The sincerity of Bull’s words sat on Slade’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. He’d never heard Bull speak of him or fatherhood in any way that was remotely endearing. But the soft smile on his face coupled with the distant look of happiness in Bull’s eyes were proof that he was actually telling the truth. He’d been happy about Slade coming into theworld.
“Then where did it go wrong, Bull? Because I can remember you hating me from a very earlyage.”
Bull’s gaze dropped for a minute. When he lifted it again, the faint gleam of happiness faded, and cold hatred remained. “Even though I stood to lose everything I loved—and despite what you may think, I desperately loved your mama—I had a son born of my own flesh. Boy, I don’t know a man alive that can’t be happy about that. But that was stolen from metoo.”
Slade narrowed his gaze at Bull as he searched for clarity. “What does thatmean?”
“It means if I’d been smart enough to do the calculations, I’d have realized I was out of the country for nearly two months when you wereconceived.”
“You lying son of bitch. Are you really going to try to tell me my mother ran around onyou?”
Slade watched for any telling actions that would prove Bull a liar, but there were none. The man stared Slade in the eyes. His face was open, not a hint of subterfugepresent.
“If you don’t believe me, Slade, ask Indira. She was your mother’s closest confidant. She was there for all of it. But if you want proof, all you have to do is look at our blood types. I’m A, your mother was Bpositive, you’re O positive. It’s a biologic impossibility that she and I could’ve produced a child with your blood type. Your mama told me you were premature because of her heart condition. I didn’t discover the truth until you were three months old. In one moment my entire world was taken from me. Your birth had taken a handful of years from your mother’s life. I’d lost my place at the company because you were a natural heir to the Logan empire, and then I was robbed of the last thing I ever held dear, my son. The last straw was your grandmother robbing me in her will. I promised I’d never let you steal another thing fromme.”
Slade was cold with shock. If he believed what Bull was telling him, his entire life was a lie. It was impossible. What Bull was suggesting was crazy. Still, when Slade thought about every incomprehensibly evil thing this man had done to him, them sharing no blood madesense.
“I’ve worked hard to make you feel the bitter cut of loneliness all these years, Slade. But in all my dealings, I’ve never come as close to seeing you look as destroyed as the dear sweet chemist has managed to. Hell, if I’d known she’d be the key to your destruction all this time, I would’ve sent you to New York a long time ago. Who knew that I all had to do was wait for you to screw up to make my dreams cometrue?”
Bull stood up and slapped a hand on Slade’s shoulders. His crooked smile made his round face appear even more sinister. “Now you truly know what it is to be me, boy. To know that you somehow had a hand in your own destruction. Enjoy that feeling. Make use of it. That feeling is what makes me who I am. And you know what? I can already tell by that bleak mix of sadness and anger swirling around in your eyes, it’s going to do the same for you, my boy. I guess you’re gonna be a chip off the old block one way or another. Just like yourdaddy.”
Slade lifted his eyes and met Bull’s gaze. The fear and panic spinning around inside Slade’s head must have been visible, because Bull started laughing all over again. That sickening sound echoed off the parking lot structure walls as Bull walked away from Slade and out of hissight.
Dear God, am I really turning intohim?
* * *
Slade walked into the apartment, longing for a hot shower and his bed after his brief encounter with his Bull. The day had been grueling. Between work and the oppressive emotions Bull had stirred up, Slade barely had enough energy to breathe, let alone make it up the stairs to hisloft.
He walked into the cold, empty space and shivered. This place had been just a roof over his head during the workweek to minimize his commute. But since Mandisa left Havenheart, Slade hadn’t been able to bring himself to set foot on theranch.
Memories of her were all over his beautiful land, lying in wait to assault him if he even thought to set foot on the property. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he could see her all over the ranch. In the stables, in the fields, by the brook, where they’d made love at the bank of the stream, at Mama Indy’s kitchen table—she waseverywhere.
Feeling weak, he dropped his briefcase, cellphone, and keys on the hall table and walked the rest of the way into the loft, leaning against the wall. He stripped as he walked, leaving a trail of clothes from the door to thebathroom.
He turned the water on as hot as he could bear it and let the shower fill with steam. He stepped into the spray, hoping the water would wash off the layers of pain and disappointment he wore like a secondskin.
He’d done this, and yet he still couldn’t come to terms with the outcome. He’d taken things too far by trying to keep Mandisa in Texas. He could accept that. He was wrong. There was no getting around that. But knowing Mandisa and everyone else in his family likened him to Bull—that infected his heart like venom. That knowledge kept him weak, bitter, and angry. He didn’t know how to save himself fromit.
He washed himself and wrapped a towel around his waist, collapsing onto his bed as soon as he stood next toit.
He turned his head and saw the bottle of scotch he’d opened last night to help him sleep. It was half empty, and the remaining liquid called to him like an elixir. The contents of that bottle told him it was okay to be who he was. Told him that being compared to Bull in this context wasn’t such a badthing.
He pulled himself up so that his back rested against the headboard and reached for the bottle with a shaky hand. It was the only thing in his life that understood him, understood why he’d done the things he had. It whispered soothing truths into hisear.
The bottle beckoned him to open and empty it. Slade was about to oblige until it told him there was nothing wrong with being like Bull, that he should accept it, not fightit.
He sat there looking at the bottle in his hand, listening to the siren-like call in his head begging him tosuccumb.
“I’m nothing like him,” he whispered. “I will never accept being like him.” The sounds in his head became distorted, pulling him from his bed. He dropped the bottle back on his nightstand and backed away from it slowly. He knew this was all in his imagination, but that didn’t make the experience any lessreal.
If you’re nothing like him, then proveit.
“How am I supposed to prove I’m nothing likeBull?”
Are you really asking a bottle of scotch that question? Even better, do you really expect ananswer?
Slade stumbled the few feet to the kitchen area and held on to the counter for dear life. He wasn’t drunk, hadn’t had a drop of liquor since the last glass he poured that afternoon when Aaron was in his office. The possibility of insanity dangled in his mind, but he soon pushed it away. A talking bottle of scotch might have been the object he’d focused on, but he knew the questions were coming from deep withinhim.
