Page 83 of Trust Me

“If you sue, you run the risk of exposing the accusations in that article to even more eyes. However, I know you have connections atThe Times Dailyand others.”

I nod even though they can’t see me. I can see where she’s going.The Times, as it’s called for short, is a national publication with millions of subscribers in print and online.

“Mr. Townsend, your daughter works forThe Regal, doesn’t she?” Amelia asks.

“Leave her out of this,” my father snaps, sounding like the hard ass I know and love.

My twin sister, Kennedy, is an up-and-coming investigative reporter. My end goal is for our company to purchase the press she works for and eventually have her run it. But that’s not what this conversation is about. And Kennedy, like Diego, shies away from working in the family business.

I plan to change that in the future.

“We have multiple contacts we can reach out to atThe Times,” I say to Amelia.

We spend the next twenty minutes coming up with article ideas that highlight the good Townsend Industries has done for the city of Williamsport and beyond. When Amelia suggests that we do an interview about the community center my mother, aunts, and grandmother founded, that’s where my father, uncle, and I draw the line.

“Keep their names out of these articles,” my father says. I can imagine him gritting his teeth. All of the men in my family are protective over the women in our lives.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Townsend,” Amelia replies to my father, sounding a notch less confident than a moment ago.

“I have to go,” I say after an hour on this call.

Once I wrap up the call, I head to the car waiting for me.

“Williamsport General,” I tell the driver.

Seconds later, we pull off in the direction of the city’s largest hospital. The article from theDailycontinues to linger on my mind. I want to know who’s the source of the article. I know it isn’t Jayceon Carlson. He’s mired in legal battles and public scandal since the night of his birthday party.

Was he working with someone else?

I become lost in my thoughts, so much so, that the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital goes by in the blink of an eye. Before I know it, we’re pulling into the hospital’s private entrance.

“I’ll be a few minutes,” I tell the driver and head up the back stairwell to a set of elevators that few people know about.

One of the security guards for this entrance nods at me, giving me the go ahead to enter through the double doors. I enter the neonatal intensive care unit, otherwise known as the NICU of the hospital. I do my best as I pass the large windows that show into the rooms with sick infants in them, without staring too closely. Even the most hardened bastard would have trouble seeing sick babies.

About halfway down the hallway, I look straight ahead and see the room I’m searching for. 3B.

“He’s making great progress,” a woman in scrubs, a nurse I presume, says cheerfully as she wheels a large incubator out of a room.

“When do you think we’ll be able to take him home?” a familiar male voice asks.

I stop a few feet away, clearing my throat. Though it was unintended, I catch both of their attentions. The man’s eyes bulge.

“Mr. Townsend,” Simon James says. “Are you … what are you doing here?” He’s obviously startled.

“I’m going to get this little guy back to the general room. We’ll be back in a few hours for another visit.”

Simon nods and gives a small, sad smile at the nurse. His eyes drop to the infant in the incubator.

“See ya soon, bud.” He watches the nurse roll away with his son, then looks back up at me. He blinks as if remembering that I’m there.

I watch the incubator roll away also. “How long has he been here?” I ask Simon.

“Uh, he was born exactly forty-three days ago. We’ve been here ever since.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what happened but I hold back. However, Simon supplies the information anyway.

“He was born a little early. That wasn’t so bad, but Meghan’s labor was long and hard on her body. During the birth, he swallowed some of the meconium and aspirated.”

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