Page 15 of Lillian

Cool April evening? No, I’m about to shed the suit jacket and tie suffocating me.

Before the girl can answer, Lil butts in. “Come on, Gracie-Lou, let's go get some ice cream. Then we can go play at Aunt Kim’s with Nicky.”

Her sister, Kim, and Kim’s foster son, Nicholas. I remember Lil telling me about that situation when we were dating. Nick’s parents had died in a boating accident while on vacation, leaving him without any family. He went into the system, and Kim, being his school guidance counselor, saw firsthand how his new foster family treated him. She applied for a license, and four months later, little Nicky was living with her.

Does that mean she moved back home to Flagstaff? Was it right after she got pregnant?

“How old is she?” My question is directed at Lillian this time. The sharp tone of my voice–the demand in it–has her eyes turning cold. Like I give a fuck. Not if that’s my kid she’s kept away from me foryears.

“She’s not yours, Lincoln,” she replies in a bitter, matter-of-fact tone. When she bends down to pick up the kid–Gracie, maybe–and I see them side by side again, the doubt is hard to push back.

“Really?” I arch a brow.

Lillian scoffs. “Really. And thank God for that,” she half growls at me and turns away. “Great seeing you again, Linc. Let’s do it again sometime.” Which really means,fuck you, asshole, I never want to see you again.

It hurts, but I let her walk away.

“What the hell was that, man?” Tyler asks as I feel the guys come up to my side. A nudge at my shoulder is Jeremy’s way of checking that I’m okay, too.

Ignoring them both, I start walking toward the restaurant and pull out my phone from the inside pocket of my jacket.

I open up the contacts list, click ‘favorites,’ and put the phone to my ear. It rings as I weave through people walking lazily on the sidewalks, completely oblivious to the turmoil spreading through me.

The line connects just when I think I’ll be sent to voicemail. “Mr. Walton. How can I help you?”

“Vince. I need everything you can find on Lillian Frasier,” I tell the private investigator I’ve got on retainer for client backgrounds. Then I pause and add, “And Gracie Frasier.” Gracie, that’s what she called her daughter.

“F-r-a-s-i-e-r?” He spells back to me.

“Yes. As soon as possible, too.” The restaurant comes into view up ahead.

“You got it,” he agrees.

“Thanks,” I mutter and hang up.

Later that night, I’m sitting on my supersized sectional couch in my penthouse, laptop out, and going through a few work emails when my phone rings.

My eyebrows raise when I see it’s Vince already. Even though I told him I wanted information as soon as possible, I still didn’t expect anything today. The surprise is evident in my voice as I answer.

“You’ve got her information already?”

A chuckle rasps down the line, throaty, like the man is a daily smoker. “Not a full profile. But it sounded important when you called earlier, so I wanted to hit you with the regular background information.”

Well, I can’t say I’m mad about it. I’ll take every shred of information I can get as fast as I can get it. “Shoot,” I tell him.

Another chuckle at my eagerness. “Lillian Frasier. Thirty. Filed taxes last year with a 1040 as single with one dependent.So, she owns her own business. Dependent's name is Grace Wilson. Four years old, and the foster license filed under Lillian’s name suggests she’s a foster child. Still looking into her background, though. Current residence is Flagstaff–”

“Thanks, Vince. Send the rest in a file, please,” I say, cutting him off and then ending the call abruptly.

My head is spinning. Mind reeling. Body feels somehow weightless and wound incredibly tight at the same time.

She’s still single. No husband, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a boyfriend. The kid, though… not mine. Not even Lillian’s. Because four years old is too young to be ours. Lillian would have had to have been close to full term when we ended things for Grace to be hers.

It’s irrational as fuck, but a little bit of disappointment hits me. Even though it would have meant she kept my kid from me for almost three or four years, a part of me–deep down, where I couldn’t dwell on thewhyof it too much–hoped she was mine. At least I’d have a legitimate reason to reach out to Lillian. A link between us forever.

She’d never slip away from me again.

I think about the rest of what Vince said. So she moved back to Flagstaff. I wonder how quickly that happened after we ended things. Those weeks and months after, I took to frequenting our favorite dinner or lunch spots. Going to the grocery store near her apartment just on the off chance that I’d run into her. Of course, she moved away, though. Just my fucking luck.

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