Shy Girl

by Katie Cross

“And you are a-a-able to s-sleep at n-n-night?” I asked with a snap of pain I couldn't hide anymore. “Y-you c-can look at your l-l-lovely wife in the eyes and kn-now what y-you've done?”

  I wanted you to love me, I thought. But the words would forever remain behind sealed lips.

  A gaunt expression covered his face for a moment. He ran a tongue over his teeth and, for a moment, seemed to consider something. Then he pulled up a phone and typed something out.

  “I'll never give you what you want from me, Dagny. But I can give you one thing. Give yourself a moment to think this out while I make a call.”

  My chest shook like an earthquake as Anthony pressed the phone to his ear and walked just out of hearing range. He kept me within his eyesight and blocked the only exit with his body.

  Shakily, I looked down at the contract. The words blurred together at first, and I had to read the first line several times before it came into focus.

  The contract seemed meticulous, although I had no expertise in this world. Most of the words went over my head, and I thought of Kinoshi, the town lawyer in Pineville. He'd have plenty to say, I would bet. Even Maverick would be better to judge this than me. But there was no help. I had to figure this out and move forward.

  By the time I read through all five pages, my mind had turned to slush. A monetary figure stood out amongst the sea of letters at the bottom, near the word consideration.

  $500,000.

  I blinked and stared at it.

  Half a million dollars. To him, I had a feeling it wasn't much. Perhaps he had a way to act as if it were a tax write off, or something. But to me, that could be the start of my new life. The life I hadn't been able to visualize without the goal of tracking down my biological father and finding a way to talk to him. With it I could buy a house, start making some investments, and pay off debts. Whatever I wanted, and wherever I wanted it. Money mixed with plans and sound financial sense meant power and choice.

  Anthony returned a heartbeat later. I glanced up, startled to see him there. He slid back into the seat with what could have been called a warm smile, but I knew better. Anthony wasn't warm anything.

  “Forgive me,” he said pleasantly, “I had a call to make about something. This, in fact. Before you hesitate to go home, I thought you might like to see this. Taken just before I arrived here, in fact.”

  He slid his phone across the table. A black and white video was paused on the screen, and my heart gave a little thud when I recognized Jayson. Then, next to him, stood Victoria.

  Something cold trickled through my body.

  “Go ahead,” Anthony said, with the tone of voice I would imagine a cat had before it caught a mouse. “Play it. Let's see what happens.”

  Although loath to play into the trap, I couldn't help but tap the triangular button in the middle of the screen. A security tape, clearly, of the inside of an elevator. A date and time stamp across the top recorded it as only a little while ago. No sound came with it, but I didn't need sound to understand the way Victoria had a possessive hold on Jayson. Anthony stood next to them, and even I could feel the tension in the air.

  “I-it's an elev-vator ride,” I murmured.

  “Keep watching.”

  The video ended with them stepping off the elevator and onto another floor. Immediately after, another video popped onto the screen. This one covered the hallway outside the elevator, but from a different angle. It had panned back, but gave a clear view of the two of them as Victoria hauled Jayson into a kiss. My stomach caught painfully, but I kept my expression neutral. Jayson looked tense. The kiss wasn't long or soft. More forceful and . . . forced.

  “This is—”

  “Keep watching,” Anthony sang.

  Then Jayson reached down and kissed Victoria.

  This was slow, a little lingering, before he pulled away. They were only a few inches apart as they spoke about something, but I couldn't read the signs. Was Jayson passionate or upset? The angle was bad from the side. They didn't stay there long, eventually parting in different ways.

  “That,” Anthony said quietly, “is the man you're waiting around for, isn't it? Better just to let him go on with his life, don't you think? Sometimes, we have to let paths go to embrace what truly waits for us. Just like your mother did.”

  Just like your mother did.

  Is that the path that truly waited for her? Or was it the path that Anthony Dunkin shoved her onto through his inability to keep his pants zipped?

