Page 69 of The Sculptor

Not unexpectedly, Harrison Potter denied having anything to do with the adoption. He swore Jude died and suggested I seek grief counseling instead of putting my brother through more trauma by lying.

It was a delightful conversation—especially when Vance threatened to hire a private investigator, a former FBI agent and a patient of Vance’s, to look into the case. He gave Harrison a week to “remember” what happened and to convince Langston to hand over the names of the parents that adopted Jude before he made the call.

I still don’t know what Ray and I will do once we have that information, but at least we’ll have a choice—something we weren’t offered as teenagers.

And right now, that’s all I can ask for.

A choice in knowing my son.

We can’t change what happened, but we can change how we move forward. Ray and I have lived in the past for far too long. It’s time we heal and move forward.

“You ready?” I ask Ray, who is staring at the packed car with the tree we cut down earlier today tied to the roof.

“I think so.”

“Well,” I chuckle, “if we forgot something, it’d be a miracle.” She packed at least a bedroom full of shit—and it’s not even hers. Most of her stuff is still at Langston’s, where it will stay until this blows over or Langston grows a conscience. We know which will come first.

But apparently, if we packed a Christmas tree, we had to take all the decorations she bought while I had lunch with Vance and Astor.

“Don’t act like I overpacked if you won’t tell me where we’re going,” she snaps.

“I told you it was a surprise.” I open the passenger door, ushering her in. Astor thought it would be a good time to get away while he and Vance dealt with the congressman and our father. Not only that, but he suggested my wife deserved a proper honeymoon since I was such a bastard with how I handled the wedding—which I still don’t regret. I was marrying Ray one way or another. It’s not my fault she’s stubborn and forced my hand.

Let that be a lesson to her for the future. There is no escaping this relationship. She is mine forever.

Ray grins, settling into the seat and buckling up. “I think we’ve had enough surprises to last us a lifetime, don’t you?”

Most definitely, but… “We have room for one more.”

“If you say so.” But the excitement in her voice betrays her. No matter what surprise I have in store, she’s in—just like she was all those years ago when we did the very same thing. “Quick question, though.”

I groan. “No, Ray. I already know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no. We are not stopping for gas station snacks.”

Because I could barely handle it the first time…

“Oh my gosh, Duke, this is so good. You have to try it.”

My stomach turns as she dips the stick of gas station jerky into her milkshake and holds it out to me. “No, thanks. You and the baby need the calories, not me.”

“I know it looks gross,” she tries again, “but it’s absolutely divine. Like heaven in a cup.”

I snort. “I’ll take your word for it.” There is no way I’m eating meat—dried or not—from a place that attaches a hubcap to their bathroom key.

“I feel like you’re judging me right now.” Her eyes water; I’m sure this is round two of the tears since we left our hometown.

“I would never judge you.” I reach across the console of the car and take her hand.

“Then why are you looking at me like I disgust you?”

I hold back a laugh. Now is not the time to make that mistake again—even if she looks adorable all bundled up in my flannel shirt with her hair a mess and bottom lip poking out. “You will never disgust me,” I admit honestly.

A tear falls down her cheek, anyway.

“You don’t believe me?” I say, feigning shock.

She narrows her eyes. “Prove it. Prove I don’t disgust you.”

My stomach clenches at the thought, but my girl feels vulnerable right now. We’re three hundred miles from home with nine hundred and fifty-two dollars between us. If eating this unknown sliver of meat will dry the tears in her eyes, then I’ll force it down. After all, we’re in this together—disgusting pregnancy cravings and all.

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