Page 77 of Knocked Up in Alaska

“Fuck, yeah, we did,” he insisted, then glanced at Lilah. “Well, we had some help.”

Lilah was too busy tearing up at the time, effort, and skill they’d expended making the blankets for her daughter. Even after seeing Wing’s sweater, which she’d wholeheartedly agreed with his assessment of a “freaking work of art,” she hadn’t expected the rest of the items to be so carefully and patiently wrought. “Help?”

“Rose helped,” Archer said gently. “A lot, actually. We couldn’t have done anything decent without her.”

“Ford told me.” She carefully folded the blankets and returned them to their bags. “She likes you guys. All of you. I think she had a good time showing you the ropes.”

“Hmm. I think she wanted to make sure her grandchild got decent goods,” Trace said, putting a finger on certain practical, unsentimental aspects of Rose’s personality.

“Maybe that, too,” Lilah admitted with a smile.

“Ford hasn’t finished his yet?” Izzy asked.

“Not yet. I think having Mia around has cut into his spare time—but in a good way.”

“I wish she could stay,” Bridget said. “Ford’s always been so cool and self-contained. It’s fun watching him lose his mind.” She winked at Lilah as she spoke, and Lilah had to bite back the news that Mia was, in fact, going to stay. Secrecy sucked, particularly when it involved big news. After this, she’d do her best to live her life without secrets.

“Mad’s project is going to take a while longer,” Trace said. “And you may have to fake the praise when he gives it to you. Knitting is not his secret hidden talent.”

“Oh, poor Mad. I should just tell him to forget it. Let him off the hook.”

“Hell, no,” Archer objected. “He was part of Team XY. He lost the bet. Completing the project is his responsibility.”

“Speaking of which,” Trace cut in, “Mad’s not the only one with some unfinished responsibilities. This brings us to the other part of why we wanted to talk to you tonight.”

“Other important business?” As it had since Izzy’s cryptic mention that morning, the idea made her unaccountably nervous. Some of her nerves showed, because Bridget’s hand landed on her knee, to stop it from bouncing.

“Relax, Lilah. It’s all good. Frankly, it’s a little overdue, but the timeline moved on us by a few weeks.”

Trace picked up a dark blue folder he’d had under his gift bag, stood, and handed it to her. Silver embossed letters graced the front—names she thought she recognized as Izzy’s former law firm. “What’s this?”

“When Shay died,” Bridget said, “we believed he died without an heir. So, per the terms of his trust that held his interest in Captivity Air, and also the trust he had for his own assets, such as they were, his interest and the rest of his estate poured over to Trace and me. Having the trust avoided probate and a lot of paperwork and…I don’t know…waiting periods, I guess.” She glanced at Izzy, who nodded.

“But we were wrong.” Trace smiled at her as he spoke, his blue eyes very bright. “Shay had an heir.” He opened a folder of his own. “Shayla R. Shanahan, born June 6th of this year. Bridget and I contacted the lawyer who managed his trust—and ours, for that matter—and he helped us undo the pour over and establish Shayla’s inheritance. However, she’s a minor and therefore not competent to manage the assets. Bridget and I—all of us, actually—agree you’re the person most aware of your collective needs and most suited to use the trust fund to see to them.”

Her heart revved like a race car, so fast her hands shook, and even so, a cold sweat coated her skin. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

She wasn’t financially clueless. She knew Shay had stood to receive a one-third interest in Captivity Air and Freight once he turned thirty, and because she knew the value of assets she’d grown up with, like Captivity Inn, she could ballpark his, but he hadn’t lived to receive control of the trust. That, just like his other assets, had nothing to do with her. This was for them to control until Shayla reached an age where she could steer her own ship. None of this had anything to do with her. It shouldn’t. It couldn’t.

Trace crossed to her and sat on a corner of the ottoman. Izzy rubbed her shoulder, then opened the folder that she’d left on her lap. “If you look down here, on page three”—Izzy flipped it open and rifled through the pages tucked into one side, all official looking and secured by a clip at one corner—“you’ll see the total amount of cash and other assets.”

Lilah looked to the figure beside Izzy’s light pink, perfectly manicured fingernail and endured a brutal wave of nausea.

“You’re holding the documents of a new trust we had drawn up,” Izzy explained. “One you’ll manage as soon as you sign on as the trustee. We created the trust in yours and Shayla’s names, but you have complete control and oversight until she turns twenty-five or an earlier date that you determine in your sole discretion. We felt—”

“Oh, no. No.” She stood without thinking, and the file fell to the floor. “This isn’t a role for me. I can’t take control of this. I can’t touch Shay’s money.” Her pulse filled her ears, echoing like Glacier Falls after the spring thaw, drumming out everything except her frantic thoughts. “It’s not right. None of you would argue if you knew…if you knew what I…”

She couldn’t put the rest into words. Needing to flee, desperate to, she trampled Bridget’s poor feet, pushed past Trace, dodged Archer—everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion—and beelined to the door, grabbing her sweater and tote on the way. Key’s sharp bark broke through the thunder thrumming in her ears, but nothing else.

“You don’t know. He wouldn’t want you to trust me with this,” she repeated and ran to her car. Ran from her friends. Ran from her deepest, darkest shame. But as she sped down their narrow drive and onto the scenic road that overlooked the cove, she realized no matter how fast she drove, there was one thing she’d never outrun.

Her guilt.

She’d played a part in Shay’s death. Not on purpose, but with her negligence and her careless timing and her single-minded focus on how the pregnancy affected her, without any regard to what it might do to him. And now she stood to gain control of Shay’s money—that crazy number swam in her mind, and for a dizzy moment she again feared she might throw up. Entrusted with his assets, and cash, and possibly other sources she didn’t even understand after she’d been so reckless with him? Impossible. All she understood was that if they knew Shay had known about the pregnancy, if they knew she’d lied to them to obscure her own responsibility for his fate, they wouldn’t want her responsible for anything that belonged to him.

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