Page 250 of Unexpected Heroine

You fuck up everything, boy.

Air hisses through his nose in a series of three deep breaths. “Speak, dammit. Fuck. Fucking start talking before I lose my shit.”

He’s giving me far more kindness than I deserve.

“Before we opened Redleg, I looked for anything in your past that might come back to bite you. I was trying to... protect you. Protect what you were building.”

“What we were building.” Dropping from the arm of the sofa, he slides onto the seat and stretches his legs in front of him. “Keep going.”

“Her mother was a woman named Abigail Holt. From Georgia. I found your name and birth date on the original birth registration paperwork she filled out in the hospital. The state rejected it since you hadn’t signed it to confirm paternity. The vital statistics office kept the original on file, along with the letter where they notified her to resubmit with the paternity paperwork or to remove you. The amended version didn’t list you.”

“How old is Lettie?”

“She’ll be twenty-six in two months.”

Sloping his head to the side, he closes his eyes. His lips move silently, likely as he does the mental math. “I was in the Rangers. Was probably on that mission in Kigari, Africa.” He claps, eyes springing open. “Abby. Holy shit.” He flicks his wrists in front of him, open palms toward the ceiling. “Why the fuck didn’t she tell me about her? She wasn’t the type to?—”

“She died from complications a few days after having Lettie.”

That news hits him hard, making his posture slump. “Fuck.”

“Apparently, she wanted you on the birth certificate since she put you on the form, so it’s doubtful she planned on hiding it indefinitely. I researched Georgia law from back then. In the case of an unwed mother, the father must legitimize the paternity. If you didn’t know she was pregnant, you wouldn’t have known to start the process. Since Abigail was deceased by the time the paperwork was kicked back, I can only imagine Lettie’s grandparents took custody of her as next-of-kin and never contacted you.”

“They damn sure didn’t.”

“Her grandparents officially adopted her. The official birth certificate lists them as parents. Lettie had no idea about you until recently.”

He squeezes his nape. “Shit.”

“It gets worse. She was raised believing they were her real parents. When her grandfather was dying of cancer a little over a year ago, he confessed they were her grandparents. In that conversation, he told her you were KIA.”

The more I talk, the easier it becomes. Every few words, I find the strength to meet his eyes briefly. Probably because he’s listening calmly, processing it all.

Instead of rushing through my explanation to get to my excuses and beg for forgiveness, I maintain an unhurried cadence. I refuse to make the same mistake I did when confessing to Lettie. Despite being a fucking train wreck, I learn from my mistakes. Usually.

A low hum reverberates in his chest, and he drags his palm over his face.

Before he gets pissed at my delay, I press on. “When I first found out about her, I did more digging to help prepare you. She seemed to have loving guardians. Nice home. Friends. Popular in school. All that. She seemed like she was in a good spot. And as for you? You were just...” Weary of insulting him, I let the rest of my sentence languish on the tip of my tongue.

“I know how stressed I was back then.” He shakes his head and rumbles another of those coarse hums. “I was a miserable bastard.”

“Yeah. So I waited.” I grasp the shred of relief his reaction is providing.

I’m shocked he isn’t outright rejecting my reasoning and reading me the riot act.

“Considering Lettie seemed safe and happy, I figured it could wait a few months for things here to stabilize. In the grand scheme of things, what was a few more months? But Redleg grew. More staff. More clients. More technology. All of which led us to endless problems and stress. It was never a good time. Month after month and year after year, I kept telling myself,” I pause to swallow as my words begin coming out in a rush, “I thought if only I worked harder or was better, I could take the weight off your shoulders. Then I would tell you. All I wanted to do was help prepare you. Considering the type of man you are, there was no way you were going to find out you had a daughter and not either go to her or bring her here. And then what? And what if you didn’t come back? What would happen to all of us? So I worked harder. Took on more. I tried, and I fucking tried, but it was never enough. I failed you.”

I cut off my own sentence when my voice cracks, chest trembling.

Be a man. Don’t you fucking cry.

Eventually, I collect my composure and glance in his direction to check his rage level. His eyes are closed, and his head is tipped back. There’s a tic in the side of his jaw, tension pouring off him. He’s holding it in, though.

So much kinder than I deserve.

“After a while, it had been so long I was afraid to tell you. All those years you could have known her.” I clear my throat to drive off the quiver again. “Anyhow, that brings us to how she and I?—”

His eyes spring open. “Pause.”

---