Page 13 of Mine to Keep

He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth; however, not a single word tumbled from his lips. He hadn’t said that out loud, had he? He cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

“Did your dad tell you where we met?”

Jamison shook his head.

“I run a support group for family members dealing with an identity crisis.”

“Oh, shit,” Jamison mumbled. “My dad tried to get me to go to those meetings. I guess I never put it together that you were the woman running it.”

Lanie smiled and nodded, much like his therapist did, the one who’d told him that a support group might do him a world of good. But no fucking way was he driving an hour to go and sit, hold hands, and commiserate with a bunch of strangers. It felt weird. It was hard enough to bare his soul to a certified counselor. “The group helped your dad understand what you were going through better. Your anger.”

Jamison searched his brain for any memories of conversations he’d had with his dad about that support group, but he came up with very little because he always tuned him out. Jamison didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to hold onto his rage. His hurt. His pain—for as long as he could. It allowed him to feel. Otherwise, he went numb, and that scared him more than anything.

“My dad’s been there for me, so thanks for helping him.”

“I’ve been chatting a little with your brothers. Mostly Seth and Miles. I hope that’s okay.”

“I can’t stop you,” he said. “But I don’t want to be part of any intervention or group-therapy session.”

She leaned back, taking her wine glass with her and swirling it gently. “I would never do that. Dalton is my boyfriend now. I’m going to be moving here, and I can’t be involved with any of you in that way. But I want to tell you one more thing about myself because I think it’s important for you to know.”

“All right.”

“I was kidnapped when I was two years old.” Lanie raised her hand, shushing Jamison. “I didn’t know this until my mother, the woman who kidnapped me, was on her deathbed. I was forty-three years old at the time, and she decided to grow a conscience and tell me that she had taken me from a playground. That I wasn’t Lanie Fitzpatrick, but that my real name was Tonya Longworth. I thought maybe my mom had lost it in her last days, but a few weeks after she died, I just couldn’t let it rest. I had to check into things. Sure enough, Iwasa missing kid. Another mother was out there. One who had mourned me for decades.”

“Jesus, that’s horrible,” Jamison mumbled.

“For the Longworths, yes, it was. But for me, the truth was even worse. I didn’t want to know them. I sure as hell didn’t want them in my life or upsetting my family. My father, who is technically my stepfather since he married my mom when I was ten, though I call himDad, was devastated. He had no idea, and all the finger-pointing and accusations that came with the truth nearly killed him and the love he had for my mom, who, in my eyes, had been the best mother ever. She’d loved me. Gave me everything. I didn’t see a kidnapper or a criminal. A wanted woman. All I saw was my mom.” A single tear rolled down Lanie’s cheek. She wiped it away. “And she’sstillmy mom.”

“What about the Longworths? Where do they fit in? Or do they?”

“Oh. They do now. But it took some time for me to get there. Just like this is all taking you some time.” She set her glass down and reached across the table. “Just remember that no matter what mistakes people make—and, trust me, they make some big ones while you pay the price—don’t let it fester. Nothing here can’t be forgiven, and all these relationships can be mended.”

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