“I love you too, Oliver,” she replied. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes flicked from her husband to me and back to him again. What the heck was she doing?
Guilt gnawed at me as I stepped closer, my voice steady even with the sting in my eye.
“It’s my child. Like I said?—”
“Shut up. You’ve already messed up my marriage. I’m going to fix it, so save your apologies. I don’t need your support. Stay the fuck away.” Oliver squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.
“I’m just saying I can to help,” I pressed, the words pulled from the knot of guilt in my conscience.
“I think it’s best if Oliver and I raise the child as our own,” Erin said, her voice edged as she fixed a glare on my mother. She turned her eyes on me, pleading. “I’m sorry, but it’s the only decision that makes sense for this family.”
“Sure,” I muttered hoarsely. My throat felt like a dried-up oil well, and my skull throbbed. I needed painkillers to numb my wounded eye and the pounding headache that drilled into me. Burgeoning rage sent my temperature toward an explosion which might leave someone injured. I had to leave before I blew up.
“Alistair, where are you going?” Mom called as I stalked toward the door, my face still burning from Oliver’s punch.
“Where I always go when I need peace and comfort. Lady Jane.”
THE BOMBSHELL
Alistair
A day later
Horseback riding was my therapy. Whenever life closed in, I found my escape in Lady Jane, a palomino my parents gave me back in my teens. She was well past her prime now, but still my favorite on the ranch. Age had slowed her stride, yet she carried herself with the same quiet pride, ears pricked, as if daring the world to underestimate her. She always tried to give me that extra mile, even at a gentle pace.
Nothing calmed me more than riding, the wind on my face, and the wide-open land stretching out like it belonged only to me. Away from the city, away from people. Horses didn’t want anything back. They gave empathy without judgment, something I figured out as a teenager. Back then, I wore the label—ADHD kid—and money didn’t protect me. Not from a pack of spoiled assholes who made sport out of kicking the vulnerable in high school.
I only came back to my childhood home when work let me breathe, and this afternoon was one of those rare times. Out herewith Lady Jane, the city felt a world away. The sun warmed my skin, and for a moment, I let myself sink into the quiet, into her steady rhythm.
Mom pulled me into a tight hug the next day when I showed up with Damian after work. I’d come home to unwind, maybe sneak in another ride on Lady Jane. We sat on the patio flipping through old photos until she sent my son off to “help Grandpa with the woodwork.” Translation: clear the deck so she could grill me about my personal life.
“How are you, son?” she asked.
“Work’s keeping me busy. We signed another contract for a drilling campaign near the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Well done,” she remarked with a nod. She readjusted her hat, which nearly blew off in the gentle fall breeze.
“I’ll be in Dubai and London for a few weeks,” I said. “Damian’s glad he can stay with you.”
Mom squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. “He’s my grandson, and I don’t trust his mother.”
I patted her arm assuredly. “I’m fighting for full custody, but it’s gonna take a while.”
“You’d better have the best lawyer in town because of that woman...” Mom’s voice trailed off as she shook her head.
“I’m wiser.”
“I never agreed with your father pushing you to marry Saira. Sure, he and Darius were business partners, but I always suspected Darius had mafia ties before he died. And Saira? She’s worse than him. Smarter. Colder. Absolutely heartless.”
“I know, Mom. I know. That’s why I took over The Church from Saira, remember?”
Mom’s eyes glinted cheerfully. “You have a heart of gold.”
Turning slightly away, I shook my head.
“Alistair, you’re a handsome man. You’re intelligent. But you were wrong to sleep with Erin. I know you. You regret whatyou’ve done, but that baby was no accident on her part. You should have been more careful. She wanted a piece of you, and now she can hold it over you for the rest of your life.”
“I know, Mom. I know.” Thirty-something and still, she could make me feel twelve again.
