Chapter25
Blair
Istop walking, all the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, and slowly turn.
Dad’s not smiling. This isn’t some mocking joke. A taxi screeches past and a woman talking on the phone hurries down the sidewalk as a cold breeze brings the smell of car exhaust and street dust. I stand there, trembling, trying to make sense of this. Why the heck would my father know anything about Baptist, and why would he care?
“That’s not funny,” I say finally, glaring, because this has to be some elaborate prank. I’m still raw from Cowan’s chain-jerking to give Dad any benefit of the doubt.
“I’m not joking.” He steps off the stairs but doesn’t keep coming closer. “I know where Baptist is, and I know he’s the father of that baby.” He makes a face and points toward my midsection like he’s gesturing toward a sack of unpleasant garbage.
My breath catches in my throat. We haven’t spoken about the baby, not once, although I’m sure he’s aware by now. I told Max he didn’t need to keep it a secret since everyone will find out eventually. But Dad never said anything in the last month and I figured that’s how we’d play it—pretend like the problem doesn’t exist, and when the baby’s born, we’ll deal with it.
I have to force my voice out like I’m pushing through an ice wall. “Now you want to talk about my pregnancy?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it at all. It’s your choice and your damn problem as far as I’m concerned.”
“Problem? Dad, this is your grandchild.”
He rolls his eyes. “Regardless. Honey, listen to me. You should go talk to the father of that thing.”
“Thatthingis my future baby, and I don’t want to talk to him. Why the hell do you even care?”
He hesitates and looks away. “I don’t know.”
I laugh once, sharply, totally mystified. “Seriously? You don’t know? That’s your answer? You’re unreal.”
“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I love you and you’re my daughter and I want what’s best for me?”
“Nope, not at all.”
He glares and waves a hand. “Then I don’t know. What do you care? All that matters is I know where Baptist’s living and I think you should go talk to him. If not for you, then for that damn baby.”
I touch my abdomen and feel a cold chill. There’s a part of me that wants to beg him for Baptist’s address—a sick, stupid, insane part of me that would fall on my knees just to hear Baptist’s voice again.
And another part that’s too proud and way too fucking angry to bother.
Besides, is this my father’s way of being nice to me? Is this his way of checking on the welfare of his daughter and his future grandchild? If so, it’s just about the worst method available.
“You know, Dad, all my life I’ve been trying to make you proud of me.” I move closer, dropping my voice as more people begin to leave their offices, the stampede beginning. They drift around us like we’re stones in a fast-moving stream.
“That’s patently untrue. All I’ve ever seen is a willful, angry young woman that went out of her way to do everything wrong.”
I laugh once, shaking my head. “Then you’re blind. I’ve always wanted to make you happy and I tried so damn hard, but it was never good enough. And now you show up saying I should go talk to Baptist because you suddenly care about me? You have an ulterior motive. You always do.”
He takes a slow, deep breath, and lets it out again. “I understand why you feel that way. I haven’t always been easy to deal with. But in this instance, perhaps for the first time ever, I have no other reason to be here. Other than to tell you that Tony Cowan is a massive piece of shit that did all this garbage on purpose, and you shouldn’t let that lowlife psychopath get in the way of you and Baptist.”
I blink slowly, processing. “You know about what happened with Cowan?”
“Not many people do, if that makes you feel better, but I tracked down his former assistant and got the story.”
“You met his assistant? We thought he was fake.”
“He’s not, and he loves very expensive food.” Dad wipes a hand down his face. “Blair, Cowan dragged you through hell for revenge. For some silly, petty, pathetic insult Cowan’s been holding on to for all these years.”
“I know that,” I say, tugging at my hair. “That’s what Cowan told Baptist anyway. But he told me something else, that he did everything for some movie.”
Dad laughs bitterly. “That’s true too. Apparently, for the last ten or so years, Cowan’s been going around settling old scores and filming the whole experience as part of some master artwork he plans to release one day. He already moved on to another target.”