Chapter 2
I didn't remember leaving the recital hall.
I remembered Lily's hand inside mine.
I remembered the pink tutu still hanging over my jeans.
I remembered Charles standing behind us while Mara argued with him in the hallway.
Everything else felt blurred.
By the time I got Lily into my truck, she had stopped asking questions.
That scared me more than crying would have.
She sat in her booster seat holding the little bouquet Mara had given her.
Her eyes stayed on the flowers.
I shut the door gently.
Then I walked around the truck and stood beside the driver's door without opening it.
My hands were shaking.
I looked down at the court papers again.
Petitioner: Charles Whitmore.
Request for emergency guardianship review.
Allegations of instability.
Unsafe home environment.
Criminal associations.
Exposure to organized motorcycle activity.
Possible neglect.
I laughed once.
There wasn't anything funny about it.
Charles hadn't seen Lily in almost two years.
Now he was telling a judge I was dangerous.
I climbed inside.
Lily looked at me.
"Is Grandpa Charles mad at you?"
"No."
I hated lying to her.
She frowned.
"He looked mad."
"He's confused."
"About what?"
I started the truck.
"About us."
She looked out the window.
"I'm not confused."
That sentence hurt.
Neither was I.
Charles hated me.
He always had.
Grace came from money.
Real money.
The Whitmores owned commercial buildings, hotels, and half a dozen companies scattered across three states.
I came from a father who drank too much and a mother who disappeared when I was twelve.
By eighteen, I was fixing engines for cash.
By twenty-one, I had a record for fighting.
By twenty-five, I had built my first custom bike.
By thirty, I owned my own shop.
Charles never cared about the last part.
He only cared about the first.
When Grace married me, he didn't attend the wedding.
When Lily was born, he sent a silver rattle worth more than my first motorcycle.
When Grace got sick, he came to the hospital twice.
The second time, Grace asked him to leave.
After that, he disappeared.
Until tonight.
At home, Lily changed into pajamas while I called Mara.
She answered immediately.
"Tell me everything."
"Charles contacted me last week," she said.
My jaw tightened.
"You didn't tell me?"
"He told me he wanted to attend the recital quietly. I thought maybe he regretted staying away."
"He doesn't regret anything."
"I know that now."
I sat at the kitchen table.
The tutu was still around my waist.
I hadn't even noticed.
"What did he say?"
"Almost nothing. He bought a ticket through the school office. He asked which row would give him a good view of Lily."
My stomach turned.
"He planned this."
"Bear..."
"He wanted to see her freeze."
Mara went silent.
I stared at the custody petition.
"He needed something."
"What?"
"A moment he could twist."
I heard Mara inhale.
"She froze onstage."
"Exactly."
"Oh God."
"Now he can say she's emotionally unstable in my care."
"But then you helped her."
"Doesn't matter if he brought somebody with a camera."
Mara didn't answer.
That told me she was thinking the same thing.
After I hung up, I called the only lawyer I trusted.
Rebecca Sloan had helped several guys from the club with business contracts and custody matters.
She answered on the fourth ring.
"If this is about another zoning complaint from the city, I swear—"
"It's Lily."
Her voice changed immediately.
"What happened?"
I told her.
All of it.
By the time I finished, she wasn't making jokes.
"Send me pictures of every page."
"I will."
"And don't contact Charles."
"He contacted me."
"Don't contact him again."
"He says Grace left instructions."
Rebecca paused.
"What kind?"
"He wouldn't say."
"Did Grace have a will?"
"Yes."
"Who prepared it?"
"Some lawyer from Charles's firm."
"That's a problem."
"I know."
"Do you have a copy?"
"In my safe."
"Get it."
I walked toward the hallway.
Then stopped.
Lily was standing near the kitchen entrance.
Barefoot.
Holding her stuffed rabbit.
"Baby, why aren't you in bed?"
She looked at my phone.
"Are they taking me away?"
Everything inside me dropped.
Rebecca heard her.
I ended the call without explanation.
I crossed the room and knelt.
"No."
"But Grandpa had papers."
"He has papers because grown-ups sometimes use paper when they don't know how to talk nicely."
"Can papers take me?"
"No."
It wasn't completely true.
But I wasn't going to let her fear a stack of white pages.
She stared at me.
"Do I have to live with him?"
"No."
"You promise?"
I put both hands around hers.
"I promise I'm going to fight with everything I have."
She frowned.
"Fight like punching?"
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
"No punching."
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because ballet hands."
She held my fingers and straightened them delicately.
"Soft."
I swallowed hard.
"Soft."
I carried her to bed.
She asked me to sit beside her until she fell asleep.
I did.
When her breathing finally became slow and even, I went to my bedroom and opened the safe.
Grace's will was exactly where I'd left it.
I sat on the floor.
I hadn't read it since she died.
Most of it was simple.
Everything she owned went to Lily.
I was named guardian.
Rebecca had told me at the time there was nothing unusual.
But tonight, I read every line.
Twice.
Then I noticed something.
Page seven ended with Grace's initials.
Page eight did not.
I stared at it.
Page eight included a clause I'd forgotten.
If Duke Malone becomes unwilling, unable, incarcerated, or otherwise deemed unsuitable to serve as guardian, temporary custody shall transfer to Charles Edward Whitmore pending judicial review.
My chest tightened.
Deemed unsuitable.
Those words suddenly looked different.
I flipped through the pages.
At the bottom of the final page was Grace's signature.
But something was wrong.
Grace had shaky handwriting during her final months.
The chemotherapy affected her hands.
I knew because I had watched her struggle to sign Lily's birthday card.
The signature on the will was smooth.
Too smooth.
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
"I checked the filing."
"And?"
"Charles didn't do this alone."
"What does that mean?"
"There's a supporting declaration from a child welfare consultant."
"Who?"
"Dr. Adrian Pike."
The name meant nothing to me.
"Should I know him?"
"No."
She hesitated.
"But Grace did."
My body went cold.
"How?"
"He treated her."
"What?"
"He was part of her oncology support team."
I stood.
Rebecca continued.
"Bear, there's more."
I waited.
"He says in his declaration that before Grace died, she expressed concern about Lily being raised around your motorcycle club."
My grip tightened on the phone.
"That's a lie."
"I figured."
"Grace loved those guys."
"I know."
"Half of them took turns driving her to chemo."
"I know."
"Tank built Lily's crib."
"I know."
"Jax donated blood when Grace needed surgery."
"I know."
"So why is he saying this?"
"That's what we need to find out."
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I turned.
Lily was standing in the doorway again.
Her face was sleepy.
Her rabbit dragged on the floor.
"Daddy?"
I lowered the phone.
"What is it?"
"I remembered something."
"What?"
"Mommy had a box."
My heart stopped.
"What box?"
She rubbed her eye.
"The purple one."
I couldn't breathe.
"What purple box?"
"She told me it was for you when people started telling lies."
I stared at my daughter.
"When did she tell you that?"
Lily yawned.
"Before heaven."
I knelt.
"Where is it?"
May you like
She pointed toward the ceiling.
"Attic."
