Page 79 of Bombshell

“It was a game, Adair,” he tells me. “A broken boy played a game with your heart, and when a bigger player came to the board, he attacked. He sent me that tape for one reason.”

I’m tired of half answers and insinuation. “What was that?”

His eyes flicker over me before skittering to the wall again. “So, that I’d never be able to look at you the same way.”

A piece of me I didn’t know could be broken shatters. I don’t know if he’s right about Sterling. Maybe I’m a fool, and I never really knew him. Maybe there’s some day I will understand. But regardless of whether he’s right about why he did it or I’m right that he didn’t do it, I’m still responsible like Francie said. I stood back and watched while he was stripped of his pride. That’s why he didn’t track me down or say goodbye. I didn’t deserve it. Not then. Not now. I never will. “Then, I guess he’s not going to come back.”

The front door opens, and I stand, ready to run to Felix.

“Finally,” my father says. “I need a drink.”

“When don’t you?”

“The moral highroad doesn’t suit a sinner. You’re not a martyr. You’re just a stupid girl who’s read too many books to have any common sense. You want to keep your baby?” he asks. “And give her what? You don’t own the clothes on your back. You can’t feed her. You only have one way to protect her. Me. This family. You can’t do this on your own.”

“Keep the baby?” A shrill voice repeats.

I look up in time to see a vase of flowers slip from Ginny’s fingers followed by the sound of breaking glass. Malcolm glares beside her. Felix bustles past with a bottle of bourbon, looking determined to stay out of the matter.

“What are you talking about?” Malcolm demands.

“We don’t need to discuss this right now,” I say.

But my father is already talking. “Your sister has had a change of heart. It seems she’s chosen the bastard over her family name.”

“Noooo,” Ginny moans.

“We have a contract.” Malcolm storms into the room, heading straight for the baby like he’s going to tear her out of my arms. I recoil, clutching Ellie to my chest. “We’ve seen to everything. The paperwork is drawn up. The name change is ready to be filed. Ginny just finished the nursery plans. She’s been dreaming about this for weeks!”

But I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at his wife. Ginny hasn’t moved an inch, but all the blood has washed from her face. She takes one wobbly step but can’t seem to go any farther.

“I wish I could give you what you need, but you have to understand, she’s my baby.”

“That I paid for,” Malcolm grumbles.

“She’s not something you can buy and sell.” I hold her closer, wondering how they can’t see this.

“And yet you had no problem taking my money and running out of the country to have a child out of wedlock,” my father piles on.

I look to Felix. He stands in the corner, watching all of us, and I wish he would step in and calm everyone down. He’s the one who can handle my father and soothe Ginny and distract Malcolm. Why isn’t he? Help! I send the S.O.S. silently, but instead of answering he turns away. Why would he do that now when I need him the most.

Malcolm and Daddy continue to level threats, but I tune them out, rocking from side to side to keep them from waking the baby. There’s no point in arguing with them. Not right now. Once a MacLaine has lost their temper, there’s nothing you can do but wait for them to cool down again. And then there’s Ginny. I can’t bring myself to look at her.

We had never really addressed what happened at the wedding. She’d gone off on her honeymoon, returning to their place in D.C. after so Malcolm could continue his position. I’d only heard from her when she called to tell me she was pregnant. She hadn’t even been the one to tell me when they lost the baby. I’d gotten the bad news from my father by text. Most of the arrangements regarding the planned adoption had come through my father during his visits. This is the first time I’ve actually been in the same room with her since her wedding.

Like most brides, she’d dieted obsessively leading up to the big day. That day, she’d glowed like someone had turned on a lightbulb inside her. She’s as thin today as she was then, maybe even skinnier. But there’s no rosy cheeks or happiness radiating from her. Instead, there are dark circles under her eyes and her high cheekbones don’t look sharp and elegant, they look sunken and gaunt. It’s like all the bits under her skin that make her up are deteriorating. She’s tried to cover it up with make-up: thick, camouflaging concealer and bright, pink lipstick. Is all this from losing her own baby? What is losing the chance to adopt Ellie going to do to her?

“Ginny, I’m sorry,” I begin.

“No, you aren’t,” Malcolm snaps.

But Ginny takes a deep breath. “Can I hold her?”

“Is that a good idea?” Malcolm asks, his eyes darting between us. He reaches for her arm as if to stop her if she decides to anyway. “I don’t want you to get attached.”

“I’m already attached.” She yanks her arm free. “And, regardless, Elodie is family.”

“Yes,” I speak up before the guilt eats me alive. Even agreeing to it, each step she takes toward me increases my sense of dread. When she reaches for my daughter, I hesitate.