  A bubbling emotion I could only identify as rage built within me. Or maybe it was thwarted, feminine power directed at Jayson. At Anthony. At Victoria for speaking down to me because of my stutter and kissing the man I had hoped for for so long. But waiting and hoping were just a waste of time.

  “So,” Anthony drawled and pulled my mind back to the moment. “The contract. Have you had a chance to review it?”

  For the sake of surviving the moment, I turned my mind away from Jayson—he'd get his turn. Now, I had to deal with Anthony.

  “Y-yes.” I cleared my throat.

  “And?”

  My thoughts whirled as I reviewed a way to respond to the $500,000 consideration attached to such an outrageous contract. The terms were exorbitant, paranoid, and a little . . . unstable.

  Anthony, no doubt, wanted me to believe that he'd attack me and my Mom with all the power at his disposal should his secret ever go public.

  But would he?

  Right now, I was beholden to no such NDA. So, any power play against my mother was easily within my reach to shout from the rooftops. Yes, he'd pretend that he would attack in court . . . but could he afford to? A paternity test was all Alison needed to show proof of who her husband really was. Although I’d resolved not to involve Alison or out Anthony, now I felt no such restraint. A letter, left discreetly somewhere. A tip that someone she loved received from an anonymous source. Or perhaps an article blasted all over the newspapers and internet.

  No, he approached me like this because I had the power.

  Not him.

  If he were to punish my mother, I'd fight back. That's why he wanted to do a separate agreement. Why he played so softly, but carried a stick that could, if I let it, wallop me to the ground.

  My heart raced as I set the contract pages down and stared at them. Never in my life had I truly exercised courage. Never had I stood up to the bullies. Never had I told someone the way I really felt.

  That time had come.

  The papers gathered together under my fingers. I stacked them on top of each other and slid them back to him.

  “I w-won't s-s-sign it.”

  His expression fell into one of mild confusion, but he didn't seem altogether that surprised. Instead, he lifted an eyebrow.

  “Oh?”

  My throat had turned dry, but I swallowed past it and forced myself to meet his gaze. The tightness in my chest tripled, but I breathed through it. My entire body felt oddly calm. Powerful.

  Courageous.

  “You h-had your ch-chance to exp-plain,” I said. “N-n-now I g-get mine.”

  He hesitated only a second before he leaned back in the chair, then motioned for me to continue with a wave of his hands. I drew in a stabilizing breath, prepared to do the sing-song that let me get through something without the stammer. If there had ever been a conversation made for it, it was this.

  “Ten years ago, I helped my Mom clean out her closet. She's a bit of a h-hoarder, but that's not important. A small folder tumbled out of a box while she was in the other room and I found it there.”

  The breathy tones of the song, and the weird way I had to string my words together made the retelling feel a bit unnatural, but at least the words moved out of me now. They spilled between us like forgotten secrets, and I didn't want to stop them. His brow furrowed. I had his whole concentration.

  I shook my head with a breathy, sardonic laugh. “The NDA hit me like a meteor in the chest. Mom rarely spoke about you. Said I was the result of a weekend fling and we'd n
ever see you again. No names. No dates. No facts. Nothing. Then, the NDA dropped into my lap. Of course I searched for you afterward so I would know the man that agreed to act as if I didn't exist or matter.”

  Here I stopped to draw in a breath. Emotions lodged in my throat, the ones I didn't want him to see. The ones he hadn't earned. He didn't deserve to know that I'd been curious about or yearned for him and his acknowledgment of my existence. But I couldn't help it, because some barrier in my mind had broken, and all the words I'd never said flowed out of me like a river.

  “I found you so easily. You were wealthy. Apparently happy. With a beautiful daughter and wife and house as large as anything I’d ever seen.” I scoffed. “Or s-so it seemed. I . . . I couldn't help but wonder if one day I could just see you up close. Speak with you. I dreamed of outing you and forcing you to acknowledge that I exist. That I matter too. Then, Jayson told me about a wedding that he wanted me to attend with him. The wedding of a girl I'd never heard of until he said her name. Your n-name.”

