I relaxed a little, but my thoughts and emotions were still all over the place. He knew nothing about me, and my mom didn’t want me to know about him. Then why would she name me after him? Why?
I’m the product of a drunken hook up.
I swallowed again.
“Anyway,” he went on. “As time went by, I kept asking him when the right time to tell you would be. He kept putting me off. There was always something big going on with your life—a tournament, a scout, and then this…um…Reel Messys, or something?”
I laughed.
“Real Messini.”
“Yeah—that was it.” He nodded vigorously. “There was always something important, and he didn’t want you to have your life turned upside down right before something big was about to happen. He told me how playing pro was your dream, and he said if you eventually made that team, it would be huge. If something about your parentage came out then, it would be a scandal or whate
ver.”
He sighed.
“I didn’t want to agree, but he…he convinced me it was the right thing to do. I agreed that if you went pro, I’d back off—stop trying to see you. I trusted his judgment. I mean, he knew you and lived with you. He was your father, really. I knew that. I know that. I’d never try to replace him, Thomas—I swear.”
He looked up at me then so intently, I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. My real father….real father…real father. What the fuck did that mean? The guy who hit me? The one who told me everything was my fault and wouldn’t even let me touch the piano because it had been hers? The man who smacked me every time I dared mention her name? For a long moment, we just looked at each other. Maybe he couldn’t take any more of the silence, because he eventually spoke.
“Lou was your real dad. I know that. I would never try to take his place.”
My mouth opened without any consultation with the cognizant parts of my head.
“He abused me,” I said quietly.
I kept my eyes on his as I watched his eyes go from hopeful insistence, to mild confusion, to slow comprehension, to absolute, cold fury.
“He what?”
The knuckles of his hand turned white as they put pressure against his water glass. A moment later, the glass broke.
In Julius Caesar, Shakespeare told us: “The evil that men do lives after them.” Somehow, I thought it was going to be a long time before some of the scars Lou Malone left were healed.
Now how was…um…Dad…going to take it?
CHAPTER 33
CLEAN SHEET
I just sat there while a busboy cleaned up the broken glass, and the server tried to wipe all the water up from the table. I wasn’t sure what to think, and I was on edge. My toes kept twitching on my right foot, which they did sometimes. It was something reflexive, Danielle had told me. Though she said it was a good sign, it drove me nuts when it happened. I couldn’t make it stop.
My…father…Dad…Thomas…I didn’t know how I should address him or think of him. In my mind, I had just started calling him Gardner. That seemed to work as well as anything else. Gardner was just sitting there, too, with his hands balled into fists and his sandwich almost untouched. He didn’t say anything until the server left.
“How?” His voice came out in a harsh whisper. “I mean…what? What did he do?”
“Blamed me,” I replied solemnly. “He blamed me for Moms’ death. He hit me sometimes.”
“Did he…is he why you’re in…that thing?” He waved a hand at my wheelchair as his face went deathly pale.
“No,” I said with a single laugh. “I did that one myself.”
“You saved that girl,” he nodded, remembering. “Nicole.”
“Yeah.”
“He hit you?” Gardner repeated.