"A few more days. Maybe a week. Declan's tracking down the lawyer who handled the adoption, trying to find the birth mother's identity. Once we have that?—"
"Once we have that, we tell her everything," Devon said. "No more delays. I can’t keep lying to her.”
“I understand. I did it for two years. It sucks,” her father said.
Emery pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from making a sound. Her vision blurred with tears—anger, betrayal, confusion swirling into a toxic mix that made her want to scream.
They had suspicions. They withheld information. They lied.
Devon had held her, kissed her, told her he was falling in love with her—all while keeping this secret. He was willing to risk whatever was growing between them to keep a truth hidden in the name of protection.
Her father had comforted her about the attacks, about the danger, while knowing exactly why someone might want to ruin her career and possibly want her dead. And this wasn’t the first time her father had done this.
Jesus, she could be David Callaway's biological daughter.
The words echoed in her mind like a death sentence.
She inched closer toward the den. Her body trembling. Her mind jumbled with words that she could put together into a coherent thought. Her heart bled with crushing pain. Curlingher fingers around the knob, she pushed open the door. A rage roared through her as if lightning struck, filling her body with electricity.
The men turned and stared at her, their expressions shocked, confused, and guilty.
“Emery,” Devon spoke softly. His brow pulled together in a tight formation. His eyes pleaded with her to understand. To forgive.
“You lied to me,” Emery managed. “You fucking lied. All of you. Every single one of you betrayed my trust when I needed that more than I needed anything else.”
“Sweetheart.” Her father set his glass down, stood, and took a step.
She pushed out her hand. Her heart pulsed in her throat. “Leave me alone. I can’t stand looking at any of you.” Turning on her heels, she raced out of the room and made a beeline for the back stairs. As she took the steps two at a time toward the bedroom she and Devon were now sharing, she could hear him and his sisters calling after her.
Once inside the room, she slammed the door shut, locked it, and sank to the floor, covering her face, and sobbed. Everything she thought about herself, who she believed she was, changed in a second.
She barely had a chance to let the tears fall, to purge it, when someone rattled the door—then pounded.
"Emery." Devon's voice was rough with emotion. "Let me in."
She stayed silent as she rose.
“Come on. I know you’re upset, but please, let me explain.”
“Go away.”
“No. I’m not leaving until you hear me out. I’ll sleep in the hallway if I have to.”
One thing she knew about Devon was that he could be one of the most stubborn men on the planet. It was a Boone trait.
"You lied to me.” She pressed her hand against the door.
“I know. But I didn’t know how to tell you something I wasn't sure was true. We don't even know if it's real. It's speculation, that's all. Circumstantial evidence and timelines that match but don't prove anything."
"You should have told me."
"I wanted to. God, I wanted to tell you about it when the thought first occurred to me. And even more, the second Declan found those adoption records. But my dad said to wait. Your dad said to wait. They didn't want you worrying about something that might not even be true, especially after you were shot at. I was trying to protect you."
"By keeping secrets?"
"By not giving you one more thing to be terrified about." His words came out ragged, breaking on the last syllable. Something thudded softly against the door - his hand, maybe, or his whole body sagging against it. "Someone's trying to kill you. And if you knew?—"
"I deserved to know." Tears streamed down her face. "It's my life. My adoption. My possible inheritance. You don't get to decide what I can handle."
