“Being in a cage doesn’t change anything.”
His smile is infinitely sad. “Maybe not. But it makes me feel better.”
The guard raps on the window, signaling time.
“I don’t know if I can truly forgive you, Daddy,” I say as the guard opens the door and starts to walk toward my dad. “But I think maybe I want to try.”
twenty-nine
The only reason Jackson got through the rest of Sunday was because he had Ronnie to take care of. And the only reason he survived Monday morning was because Stella took care of Ronnie, and Jackson buried himself in work.
But by mid-afternoon, even the pull of the resort wasn’t keeping him on track. He was edgy. Lost. Angry.
He wanted to lash out, and more than once during the morning he’d considered calling Sutter and getting him to open the gym. Maybe even go a few rounds. But the idea of losing himself to the dance and weave, the sweat and pain, the screaming muscles and pumped up adrenaline wasn’t doing it for him today.
No, he knew what the goddamn antidote for his misery was—and she’d up and left him.
Goddammit.
And for that matter, goddamn her. He wanted to be patient. He wanted to help. But at the same time he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. And it frustrated the hell out of him that while he could grab control from her in bed, in life, she had to make her own choices, her own decisions.
He only hoped she made the right one. Because he loved her, and he knew that she loved him. He wanted to make a family with her, a life. And he believed with all his heart that she wanted the same thing. But it was fear that had pushed her away. And all he could do was hope that her innate strength would bring her back. She had a lot of strength, after all. She’d pulled him back, hadn’t she?
Hell.
He glanced at the clock, saw that it was Ronnie’s snack time, and decided to go see if he could share a PB&J with his daughter and her nanny. He was almost to the elevator bank when his assistant, Lauren, called out to him. “Mr. Steele? Rachel just called down. She says there’s someone to see you on thirty-five.”
Sylvia? Surely not, but maybe she was being coy. He allowed himself the pleasure of the fantasy that she was waiting for him at her desk, but when he arrived, he was disappointed to see that it wasn’t her—and confused that it was Graham Elliott instead.
“Mr. Steele,” Graham said, walking to him and holding out his hand. “I’m sorry to bother you at the office. I’ve met Evelyn Dodge a time or two socially, and when I said I wanted to talk to you, she suggested I come by.” He shot a Hollywood smile toward Rachel, who looked like she was going to float out of her chair. “Ms. Peters has been nice enough to entertain me.”
“I, um, water? Would you like water? Or coffee? Or—”
Graham shook his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Jackson slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “What can I do for you?” He tried to say it politely; he wasn’t sure he succeeded. This was the man who wanted to play him in a movie about the Fletcher house, after all. This was the man willing to foment the kind of scandal that would throw slime all over Jackson’s daughter.
“Two things, actually. I wanted to say congrats on getting your name cleared. And I wanted to tell you that I’m off the movie.”
Jackson shifted his weight. Not relaxing—not yet—but interested. And dubious. “Is that so?”
Graham seemed to deflate a bit. “Look, I’m breaking a confidence, but you should know that your dad was in bed with Reed. He was keen on getting the movie made. Figured it would be one hell of a payday. Even dropped that bombshell about you and your brother when interest waned. Guess he figured it would pick back up.”
Jackson stood perfectly still. “And you? Why were you involved?”
“The material rocks, man. And it’s not defamation. All that shit that happened to you—to the Fletchers—it’s a damn solid story and it would make one hell of a movie.”
“And yet you’re not going to make it.”
Graham met his eyes. “I’m not,” he said. “The material’s good, but my perspective has changed. My girlfriend’s pregnant, and if anyone messed with my kid, I’d fuck them up one side and down the other. But I guess you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? That’s why you were trying to kill the movie.”
Jackson nodded. “Yes. It was.”
“Was your dad the leak? About your daughter, I mean.”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I think the press just did their job and found the court papers in New Mexico.”
