The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"
"She called. She texted. You never answered." Holly's voice was thick with tears. "She was scared and alone, and you never answered."
"No." I shook my head, backing up a step. "No, I would have. My phone broke, so I got a new number."
"She didn't know that!" Holly shouted. "All she knew was that she was twenty-four years old and pregnant, and the father wasn't responding!"
"You knew?" The betrayal was almost worse than everything else. "All this time, you knew I had a daughter, and you never said a word?"
"It wasn't my secret to tell!"
"Bullshit!" I was shaking now, rage and grief and shock all tangling together until I couldn't breathe. "I've been in Casey's life for weeks. You watched me with her, watched me teach her hockey, watched me fall in love with that kid, and you never once thought to mention she was mine?"
"What was I supposed to do?" Holly's tears were flowing freely now. "Palisade made me promise. She was trying to protect Casey from getting hurt if you weren't ready to be a father!"
"I don't give a fuck what she thought!" My voice cracked. "Six years, Holly. Six fucking years of Casey's life. First steps. First words. First day of school. First hockey practice. All of it. Gone. And you let it happen."
"She was protecting Casey!"
"From what? From me?" I stepped closer. "I'm her father."
"You weren't exactly relationship material back then, East! You were thirty years old and sleeping with a different woman every week!"
The accusation stung because it was true. "That doesn't give her the right to keep my daughter from me."
"Maybe if you'd answered your phone—"
"Don't." I held up a hand, backing toward the door. "Don't put this on me. I didn't know. She made sure I didn't know."
"Easton!"
"I can't do this right now." I yanked the door open. "I can't even look at you right now."
"Easton, don't do anything stupid!"
But I was already gone, slamming the door behind me and taking the stairs two at a time back to my truck.
My hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
The rage felt too familiar. It had the same cold weight my father's anger used to have. The kind that didn't explode. It compressed tighter and tighter until something broke.
Usually me.
"Control it, Easton."His voice in my head, scotch-slurred but still sharp."Real men don't lose their temper. They use it."
He'd been a master at it. That icy fury that could fill a room, making the air too thick to breathe. I'd learned to read it in the sound of ice cubes hitting crystal, in the particular way he'd loosen his tie after a bad day. By the time I was ten, I could gauge his mood by how he opened the front door.
I wasn't him. I'd sworn I'd never be him.
But right now, with icy rage churning in my chest, I felt exactly like him as I prepared to drive toward Sadie's house. And that scared me more than anything else.
I started the truck and pulled out, barely registering the route as muscle memory took over. Within minutes, I was pulling into Sadie's driveway, and I was pounding on her door before I'd fully processed the decision to come here.
I heard Casey's voice inside. "Who is it?"
Sadie's reply was muffled, but I heard her tell Casey to go finish her homework.
Then the door opened.
