Page 59 of Married at Midnight

Ellie turned to Jordan. “What about you? Please say you’ll come. I could use some support.”

Jordan frowned. “Isn’t Viola getting married the same day?”

Ellie nodded. “To her bridegroom, whoever that may be.”

Jordan raised a brow. “Has she told the guy he’s getting married yet?”

Ellie winced. “Since they needed to apply for a wedding license, I sure hope so. But she’s keeping the details a secret.”

Jordan threw Ellie a conspiratorial wink. “We could go to the courthouse and search the public records.”

Ellie laughed. “And give Viola a reason to make my life a living hell? No, thank you!”

“I’m not working . . . all right. I’ll come. The day will be entertaining if nothing else,” Jordan agreed.

“So glad I can provide you with a distraction,” Ellie said, smiling at the one person who could help her keep her emotions in check during one of her last few days with Connor.

Since Ellie was out for the evening with her girlfriends, Connor decided to do something he’d been dreading for the last three weeks: seeing his father. No matter how painful facing the truth might be, neither of them could avoid it any longer.

Connor headed to his father’s Queen Anne home only a few miles away from Viola’s. Parking his car in the driveway, he allowed himself a nostalgic smile at the sight of the garage. It was the place where many of his initial inventions had occurred.

The kitchen light and living-room lights were on, signaling his father was home. He climbed the shallow front steps and knocked on the door.

His father answered the door with a puzzled look on his face. “What brings you around?” he asked as he stepped aside and allowed Connor to enter. “I thought you’d be at home with that wife of yours. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Biting back a retort, Connor replied instead, “I came to see how you are and to give you some news.”

His father’s sharp hazel eyes met his, but he remained silent as he took a seat in the living room in his favorite recliner, the one he’d had as far back as Connor could remember. That was his father in a nutshell: a man who held on to things—not people—as long as he could. With hope, tonight he would let go of his past once and for all.

“We need to talk about Mom.”

“No.” His father scowled. “I asked you never to mention that woman in my presence a long time ago.”

“Don’t you think it’s been long enough? Harboring hate has ruined not only your life but mine as well,” Connor went on, undeterred. They would have this discussion whether his father liked it or not.

His father’s gaze grew increasingly sharp. “If that’s what you want to talk about, you can leave.” The bitterness in his voice was no surprise.

“She’s dead.”

Clark Grayson’s stormy expression faded, leaving his face pale and gaunt. There was a long pause before his father swallowed and asked, “How do you know this?”

“My friend Trevor ran her information through the SPD database. I figured twenty-four years was long enough for us to not have any answers.” They’d come this far; there was no retreat now.

His father closed his eyes and nodded. “Okay, so she’s dead. I guess I can stop worrying about running into her someday and not knowing how to respond.”

“There’s more.”

His father snapped his eyes open. He regarded Connor with reluctant curiosity. “Well, don’t keep it to yourself. You got me this worked up. You might as well go all the way.”

“She died six months after she left us.”

Clark clutched his hands in his lap.

“Trevor found the hospice center where Mom died, and I spoke to her hospice nurse. Even after all this time, the woman remembered Mom because of the way she talked about her husband and son.”

“She had regrets?” his father asked in a raw voice.

Connor nodded. “The nurse said Mom’s last words were all about how she wished she could have watched her son grow up, and how deeply she regretted not being able to grow old with her husband at her side.”