He looked down at Tucker, small fingers still clutched in Lilah’s hand, and took in the carefully blank look on his face.
He had to get them both away from him, before this ball of anger expanding in his chest exploded all over them.
“I’ll be fine on my own,” he told her. “I always am.”
Unsure if he was trying to convince her or himself, Devon ignored the stricken look in her pretty green eyes and headed for the stairs where his father waited.
They made it al the way down the narrow, dark stairs and into the office in a tense silence. But the moment the office door closed, Phil exploded.
“A child, Devon? Out of wedlock? And then to not even have the common decency to tell your mother and me that we were grandparents. We didn’t raise you like that.”
“You didn’t raise me at all,” Devon fired back. “When you weren’t punishing me for being different from you, you were ignoring me. Yeah, you were a model father.”
“Oh, and you’re doing so much better with your kid, huh?”
The memory of Tucker’s withdrawn expression ripped into Devon. It was that same overly adult, emotionless façade he’d almost lost in the last two weeks. Devon knew what brought it back—all this loud, pointless shouting and angry talk.
Tucker was afraid of him again.
Shit, Devon thought, stomach clenching hard. Dad’s right. I’m completely screwing this up.
There wasn’t enough air in the cool, musty-smelling basement. Devon couldn’t get a good breath. If he could just breathe in, he could defend himself—except, no, there was nothing he could say.
He remembered that first night at Market—God, was it only two weeks ago?—when the police officer offered him a choice between taking custody of Tucker, and letting his son go into foster care.
And Devon had hesitated. What kind of man, what kind of father did that? So what if he’d been scared he might turn out to be like his old man.
There was that word again. Scared.
Devon had chosen his career over his family; it was the choice he’d been making every day since he graduated from high school.
Since the last day Phil told him he wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough. Since the last time his mother listened to him say it, her silence a tacit agreement despite the mute suffering on her face.
Devon had heard everything Phil was saying before. There was no reason it should cut so deeply now. All he knew was that it did.
“Don’t worry about Tucker,” Devon forced himself to say. “I don’t have much time to inflict the Sparks family brand of parenting on him. His mother, my ex, she’s … away on a trip, but she’ll be back in a couple of weeks. He’s only with me until she comes home.”
It was nothing but the truth—well, the truth with a little editing—but the words slashed at Devon’s heart as unerringly as anything his father had said.
In another two weeks, this would all be over. Tucker would go back to Heather. Lilah wouldn’t have any reason to stay.
How the hell had he allowed himself to forget and start playing house? He thought he’d laid the happy family fantasy to rest long ago. The humiliating moment of hope when he first caught sight of Phil tonight told Devon he hadn’t buried those ludicrous feelings as deeply as he thought.
“And let me guess. You won’t have time in the next few weeks to bring the kid out to the neighborhood to visit your mother.”
“Good guess,” Devon said. “Come on, Dad. Look what happens when we’re around each other for five minutes. Part of the reason I never told you about Tucker before was that I didn’t want him exposed to our particular family dynamic. I mean, shit. Just because we’re completely fucked up is no reason he has to be.”
Phil’s mouth tightened ominously. “I know you’re a big shot now, lots of money, fancy apartment, fast car—and I know you look down on the life your mother and I live, but we did our best for you and your brother.”
“Your best. Right.” Bitterness boiled up in Devon’s throat, sour and hot. “What whitewashed version of my childhood are you remembering? Never mind. This conversation is going in circles. Just … tell Mom I hope the St. Iggy’s charity thing goes okay. If she wants me to donate something to be auctioned off, she knows how to reach me.”
“She won’t,” Phil growled, ramming his arms into the sleeves of his worn navy jacket. “We don’t need your piles of cash, Devon. And don’t think you can buy yourself a clean conscience, either.”
“Hey, my conscience is fresh as a daisy,” Devon lied. “How’s yours?”
Phil wrenched open the office door. “Don’t bother walking me out; I’m not sure I can stand the sight of you right now.”
Devon shoved away his stupid hurt feelings and covered them with a sneer. “Give them my best down at the union hall.”
Phil paused in the doorway. Devon tried not to notice how old and tired he looked, with his stooped shoulders and ruthlessly combed gray hair.
“I can only thank God your mother didn’t come here with me tonight; the shock of all this would’ve been too much for her. I wish I could say I can’t believe you’d keep our flesh and blood a secret from us, but unfortunately, that’s exactly the kind of selfish behavior I expect from you.”
The dig sliced into Devon like a knife, filleting the flesh from his bones. He stared at his father, a little amazed that the old man’s mouth wasn’t filling up with blood, cut to ribbons by the sharp words.
And the worst of it was, Phil didn’t even stick around after his parting shot to watch Devon bleed out, messy emotion and stupid, pointless hopes all over the floor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Pacing really wasn’t a very effective tool for managing stress. On her seventeenth pass by the basement stairs, Lilah realized she wasn’t actually going to be able to force Phil Sparks to leave the restaurant using the power of her will alone.
“I’m going down there,” she announced.
