Page 44 of Six Month Wife
“This is where you unwind?” he asks, as he studies everything on the walls and shelves. “No wonder you’re always so tightly wound.”
“Not everyone needs a penthouse to function,” I mutter, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Why are you here?”
“Aren’t you happy to see me, son?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Like, specifically.”
He waves a hand, dismissing the question. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I did tell you, son, when we spoke the other day. I figured if I showed up here, I’d catch you in action. I made a call and found out you would be on the schedule.”
Always making calls, sticking his nose in everything. His eyes flicker, but his entertainment isn't about me, but what's happening behind me. He's enjoying how others watch us.
“I’ve got to say, this hospital has a certain charm. It's quaint but wealthy, like something out of a medical drama with a budget.”
I glance at the nurses, who are now fully pretending not to listen.
“You couldn’t have waited until I was off? This is a little disruptive.” As soon as I say that, I wish I could take it back. That's exactly what he wanted, to see me ruffled.
“Patience isn’t my strong suit,” he says with that trademark grin. “You know that.”
Do I ever? But this isn’t about him not being able to wait. He’s here like this to catch me off guard. To watch. Assess. Dig.
He sits in a chair at the break table and leans back, resting an ankle on his knee, tapping his ring against the armrest like a metronome for manipulation. “I'm still trying to understand why Roger made that odd clause.”
My spine straightens before I can stop it. “Dad, you know how Roger was. Everything was a game.”
Leeland lifts a brow. “Doesn't it piss you off? I mean, why meddle in your life like that?”
My mouth goes dry. That's rich coming from him. “How do you know about that, anyway? I was told this was a private probate—sealed until verification.”
He shrugs, all faux modesty. “I did a little title work for Roger years ago. Land parcel in Vermont. He was worried about some conservation language and whether it’d impact his ability to transfer it down the line. When he died, I wanted to make sure it didn’t get tied up if he hadn’t prepared a will.”
"Why do you even care about all of this? Why are you here?"
He shrugs again, unapologetic. “Information is leverage, son. You of all people should understand that.”
He lets the silence hang, like he’s waiting to see how much that rattled me.
It rattled me.
“Anyway, are you ready? Three days until the estate representative shows, right?”
His smile is casual. His eyes are anything but.
There is no denying it now. I nod, slowly. “That’s right.”
A moment passes. Then, because I know he's lining up his next question, I cut him off before he can ask it.
“It’s handled, Dad. I already told you, I’m married to Adair, the paperwork’s in, and everything’s proceeding as it should. It's nothing more than verifying.”
He hums like he’s bored by the logistics. “Sure. Married. Living the dream, right? Whew, boy! That was fast.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Leeland and my mom split before I turned two. She died ten years later. The cancer was fast and brutal. I thank my lucky stars every night that at least I had her influence when it counted, before I ended up living with him full-time.
Leeland’s never been the marrying type.
“Fast timeline. High stakes,” he adds with a shrug. “You were always impulsive with personal decisions. Remember your senior year? That start-up you almost launched to rent scooters on campus?”
