Page 240 of Darling Venom
His hand connected with the cheese and yanked, decapitating half of it in one go. “’Cause you need a reason to keep coming over here?”
Tate and I were a fragile ecosystem of ill-fated decisions. Each one had the potential to destroy us. Nothing good would happen once I no longer had an excuse to show up.
I feared our future like people feared a natural disaster, unable to predict it. I could either prevent damage or leave myself vulnerable when it strikes.
I had more self-preservation than that.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“You want me to lie to my son?”
I held back a groan.
When I said I wanted Terrence Marchetti to assume the role of the dependable parent, I hadn’t expected it to backfire so soon. Especially when he possessed the moral aptitude of the Grinch.
“If he asks, tell him we’re done with the book, but if he doesn’t…” I scratched the back of my neck, having the decency to appear sheepish. “Can you just not volunteer the information?”
It wouldn’t be a lie, per se.
Just an omission of truth.
In the grand scheme of things, it hardly counted as a sin.
Sure. And the Manson Family wasn’t a cult.
“Well, well, well… Aren’t you the pillar of morality?”
That wasn’t an answer, and we both knew it.
I waited for Terry to finish.
He didn’t.
I tried to figure out his endgame. He knew I could run to the press and offer an exclusive on his plagiarism, but the last thing I wanted was negative press for the Marchetti name before Kellan’s release.
And that, I decided, gave Terry the winning hand.
The silence stretched another minute. I took it as his answer.
Fine. I’d find another way.
Another excuse to keep myself in Tate’s life.
After all, time is a deadbeat parent. Once it’s gone, that asshole is never coming back. With Tate, I had no intention of sitting around.
I packed up my things, heading to the door with the envelope containing the manuscript pressed tightly to my chest for safekeeping. My palm planted on a chunk of peeling wallpaper, the other hand moving to zip up my ankle boots.
“I’ve been meaning to ask…”
Terry’s words stopped me just shy of the doorknob.
I pivoted to face him. He dragged a hand down the leg of his sweats. Ran a palm over his face. Cleared his throat.
“Go on,” I pressed when he didn’t.
“The credits on Darling Venom…” He palmed the back of his neck. “Can you leave my name off them? No editing credits, no proofing credits, not even the damn foreword.”
I didn’t know what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.
