“Hayden, wait.”
She stopped at the massive glass entrance doors, suppressing an inward groan at the sound of her stepmother’s throaty voice.
Hayden turned slowly.
“I just…” Sheila looked surprisingly nervous as she plowed ahead. “I wanted to tell you there are no hard feelings. I know you’re trying to protect your father.”
Hayden’s eyebrows said hello to her hairline. No hard feelings? Sheila was in the process of sucking the money out of Presley’s bank accounts like a greedy leech and she wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings?
Hayden could only stare.
Sheila hurried on. “I know you’ve never liked me, and I don’t blame you. It’s always hard to watch a parent remarry, and I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’m only two years older than you.” She offered a timid smile.
“We really shouldn’t be talking,” Hayden said finally, her voice cool. “It’s probably a conflict of interest.”
“I know.” Sheila ran one hand through her hair, her features sad. “But I just wanted you to know that I still care about your father. I care about him a lot.”
To Hayden’s absolute shock, a couple of tears trickled out of the corners of Sheila’s eyes. Even more shocking, the tears didn’t look like the crocodile variety.
“If you care, then why are you trying to take everything he owns?” she couldn’t help but ask.
A flash of petulant anger crossed Sheila’s face. Ah, here was the Sheila she knew. Hayden had seen that look plenty of times before, usually when Sheila was trying to convince Presley to buy something outrageous and not getting her way.
“I’m entitled to something,” Sheila said defensively, “after everything that man put me through.”
Right, because Sheila’s life was so unpleasant. Living in a mansion, wearing haute couture, not paying a dime for anything…
“I know you think I’m the bad guy here, but you need to know that everything I’ve done is a result of…No, I’m not going to blame Pres.” The tears returned, and Sheila wiped her wet eyes with a shaky hand. “I saw that he was spiraling and I didn’t try to help him. I was the one who sent him into another woman’s arms.”
“Pardon me?” A knot of anger and disbelief twined Hayden’s insides together like a pretzel. Sheila was actually insinuating that her father had been the one to stray? Her dislike for the woman quickly doubled. That she could even accuse a man as honorable as Presley Houston of adultery was preposterous.
Sheila eyed her knowingly. “I guess he left out that part.”
“I have to get going,” Hayden said stiffly, her jaw so tense that her teeth were beginning to ache.
“I don’t care what you think of me,” Sheila said. “I only want you to take care of your father, Hayden. I think he’s started drinking again and I just want to make sure that someone is looking out for him.”
Without issuing a goodbye, Sheila pulled an Elvis and left the building.
Hayden watched as her stepmother disappeared down the busy sidewalk, swallowed up by Chicago’s afternoon lunch crowd.
She couldn’t will herself to move. Lies. It had to be lies. Her father would never break his marriage vows by hopping into bed with another woman. Sheila was in the wrong here. She had to be.
I think he’s started drinking again.
The comment replayed in Hayden’s brain, making her toy nervously with the hem of her thin blue sweater. She’d thought her father’s eyes had looked bleary. Fine, maybe he did have a drink or two before coming here, but Sheila’s remark implied that Presley’s drinking went beyond today. That at some point in time he’d suffered from an alcohol problem.
Was it true? And if so, how hadn’t she known about it? She might not visit often, what with her hectic schedule at the university, but she spoke to her father at least once a week and he always sounded normal. Sober. Wouldn’t she have suspected something if he had a drinking problem?
Lies.
She clung to that one word as she pushed the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and stepped through the doors. Sucking in a gust of fresh air, she headed for her rental, forcefully pushing every sentence Sheila had spoken out of her mind.
BRODY LEFT the locker room after a particularly grueling practice, wondering if he’d made a big fat mistake by pretty much telling Hayden the puck was in her end, the next move hers.
It had seemed like the right play at the time, but today, after two hours of tedious drills topped off by a lecture from the coach, he was rethinking the action he’d taken. Or more specifically, regretting the action he wouldn’t be getting. His body was sore, his nerves shot, and he knew a few hours in Hayden’s bed were all the medicine he needed.