Page 63 of Daddy's Dirty Little Secret

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XANDER

It had been nearly a month since Hayes let her walk out of that house. A month since I stood in Laurence’s driveway, furious and exhausted, wondering what the hell we were supposed to do next. Now it was the end of May, and he’d invited us over for dinner like we were just another family getting together for a quiet meal.

I said yes, partly because Amelia wanted to go, but also because I needed to see him in person. Amelia sat beside me in the car, watching the side mirror more than the road. She hadn’t dressed up for the occasion. No makeup, just a soft cardigan over a cream blouse. She looked calm, but I could feel her tension from where I sat.

Laurence opened the door before we reached the top step. His face didn’t give anything away—neither tense nor friendly. He stepped back without a word and let us inside.

“Dinner’s just about done,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “I made too much.”

We followed him into the dining room. The table was already set. He’d laid out actual napkins. Not paper. Silverware lined up perfectly. The dishes were simple—roast chicken, seasonedvegetables, mashed potatoes in a serving bowl with a real spoon instead of something plastic. I didn’t know if it was effort or guilt, but either way, he’d gone through the motions like it meant something.

We sat. Amelia to my right, Laurence across from me. The air between him and me was stiff, but it wasn’t angry anymore. We had both lived through the kind of mistake that burned too much out of you to hold onto rage. What was left now was quieter. Complicated.

Amelia picked at her food, though I noticed she ate more than she had in days. She complimented the seasoning, and Laurence gave a soft thanks but didn’t look up.

We were halfway through the meal when he set his fork down. The scrape of metal on ceramic pulled both our eyes to him.

“I know I said it already,” he started, voice rough, “but I need to say it properly this time.”

I didn’t speak. Neither did Amelia.

“I should’ve told her everything,” he said, looking at his daughter, not at me. “I should’ve asked for help before it got that far. I kept thinking I’d fix it on my own, and then I didn’t, and it was too late. That’s when I got stupid.”

Amelia reached across the table and touched his hand. “I know, Dad. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. You were the one who paid for it. And Xander—” He finally looked at me. “You cleaned it up. All of it. I put you in an impossible position and then handed you a bill for something you never owed. I’ll never forget that.”

I leaned back slightly, resting one arm against the edge of the chair. “No one was keeping score, Laurence. You would’ve done the same for her if you could’ve. I know that.”

“I should’ve protected her,” he said. “Instead, I let her walk into something I should’ve seen coming. And then I made herfeel like it was her fault. That day she showed up at my house—when she found the emails—I was awful to her. I didn’t know how scared I was until she was gone.”

The room fell quiet again. Not empty—just full of everything none of us could fix.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said. “But I wanted to say it all the same.”

Amelia gave his hand a squeeze. “I already did.”

I didn’t say anything right away. I looked at him and saw the same man I’d known for years, but smaller somehow. Not physically. Something inside him had worn down. Maybe it was shame. Maybe it was just age finally catching up to the way he lived. Either way, he meant it. That counted for something.

“I appreciate the words,” I said. “But this doesn’t get fixed with an apology. It gets fixed with what happens next.”

Laurence nodded slowly, like he expected that to be the end of it. He shifted in his seat, reaching for his glass of water. His hand didn’t quite shake, but there was something cautious in the way he moved. Then he cleared his throat.

“I meant what I said about paying it back,” he told me. “Even if it takes the rest of my life. I’ll figure it out.”

I shook my head before he could get any further. “That’s not what I want.”

His brow tightened. “What do you mean?”

I looked at him, really looked, the way I used to in meetings when I needed to make sure someone understood the weight behind my words. “You can keep the money. What I want is your partnership. Back on paper. Back in the room.”

He stared at me, confused.

“You were the magic man,” I said. “You were the one who brought the clients in, made them feel like they belonged. I’ve got spreadsheets and a good pitch, but that’s not what made us work. You did. And ever since you stepped away, we’ve beenholding steady, not growing. I don’t need my money back. I need my closer.”

Laurence blinked like I’d slapped him. My mind went to the day he left, and how confident I’d felt. But after losing so many clients, I no longer felt that way.

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