Page 44 of Her Courage

United. Supporting me as I tried to reach Kaleb through whatever wall he'd erected overnight.

"Talk to me," I pleaded, more tears falling now. "To us. Please, Daddy K. Don't lock us out. That's not how this works. That's not—" My voice broke completely. I was terrified he would figure out that I wasn't his and he'd return to his life before me. That Patrice scared him enough to retreat completely.

The thought drew a choked sob from the depths of my soul.

Kaleb's jaw worked, muscles jumping beneath his skin. His eyes finally lifted to meet mine.

And the devastation I saw there shattered something inside my chest.

Chapter Twenty-Five

KALEB

Lottie's emotional plea shattered every wall I'd spent the night rebuilding. Brick by brick, her tears tore through my defenses until I sat exposed. Raw.

My mouth opened. Closed. No words came.

What could I say? That I was terrified? That watching Patrice threaten her had ripped open every wound I'd spent years trying to heal? That the nightmares last night had dragged me back to being fourteen and standing in the rain at my father's funeral?

"Kaleb." Lottie slid off her stool, crossing the kitchen despite Andrei and Colby's presence. She stopped directly in front of me, her hands reaching up to frame my face. "Please."

That single word broke me.

I pulled her between my legs, wrapping my arms around her waist as I buried my face in her stomach. Her fingers threaded through my hair—gentle, soothing strokes that made my throat constrict.

"I'm sorry," I managed, the words muffled against her soft cardigan. "I didn't mean to shut you out. I just⁠—"

"Shh." Her hands swept up and down my arms. "You don't have to explain right now. Just let me hold you."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Supposed to be the other way around."

"Says who?" She tilted my head back, forcing me to meet those stormy blue eyes. No judgment. No disappointment. Just love. Pure, unwavering love. God, I loved this woman. "We take care of each other. That's how this works. Remember?"

My vision blurred. When had I started crying?

"Before my dad died," I started, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "He was everything. Yeah, he drank. Yeah, he used pills to cope. But at least he was there. At my games. My tournaments. My debates. Even when he could barely stand straight, he showed up."

Lottie's fingers continued their soothing path up and down my back. She didn't interrupt. Didn't try to fill the silence. Just listened.

"My mother?" I laughed bitterly. "She was always off somewhere. Country club luncheons. Shopping trips. 'Charity work' that always seemed to involve staying overnight in expensive hotels with her latest conquest."

Andrei moved closer, his presence a solid wall of support at my back. Colby remained by the stove, but I could feel his attention on us.

"After Dad died, she only kept me around close enough to maintain access to my trust fund. Dad left everything to me. Not her. The house. The business. Everything." My hands tightened on Lottie's waist. "Like he knew what she was. What she'd become."

"He was protecting you," Lottie murmured.

"Maybe." I pressed my forehead against her stomach again, needing her warmth. "Didn't feel like protection when I was sixteen and she called me selfish for not wanting to fund her third trip to Europe that year. Or when Rupert moved in and started calling me ungrateful for questioning why they needed a second vacation home."

The memories came faster now, each one a shard of glass working its way out of old wounds.

"She was verbally abusive. Both of them were. 'You're just like your father—weak, pathetic, worthless.' That was a favorite." I laughed without humor. "'If it wasn't for your money, nobody would want anything to do with you.' She'd say it so sweetly, like she was giving me advice instead of cutting me down."

Lottie's hands stilled in my hair. "Daddy⁠—"

"I made excuses for years." The confession poured out, unstoppable now. "Told myself she was just stressed. That Rupert was adjusting. That if I was just better—made more money, donated more, showed up for her stupid events—maybe she'd actually love me."

"That's not⁠—"