“No, you’re not,” Grant countered, the way he had the first five times she’d tried to leave. “I know it goes against your nature, but stay out of it, Lolly.”
Lilah wondered if he might be right. It wasn’t like her meddling had gone very well recently.
Which reminded her that this entire Phil Sparks calamity was her fault. “It’s my mess, I should help clean it up,” she argued.
Grant was inflexible. “Leave it alone.”
Lilah fretted. Glancing over at the grill, where Frankie was attempting to get Tucker interested in how to clean and season the cast-iron slats, she had to wonder how much of her frustration was due to the fact that while she wasn’t helping Devon with his father, she was equally useless here in the kitchen.
Tucker had withdrawn into himself again. Nothing she said appeared to make a dent in his stony façade. Even his favorite restaurant person, Frankie, hadn’t succeeded in getting so much as a grin out of him.
It was just like that first night, only worse, because now Lilah knew what Tuck’s face looked like all lit up with laughter. She could recall in perfect detail the way his blue eyes got shifty when he was up to some mischief. This robotic child who, even as she watched, pulled away from Frankie’s attempt to ruffle his hair, was a stranger.
Without a word, Tucker retrieved his ever-present backpack from the pastry table and wedged himself into the back corner of the kitchen, near the alley door. Lilah watched him root through his pack and decided to go sit with him.
Even if he gave her the cold shoulder, at least she’d be doing something. Besides, she told herself, he’s only a little boy. He might not want company right now, but he doesn’t know what he needs.
Ignoring the fact that it was exactly that sentiment that landed them in this situation, Lilah moved toward Tucker only to be distracted by the bang of footsteps on the basement stairs.
Her heart jumped and lodged somewhere near her breastbone.
A moment later, Phil Sparks appeared. Alone. He strode through the kitchen looking neithe
r right nor left; cooks jumped out of his way like the Red Sea parting before Moses.
Lilah held her breath as he neared the pastry station at the back of the kitchen, where Tucker had spread out his art supplies. Would he stop and talk to his grandson?
Phil slowed when he caught site of Tucker, who glanced up from his drawing and froze. The standoff lasted for only a heartbeat before Tucker hunched back down over his paper and colored pencils, a ferocious scowl twisting his face. In spite of everything, Lilah couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for Phil as he straightened his shoulders and continued out the back door without another word.
Tension streamed out of the kitchen in his wake like air let off from a hot-air balloon. The cooks went to work with a will, wiping down counters and lugging stacks of dirty pans to the dishwashing station.
Grant headed back out to the front of the house to supervise the exit of the last straggling guests, and Lilah took the opportunity to slip down the back staircase and find Devon.
Not that she needed Grant’s permission or anything. But she found herself feeling very unsure, secondguessing everything. It was a familiar state of being, one she’d hoped she’d left behind in Virginia. The reemergence of the old Lolly, here and now, was completely unwelcome.
At least now she knew that overwhelming feelings of guilt and regret were a trigger.
She’d give anything to be able to go back in time and stop her idiotically Pollyanna-ish self from making that phone call to New Jersey, Lilah mused as she knocked tentatively on the office door.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“It’s safe,” Devon called. “My father is on his way back to Trenton.”
She found him leaning on the desk, arms crossed and long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes were like ice chips, sending shivers down her spine. But not in the good way. The contrast between the chill in the air now and the sauna-like ambiance the office had held before the party, when she came down to wish him good luck, made Lilah’s heart hurt.
“Yes, I saw him go,” she said carefully, approaching Devon like she would any wounded animal.
“And good fucking riddance.”
Lilah swallowed her instinctive reaction to the cuss word. Something in Devon’s expression told her he was itching for a fight.
“No matter what your father said, you did a wonderful thing here tonight. I’m proud of you.”
He stared at her for a long, taut moment, then his face softened. “God, Lilah Jane. It was so … I hadn’t seen him in a long time. I guess it was bound to be difficult.”
Lilah wanted to squirm. “I know. I’m sorry.”
With a rough sound of frustration, Devon slumped and rubbed his hands through his hair. “It’s been ten years. What the hell made him come here tonight?”
“Oh.” Lilah twisted her hands together until her knuckles throbbed. “Well. I can actually answer that.”
“What?” Astonishment rolled off him in waves.
Here goes nothing.
She squared her shoulders. “I invited him.”
“You. You did what?”
Devon couldn’t believe what he was hearing—or, no. He didn’t want to believe it. The truth was, it was all too easy to swallow.
After all, Lilah Jane Tunkle never met a problem she didn’t want to solve.
Even when it was none of her fucking business.
“I know! I’m sorry! But I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”
He almost wanted to laugh, except he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop once he started. “What the hell did you think was going to happen? That we’d take one look at each other and all the wonderful, warm, fuzzy family memories would come rushing back?”
“Of course not,” she said, although the blush rising up her neck messed with the credibility of her denial. “It’s pointless to dwell on the past. But the present! I wanted your parents to have a chance to see how much you’ve accomplished. I thought they’d be proud of you.”
