Page 246 of Unexpected Heroine

Classic Lettie.

Meeting my father? Nailed it.

Chapter 45

It never stops

TOMER

Hundreds of times, I envisioned how this would play out. Never once did I think it could end with Lettie metaphorically throat-punching her way into Redleg like she was Chuck Norris’s offspring instead of Big Al’s.

My vision was equally disastrous, though far less theatrical.

The large audience on hand to bear witness to my most spectacular fuck-up was an extra special touch. On the bright side, at least there’ll be lots of witnesses to my murder.

Idly, I wonder if Big Al could kill me without touching me or using a weapon. If it were possible, the glare he’s flaying me with would likely accomplish such a feat.

Unfortunately, finding out will have to wait. The love of my life is getting sick behind me, so I turn away from the harsh judgment of the first person who ever saw me as more than a piece of garbage or a tool to be used. On my way out of the conference room, I gently brush past Madeline. She stands frozen in the doorway, her gaping mouth partially covered by her balled-up fist.

Crouching beside Lettie, I place one hand on her back and swoop up her hair with the other. Tears stream down her cheeks. Through rough heaves, she flicks her head in my direction and grumbles something sounding a lot like fuck off. She should know better than to think I’d ever leave her side when she’s suffering.

“Peggy, would you get her some water, please?” I toss over my shoulder, continuing to comfort my girl.

Lettie moans painfully, shaking her head no, then hurls another portion of her breakfast into the wastebasket.

Damn. I realize my error almost instantly and amend my request. “Could you bring the water in an unopened bottle?”

“Got it,” she answers, disappearing down the hall toward the break room. She returns a few seconds later, passing me the bottle. I set it on the floor without opening it. Once Lettie’s done with this latest round of heaves, I’ll give it to her.

When her stomach finally gives her a reprieve, she rasps, “Tissue, please?”

Reacting automatically, I rub her shoulder tenderly and utter, “Those damn manners.”

She lets a single chuckle escape before it’s quickly replaced with sniffles and a pained sob that renews her crying. Her tears cascade into the trash can.

I despise myself for hurting her.

Scanning the area, I spot a box of tissues on Peggy’s desk. Cort sees them at the same time, his legs already moving him in that direction. He passes them to me without speaking, then backs away.

Tugging several from the box, I pass Lettie a handful and keep some for myself. Gently, I dab at the sides of her eyes while she dries her nose and wipes her mouth.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

The silence fills the office, mingling with the sound of her hitching breaths and gasps.

I glance around the room, noticing we have an audience. No one can turn away from a train wreck—the situation, not Lettie.

Losing my patience, I snap, “Guys, can you fuck off and give her some privacy?”

All the onlookers respond instantly, backing away and tipping their heads at me in a silent apology. Except one person.

I’d have expected it to be Big Al who’d refuse to leave. Perhaps Mia or Peggy, aiming to offer assistance or comfort.

Nope.

Even Amber and Cort have vanished.

Madeline Mason stands resolute behind us, her features softened with a motherly compassion. Our eyes meet only briefly before shame and regret force my gaze to the floor.

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