I figured, in my own screwed-up mind, what’s the harm in keeping your portion for myself? It was supposed to start coming your way when you were twenty years old. I figured I’d win you more.Investit, do this for the both of us.”
“Dad, I don’t understand,” I say.
“Of course you don’t.” He dashes at his wet eyes. “You thought that little adventure Uncle Leo left you—that stupid fucking wild goose chase—was your inheritance, but it was only supposed to be a bonus. One last grand goodbye. Not something you needed to chase down for money, for your dreams.”
My fingers go cold. “So you’re saying he left me something else?”
“More. A hell of a lot more, Cleo. More than I could ever get to through his lawyers, and that’s a good thing.” He digs in his pants pocket with shaking hands and brings out a crumpled envelope, handing it to me.
It’s unsealed. I pull out a couple pages and my eyes flick through financial details.
“After what went down, I’m done playing games with his ghost, with myself. I’m going to transfer the deposits to your bank account immediately and let the administrator know. All of it, going forward, even the stipend I’ve been pissing away for years.”
Oh my God.
My jaw hangs open.
I sink down beside him, still clutching the envelope so tight the paper creases.
Before, I thought he was hungover, his face puffy and eyes bloodshot, but now I notice I can’t smell any booze wafting off him.
Instead, he looks…
He lookstired.
Like he suddenly feels the weight of the world and doesn’t know what to do with it. His shoulders are slumped and there’s ten tons of crushing lead in his eyes.
He looks kind of sick, too.
This is the first time he’s actually done something truly selfless. Forme. Not because there’s something to gain, but because he’s trying to do right.
My eyes sting.
And I’m suddenly very afraid he’s sprouted a conscience and he might stop drinking cold turkey.
“Dad, I appreciate it. More than you know. But we don’t have to do this now. You look sick.”
“No… it couldn’t wait. I realized what I had to do when I saw the news,” he says. “You, getting into trouble over some damn artifact when you could’ve sat on it for years. You shouldn’t have been so worried about money. I did this. I put you in that position.”
Not quite true, but I still can’t speak.
This isn’t the time or place to tell him any money I received was always secondary to keeping the Hera Egg safe and finding it a home. A mission we flunked.
“I know I haven’t been the best father. It’s been—it’s been hard, Cleo, and I never rose to the challenge the way you needed. I’m sorry, but—”
Holy shit, no.
I throw myself at him, tossing the envelope aside. My arms fold around his leathery neck and I hold on tight.
He smells like stale smoke and sweat and my childhood. Slightly citrusy soap and aftershave. Dad smells I’ve breathed with so much hope my entire life, but never found it until now.
