Page 89 of Shattered Fate

“What’s with you?”

“Zarah showed up at the apartment yesterday. Said she and her brother got into a fight over her going to see Willow Black.”

Pop raises his eyebrows. “Willow Black? Why would she want to do that?”

“Don’t know. Lonely. She doesn’t have many people in her life. She and Willow probably hung out when her mother was alive, and she got to know her. Clayton and Kagan were good friends, maybe Lark and Willow were, too. Anyway, Zane didn’t like it, and Zarah thought she’d move in with me. I stopped that quick enough, but when I brought her home, I got hung up out there and didn’t drive back into the city until late.”

“You didn’t happen to ask her who her therapist is.”

I wince. “Didn’t think to. She was pretty upset she made Zane pissed.”

“So you aren’t making any progress with what Max wanted you to do.”

“I still don’t know what that is, Pop. I’ve been paging through his journal, trying to get a feel for what things were like when he was helping them. Get a feel for what Zarah was like.” Guiltily, I think of the pile of discs I have yet to watch. “The present seems more important than the past right now. She’s getting better, but she’s still this scared little girl frightened of her own shadow. I like being with her, but even that has its challenges. Fuck.”

“It’s a mess,” Pop says.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

I roll around what I want to ask him, how to put it delicately. To buy some time, I shove a pod into the Keurig and feed Baby who had retreated to her corner the minute we stepped into the office.

Holding a mug of rich black self-preservation in the form of coffee, I settle nervously into a chair in front of Pop’s desk. He knows I want to ask him something, and he does busywork while he waits.

“If Zarah and I figure it out—” This is hard for me to ask, but it’s going to be harder to wait for his answer. I admire Pop, respect him in a way most people never look up to their dads. Pop has an integrity I try to emulate. I don’t know how I’ll feel if he disappoints me in this one thing. “You won’t care about what Black made her do.” The words rush out, and my muscles turn to stone as I wait for him to speak.

“She let that bastard sell her to protect her family. Can’t be any braver than that.”

My breath whooshes out of me. “Thanks. Rourke had...problems with her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I read a little of Max’s diary last night. Somehow Rourke found out Max was seeing Zarah and he told Max to keep his dick in his pants and find someone...less used.”

I will never repeat Rourke comparing her to a joint passed around at a party. I will never say it out loud, and I will never let anyone read it.

His lips forming a thin line, Pop staples a stack of papers together and shoves them into a manila envelope. “You don’t know much about the rich and famous, about the politicians in this country.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you watch the news? The mayor, the senators, maybe the governor. Hell, especially the governor. They all play. Buy hookers, play cards, bet on the ponies. That stuff is okay on the side, on the down-low, but don’t you dare bring it into real life. Rourke knows that. What Black did to Zarah turned her into someone he wouldn’t want Max to marry. He had loftyaspirations for Max. Even Zarah’s billions wouldn’t have saved her.”

I chew on that. “You think Rourke cheats on Mom?”

He scoffs. “I'd be shocked if he didn't.”

“You don't seem upset about it.”

“Delilah knows the score. She trades fidelity for money. That's her choice.”

“He wasn’t on Black’s client list.”

“That we’re aware of. Slimy things have a way of slipping through the cracks.”

“How come we’ve never talked about this?”

“I’ve always taught you to mind your own business, and that’s something I stand by. We do what’s right, yeah, get involved when we have no choice, but your mother hasn’t been my business for a long time. We’ve been divorced for over thirty years. If she wants to look the other way, that’s none of my concern.”

I see his point, but I don’t have to like it. Trading fidelity, monogamy, trust, for status and a fat bank account will never feel right to me, but I can’t judge my mother for her choices.

---