“My father has never been proud of me, and he never will be.” It was one of the concrete, bedrock truths of Devon’s life. He might’ve forgotten it for a second earlier tonight, but he never would again.
“That can’t be true.” She looked so unhappy at the very idea, Devon experienced a strange urge to comfort her.
“Sorry to disappoint you, honey. But despite the front my parents put on for the neighbors, I grew up knowing exactly how little Dad thought of me.”
“But you’re so successful …”
“Not to hear my dad tell it.” Devon hated the echo of disaffected teenager in his own voice, but couldn’t quite stamp it out. “He disapproves of my playboy lifestyle and thinks I use my big piles of money to assuage my guilt over living in filthy sin.”
“Well, I can’t say I entirely approve of your playboy lifestyle, either. But that’s not all there is to you.”
The laugh grated Devon’s throat on the way out. “Don’t bet on it. I told you, Lilah Jane, what you see is what you get with me.”
It was definitely safer that way. This way? Blew goats.
Lilah got that stubborn set to her mouth. “Baloney. I know who you are, Devon Sparks. You can hide all you want, but I see you.”
“This isn’t a fucking game of hide-and-seek,” Devon shouted. Her refusal to understand, to acknowledge that sometimes life was shitty and people sucked, made him want to throw something.
“And it’s not my fault if you’re incapable of distinguishing between reality and your fairy-tale version of what you wish life would be like. Oh, I know, it’s such a great story—poor little country mouse comes to the big city, meets a rich guy with a cute kid, gets a makeover, strengthens father/son bonds all over the place, and lives happily ever after.”
She sucked in a breath, and crossed her arms defensively over her chest. Her mouth was still a firm little line, though, and Devon knew she wasn’t getting it.
“I don’t expect life to be a fairy tale,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, you do. And that’s sad, it’s a fucking heartbreaker, because in two more weeks, the dream is over. We stop playing house, Tucker goes back to his mother, and reality sets up shop again. Because this? Our happy little family? Is an illusion, like every other socalled ‘happy family’ in the world. And no amount of wishful thinking or manipulation or meddling is going to change that.”
Lilah didn’t look stubborn anymore. She looked stricken. Her eyes were wide and wet, her mouth an unhappy curve. “I said I was sorry about calling your folks. There’s no call to talk like this.”
“Why not? It’s the truth,” Devon said, holding to what he knew because to allow himself to hope for anything more was to open himself up for the worst kind of pain. “Just because you don’t want to hear it doesn’t make it any less true.”
She watched him for a long moment, her eyes fathomless. And even though he waited with his breath caught in his lungs, the tears that trembled in her lower lashes didn’t fall.
When she finally spoke, he caught himself flinching at the soft sound. “Maybe I was building castles in the clouds, dreaming on you and me and Tucker all living happily ever after. But if that’s truly how you see your life, how you see yourself? I’m sorry for you. Sorrier still for that boy of yours, who deserves better. But as sorry as I am, I won’t stick around to watch you burn my dream castle to the ground.”
He let her walk to the door, the same door his father had used to leave him. Devon’s arms and legs felt heavy, immovable.
“If you’re so determined to be miserable, Devon, I can’t stop you,” Lilah said, meeting his gaze deadon. The tears she’d held back for so long finally spilled over, and she brushed at her cheeks with stiff, impatient hands. “I can’t stop you, but I will be damned if I let you make me miserable, too.”
Then she was gone. And Devon was alone.
The way he was always meant to be.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lilah shivered in the chill air of th
e Park Avenue apartment and thought about asking to turn down the air conditioning, but didn’t.
She wouldn’t be here long enough for the temperature to matter.
As cold as she felt outside, Lilah was a hundred times more chilled at the bone.
The ride back to Devon’s apartment had felt like a hundred dismal lifetimes jammed into twenty minutes. Devon sat up front with his driver, while Lilah sat in the backseat watching Tucker stare out the window. The minute they got into the apartment, Tucker disappeared into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
Lilah sighed, heartsore and unsure if she was doing the right thing.
“Thank you for driving me back to pack up my things,” she said. It was easier than she would’ve thought to keep her voice polite. All that early training with Aunt Bertie had some use after all; Lilah found that in the midst of the worst disappointment of her life, she could take refuge in manners and at least pretend to a calm she certainly didn’t feel.
“Paolo drove,” Devon said, as distant as if they’d never stood in this exact same spot, this light, airy living room full of modern Italian furniture, and kissed until Lilah’s lips were swollen and hot.
“I know. I just meant … I could’ve called a cab.”
Devon shrugged and cast himself onto the lounge chair covered in black and white cowhide. Lilah had laughed at it once, and Devon had gotten all sniffy and offended, informing her that it was one of the most famous design pieces of the twentieth century.
She sure didn’t feel like giggling now.
“Go ahead and say it.” It was a clear challenge, issued in an almost bored undertone.
“I have nothing more to say to you,” Lilah informed him.
“Fuck that,” he said, his deliberate crudeness stiffening her spine like nothing else. “When have you ever held back on what you really think? You’re ditching out, anyway.”
On the Steamy Side Page 26
