Page 125 of Kiss Me Tonight

He also found pervasive pleasure in destroying everything that made me special.

“Bud, sometimes . . .” I struggle for words, wishing they would come on demand. As one might expect, they don’t, and I’m left to fumble my way through the murky darkness. “Sometimes when people have a lot of money, they do things that are wrong.” Crap. That’s not right. Cursing under my breath, I try again. “What I’m trying to say is, Daddy is worth a lot, Toph. Alot. Enough that he made it so I could leave, but if I did, he kept full custody of you. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t do that, baby. I couldn’t leave you behind.”

It’s why I started coaching. Because I needed my own money—I had no college degree at that point; I had no life skills aside from football. I begged Rick to let me work, faking a need to be out of the house and doing something on my own.

I always suspected he knew how desperate I was to succeed, all so I could pay for a high-class lawyer and leave him. High-class because with Rick’s seven-figure paycheck, I didn’t stand a chance against him with anything less. He called judges friends, lawyers his best buddies, people across the country his close confidantes.

And he made the matter of Topher’s custody the one thing that would keep me locked to his side for years. He didn’t want me, but he didn’t want anyone else to have me either.

A bird whose feathers were clipped prematurely, then shoved into a gilded cage with no hope for escape.

I haven’t breathed—reallybreathed—in fifteen years, not since I returned to London.

Blue eyes, the same shade as my own, well up with tears. “So you stayed with him because of me?”

“Yes.”

I would have stayed longer, too, but Topher’s shock at finding two women in Rick’s bed a year ago proved to be the one thing that unlocked the keys to my prison. No judge could rule that Rick was fit to parent a child when he was rarely home, couldn’t even remember his son’s phone number, and brought home strange women every night.

Reaching out, my hands find Topher’s. “I would do anything for you.Anything, Topher. Do you hear me?”

His fingers interlace with mine, holding tight. “I don’t want to go back to Pittsburgh, Mom. I want to stayhere, with you and Coach DaSilva and Aunt Willow and my friends. Dad told me before we moved that you would end up sending . . . sending me back.” His nose twitches, like he’s trying to hold back the tears. “Please don’t.”

Rick said that, did he?

Temper spiking, I drop to my knees and hug Topher around the waist. “Never. You’re never going back unless you want to.”

38

Dominic

The Golden Fleece has taken thePut A Ring On Itfantasy league to new levels.

The minute I walk into the pub, I spot my face in a blown-up, cardboard cutout along the far side of the wall, near the jukebox. Beside fake me is a matching cutout of Nick Stamos and the other eight contestants who have yet to be sent home by Savannah Rose.

“Like it?” Shawn asks, a damp rag slung over one shoulder as he wipes down a glass with a dry towel. “A gift from an anonymous donor.”

I let out a low whistle. “Fancy gift.”

“That’s what I said when Fed-Ex dropped it off on Monday.” The bartender eyes me, slicking up, raking down. “I can’t imagine who the hell would spend money on something so absolutely ridiculous.”

“You post them on the Golden Fleece’s social media accounts yet?” I ask, all smooth obliviousness.

“Of course we did. What, do you think I’m not willing to make some extra cash by bringing all of Mount Desert into this fantasy league? We’re tripling our usual Wednesday revenue.”

I grip his shoulder, offering him a sly grin. “Then my work here is done.”

“I knew it was you!”

I mime zipping my mouth shut. “Anonymous donor who loves fantasy-league sports.” Tapping my head, I point at Shawn. “You hear me?”

The elderly bartender salutes me. “I hear you. And while no one is around, let me just say thank you.”

Grimacing, I grunt, “You might want to hold off on the grateful schtick.”

“You’re not so bad, once you get under all that black—Jesus Christ, what the hell is Rick Clarke doing here?”

Like the devil himself has been summoned, Clarke appears beside me. “He’s meeting me.”

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