  My strength faltered, but Anthony didn't move. He sat there, frozen on the bench. The bar at our backs lay almost totally empty except for the distant shriek of someone outside, and the drone of the TV. He gave no indication that he understood what I was saying, just sat there like a statue.

  Undaunted, I pressed on.

  “When he said your name and that you'd be there, I couldn't help myself. I'd worked so hard to earn money to find you. To . . . to s-scrape together s-something! Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I d-deeply desired a connection to you.”

  My voice elevated so fast that I clamped my lips shut to temper it again, then met his gaze and kept going. I leaned forward, hands on the table, and unleashed all the intensity that still made my bones tremble even now. As if revealing my truth brought it about with even greater strength.

  “I saved every last dime I had because I wanted to fly to Texas, stay in a hotel, and concoct some way to meet you. But Jayson gave me a way to save the meager amount I've been able to hold onto while paying my way through college and w-working at a diner and a coffee shop. So I came. And I saw you. And if you hadn't approached me, I would have left this island without saying a word to a single soul. All I wanted was to see you.”

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Too hot to quit now, I kept going.

  “Do you know why I would have left, silent as a tomb? Because never in all my life have I ever felt such deep disappointment over another human being. You're materially successful, wealthy, and have the most beautiful family. You don't deserve a single part of it. I don't want my name to be associated with you. Anthony Dunkin, you are a failure in all the places that matter, and I hope it haunts you to your dying d-day.”

  The table groaned as I shoved away from it and stood up. I towered over him, seething with righteous fury now.

  “I will not sign your contract and I will not take your filthy money. You can come after my innocent, kind mother if you like. She has never broken her part of the agreement, and she never will. She will never know that I sought you and that I found you. But I will be under no such restraint. If you so much as take her to court over this, your name and the paternity test in the NDA paperwork will be spilled over every single news outlet in this country. And if you think I come from a small town and don't have the connections to make that happen, you're denser than I expected.”

  My leg shuffled back a step. Anthony hadn't moved a single inch. His entire body radiated tension as he stared at the spot where I had been sitting.

  “Your secret is safe with me, Anthony Dunkin,” I hissed. “B-because you are the l-l-last p-person I w-w-would ever want as my biological father.”

  With that, I turned and stalked out of the bar with my chin held high and my heart finally galloping free.

  Tears streamed down my face when I stumbled back into the bungalow. I slammed the door shut and locked it. Then I rushed from door to door, window to window, locked all of them, then stood at the kitchen sink and slowly sank to the floor.

  Sobs shook my body as I let the tears free. Years of questions had just been satisfied—and so painfully. Years of hope were destroyed. Shredded. Torn apart. All the time of wondering and waiting and thinking.

  Poof.

  Gone.

  While I vented all the locked emotions, the warm island air built up in the bungalow until it felt sticky with heat. I welcomed the physical discomfort as a distraction, but eventually, all of it was swallowed up in sheer despair.

  An eternity later, I unwound myself from the ball I'd tucked myself into and lifted my head from my knees. The unmistakable smell of Jayson Hernandez slammed into me then, and I recalled that I was back at our shared bungalow, which carried his scent.

  I had another monster to face.

  Victoria.

  With the blurriness that emotion brought to memories, I recalled the security camera. The uncertain lines of tension in Jayson's body. Unmistakably, he had kissed Victoria. Did it mean anything? The forming fissures in my heart meant that it likely did mean something, but I didn't know what.

  All of my life I'd dreamed of Jayson Hernandez. Drawn strength from the idea of him that had, somehow, played out in real life. Never had I actually thought that the real Jayson Hernandez so closely resembled the one in my head. Now, that man may have just thrown himself back into Victoria's arms.

  And whose fault would that be?

  The heat of our shared kiss on the beach had been real. Dazzling. Like a firework in my blood. I hadn't imagined it out of sheer desperation. No, he'd kissed me like he meant it, and that meant I still had a chance.

  So I needed to find out.

