“No, no,” Tate says quickly, holding up his hands. “We didn’t mean it like that at all. Our father…” He exchanges a look with his twin before continuing. “He was never faithful to any of the women he married or was with. We just never knew his affairs had resulted in a child.”
“We found something when we were clearing his office,” Tristan adds softly. “A large sum of money was transferred to your mother’s account. Elena Lane, right?”
I watch as all the color drains from Caspian’s face. The pub’s usual morning chatter seems to fade, leaving us in a bubble of tense silence.
“That’s impossible,” Caspian says, but there’s a slight waver in his voice. “My mom worked hard for everything we had. We lived simply. She was a waitress, then a restaurant manager. We weren’t…”
“The transfer happened around the time you would have been conceived,” Tate says carefully. “There’s no evidence of their relationship before that payment and nothing after. It was the only connection we could find. That’s how we think you’re the one.”
“How do you know all these things about me and my mom?” he asks, his voice unsteady.
“I’m an attorney,” Tate explains gently. “I work with families, often helping mothers keep custody of their children when they’re leaving abusive relationships. I have contacts. Private investigators who help gather evidence to protect my clients.” He pauses, his expression softening. “I reached out to one of them when we found the payment records. We looked for your mom and then found… We’re so sorry for your loss, Caspian.”
“This is unbelievable,” Caspian says as if he’s trying to convince himself that this is happening.
“Did you receive a sum of money from your mom?” Tate asks gently. “When she passed away?”
Caspian’s intake of breath is sharp, audible. “I…” His voice trails off, and when he speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper. “Yes, the money I used to buy Special Blend. I didn’t know she had it.”
The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with unspoken implications. I watch as understanding dawns on Caspian’s face, followed quickly by something that looks like betrayal. He stands abruptly, the movement causing the table to shake slightly.
“I can’t do this,” he says, his voice rough. “Nate, please take me home.”
“Of course,” I say immediately, standing beside him. I give the twins a quick nod, noting the concern on their faces, before following Caspian out of the pub.
The drive home is silent. Caspian stares out the window, his reflection in the glass showing eyes that seem to look far beyond the snow-covered streets of Maplewood.
When I pull into his driveway, I turn off the engine and shift to face him, but before I can speak, he’s already opening the door.
I follow him up the steps to his door, watching as he fumbles with his keys. When he finally gets the door open, he pauses in the doorway.
“I want to be alone,” he says, still not looking at me.
“Caspian, you shouldn’t be alone right now.” I reach for him.
He turns then, and the hurt in his eyes makes me step back. “You knew,” he says, his voice flat. “You knew what I was walking into today and didn’t say anything.”
The accusation hangs between us like frost in the air. I open my mouth to explain, to apologize, but before I can get the words out, he steps inside and closes the door. The soft click of the latch feels like a gunshot to my chest.
I stand there, staring at the closed door, my breath forming small clouds in the cold. He’s right. I should have told him. I should have said I’d overheard them talking and had approached them.
Looking at his door now, remembering the hurt and betrayal in his eyes, I realize I’ve completely fucked up. By trying to protect him, I became another person keeping secrets from him.
I raise my hand to knock, then let it fall back to my side. Caspian’s asked for space, and as much as it kills me to leave him alone right now, I need to respect that. It’s the least I can do after betraying his trust.
I consider going back to my place, but the thought of being on the other side of that wall from him, unable to reach out and comfort him, feels like torture. The walk back to my truck feels longer than it should. Each step crunches in the snow, the sound mixing with the voice in my head telling me what an idiot I’ve been. As I climb into the driver’s seat, I catch a glimpse of movement in Caspian’s window—just a slight shift of the curtain—but when I look again, it’s still.
I start the engine but don’t pull away immediately. The heat kicks on, fighting against the Vermont winter chill, but I barely notice it. All I can think about is the way Caspian’s hand felt in mine this morning and how quickly I managed to ruin everything.
“Fuck,” I whisper to my empty truck. I really, really fucked up.
I pull out my phone and hit Addy’s number. She answers on the second ring.
“Hey, can I come over?” My voice sounds rough even to my own ears.
“Nate?” There’s rustling on her end, probably her setting down her paintbrush. “Are you okay?”
“I messed up with Caspian. Bad.” My voice catches slightly on the last word.
