Page 105 of Perfect Pitch

I listen to Austyn speak to her mother before texting Colby.

Mitch:

Brace.

Colby:

It’s going down?

Mitch:

LLF reached out. Her mother put together the connection between them and Beckett.

I can picture Colby warring with the need to hurl his phone across the room and waking his wife. Wearily, I run a hand through my hair and question on how many levels is Austyn going to feel this betrayal.

Her mother.

Her father.

Me.

Granted, all I have are Beckett’s suspicions I’ve been working from, but will she hold me any less responsible for not sharing what I know with her? My head clunks against the headboard.

I hear her footsteps and fire off one more text, praying I get the answer I want. Do I have authorization to tell her who I work for and what I do? I need... I hit send just as the sound of her fist beats against the wall and she begins to break down.

Without waiting for Colby’s answer, I leap from the bed to comfort her. Finding her crumbled on the floor outside the doorway, I don’t hesitate. I scoop her up in my arms and carry her over to our bed. Pressing my lips against hers, I murmur, “I can’t imagine what all of this is doing to you, Beats.”

After arranging her beneath the covers, I climb beneath them and pull her tightly against me. That’s when my phone buzzes. Knowing it’s Colby responding, I snatch up my phone and turn it so she can’t read our text string.

Colby:

Yes. We have almost all the evidence anyway. It’s better you soften the blow now.

His words cause both surging panic and extreme relief.

I can give Austyn who I truly am. I press delicate kisses onto her crown of braids, braids I’d twisted beneath my fist earlier to hold her head back for a much more brutal kiss as I pounded into her from behind.

She responds by nuzzling her head against my chest. Her mouth opens and closes as it sometimes does while she thinks about what she wants to say. I’m certain she doesn’t realize it, but it’s one of her more adorable traits. I continue to drop kisses across her head, giving her time.

Giving her me for as long as she wants me.

Finally, she speaks. “I know absolutely nothing about my birth father.”

Her words shock me. “Nothing?”

Her hair rubs against my bare chest. “Nothing. No one discusses him—not Mama, nor Gramps. When I was little, I recall Uncle Jesse or Uncle E might make the occasional disparaging comment about how he abandoned Mama, but nothing useful.” Her breath wafts out. “The only thing I can reason out is I have his eyes. Every other member of my family has Kensington green.”

“What about your grandmother? Your mom’s mom?”

I feel her frown against my skin. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

She props herself up. “Most of the photos Gramps has of Grams are those sepia-toned ones—formal pictures. Then the ones of her with Uncle Jesse and Uncle E aren’t exactly high quality.” Her voice is wry at the end.

“You mean to say your grandfather wasn’t exactly adept with the camera?”

“More along the lines of my grandmother blinked in almost every single photo.”

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