  With the back of my arm, I mopped up my tear stained cheeks and slowly stood. If Jayson really had gone back to Victoria, that was his choice. I'd work through my pain and eventually wish them both well, but I wouldn't figure it out by sitting here on the floor.

  Now, I had to take this as a chance to do what I should have done years ago. But no matter how I looked at it, this confrontation was far bigger, scarier, and offered more devastation in my life than anything Anthony Dunkin could have brought.

  This time, I would finally tell Jayson exactly how I felt.

  18

  Jayson

  Bastian clapped a hand on my shoulder, his face illuminated by a wide grin. “Grady,” he whispered, “is going to destroy you for this. I can't wait.”

  I laughed quietly, my shoulders shaking with delight. “It's his own fault,” I murmured. “Grady left his see the bride moment wide open.”

  “I can't believe Helene agreed.”

  “She'd be crazy not to. This will be hilarious.”

  Ten steps ahead of us, Vikram sashayed barefoot down a sandy trail in a hideous white wedding dress that Bastian had bought from a thrift store on his way here. Wrinkles from being shoved into a bag creased the fabric, and it smelled like campfire. The sleeveless top, shaped like a heart, left his broad shoulders bare. Chest hair puffed out over the top. Gauzy fabric rippled around his knees as he hurried through a lush garden set in the hotel grounds, away from the sounds of revelry near the beach. His bottom lip was split and swollen after a wrestling match between him and Bastian on a surfboard got too out of control.

  In other words, he was the ugliest bride ever.

  Ahead waited Grady, his back to us. A sleek tuxedo fitted all the way to his wrists and made his shoulders as wide as a refrigerator. The photographer had been talking to Grady, but she stopped and stared at us as we approached. Her lips rolled together to school a laugh. After Grady said something to her, I thought I heard her say, “Oh, don't worry. You will never forget this moment.”

  Grady expected to see lovely Helene, dolled up with all the thousands of dollars that her father could throw at a team, waiting for him.

  And he'd get us.

  Vikram slowed, half-turned to give us a thumbs up, and faced Grady again. The photographer swallowed hard as she turned to Grady, camera up and at the ready. He
r lips twitched.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  A body moved behind the photographer, phone raised to record as a video. Tyrone, Grady's cousin. He kept his expression even, but the hilarity already rang in his eyes. Grady opened and closed his hands at his sides, a sure sign he was nervous.

  “Can I turn around now?” he asked quietly.

  The photographer nodded. “See your . . . bride.”

  The word came out a garbled, poorly suppressed giggle. Grady whirled around, expression eager, and then stopped. Vikram held out his arms, a cheap bouquet of twigs and grasses in his hands, and cried, “I do!”

  Grady's face fell into a mixture of horror and astonishment. Bastian and I fell to the sand, howling.

  “What the hell?” Grady cried.

  Vikram threw his arms around Grady's neck and tried to get Grady to carry him. “Marry me, lover boy!”

  The photographer snapped away, tears streaming down her face as she laughed. Bastian doubled over while I tried to catch my breath. The expression on Grady's face slipped away from confusion and into a wary amusement.

  “Grady, man.” I wiped tears off my cheeks. “Your face.”

  A slow smile worked through his terror at seeing Vikram half-naked, his hairy legs sticking out of the skirt which was a foot too short. Grady started to laugh and the rolling, reverberating sound didn't stop. It grew in intensity until he struggled to stay upright.

  Bastian hooted. “That was worth the entire trip alone. I can't believe that was so worth it. Grady. You're a mess.”

  “So dumb,” Grady cried, but slapped Vikram on the shoulder as he wiped tears out of his eyes. “So dumb.”

  Movement shuffled behind Grady, but he was too distracted to hear the whispers of sound. I struggled back to my feet, my sides aching, and clapped Grady on the shoulder to keep his attention on me. While a vision in white appeared from around a fence, I kept my hand on him and sobered.

  “You got this, my friend.” I gave him a big smile. “She was made for you.”