Page 84 of Tru Blue
“For the kids,” Quincy uttered, shifting his eyes away again.
“For them and for you.” Truman leaned forward, grabbing Quincy’s attention again. “And for me, bro. I want my brother back, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help you stay clean.”
“All of this for Gemma.” Quincy held his gaze. “She must really be something.”
He couldn’t deny that asking him to apply for guardianship was because of Gemma, but that wasn’t why he wanted him to get clean. “It’s not just for her. It’s for all of us. She’s right about the kids. I don’t want them growing up worrying about fake papers. Clean slate, bro. That’s what they deserve. That’s what you deserve.”
Quincy sat in silence for a beat too long, making Truman’s gut twist tighter. Then he rose to his feet and said, “And what about you, Truman? What do you deserve?”
That was a loaded question. His lie had spurned Quincy’s guilt and separated them for six grueling, life-changing years, which had allowed their mother to get him into drugs. Truman knew he deserved more than he was born into, but what that was exactly, he wasn’t sure.
“Who the hell knows?” he finally answered. “But I know what I want.”
The side of Quincy’s mouth quirked up, amusement reaching his eyes. Damn, did that look good on him. So much better than the darkness he’d been haunted by when he’d first arrived at the rehab center.
“A normal family life and peace of mind that you’re okay.” He hugged Quincy and gave him a manly pat on the back. “Think about it. That’s all I’m asking. If it’s too much pressure, then I’ll figure something else out. What matters most is you getting clean. I can figure out the rest.” Truman reached for the door.
“Where are you heading now?”
“The courthouse.”
Quincy’s face blanched.
Truman patted his hand over his heart. “To the grave, bro. I’m just going to ask some hypothetical questions about guardianship to see what I’m up against.”
Before Gemma left this morning he’d asked her if he was going to lose her over this. As he left the rehab center, her answer sailed through his mind. I hope not.
He was going to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Five
IF THERE WAS one thing her mother did well, it was hosting black-tie events. Gemma stood beside one of many marble columns in the majestic ballroom of her stepfather’s mansion, taking in the grand affair. Every detail had been attended to. From the valet parking to the shine on the marble floors and the quartet playing at the head of the room, the event was perfectly executed. Elegant candelabra graced every table alongside fine china and the best silver money could buy. Handsome men dressed in sharp black tuxedos with crisp white collared shirts and perfectly slicked-back hair sipped champagne with gorgeous, gown-wearing women draped on their arms—women who had undoubtedly spent hours in spas preparing for their evening out while their children were cared for by hired help. Gemma’s stomach turned at the memories that chased that thought. She remembered those days all too well. Her mother would come home looking radiant, with every strand of her golden hair in place and makeup that made her look young and beautiful. Friendly, even. Gemma had been mesmerized by her mother’s transformation on those nights. Mommy, you look so beautiful, she’d say with hopes that the makeup had truly brought out a more pleasant side of her mother. Yes, thank you, darling. Don’t touch, she’d say on her way to wherever was more important than giving Gemma five minutes of her time.
The children, who were pointedly invited to this event for publicity purposes only, had been quickly swept away to another ballroom, where they were cared for by the nannies who accompanied them as well as by several staff her mother had hired solely for this occasion—after publicity pictures had been taken, of course.
Not for the first time, Gemma wondered why she’d traveled almost two hours to attend the event, when she had more important things on her mind. Like trying to convince Truman to do the right thing with the kids. When they’d parted that morning, things were tense and uncomfortable. She’d been on a dead run all day at the boutique, which was a great distraction. But here, all she could think about was how different Truman was from all those pretentious people who probably jetted off every other weekend for adults-only events. Truman would never leave the kids behind. Was she fighting for the wrong things? She had a real birth certificate showing her true lineage, and look how her family life had turned out. She’d have given anything to be raised by a man as loving as him. Maybe Truman’s idea wasn’t the worst, even if it was illegal.
