Chapter 32

His question resonates inside my head. Who hurt you, Indie?

Myself. I don't want to admit it, but I did it and now . . . I do what my parents taught me, live with the consequences of my actions. It'd be too easy to blame Frederick, but it was me who insisted, who wanted him to love me.

"No one," I claim, anger at my weakness bubbling up inside me. I try half-heartedly to push him away but I'm not strong enough, though not because he's forcing the contact. I want to remain here where I feel somehow safe in his embrace.

Ty gently lifts my chin until our gazes lock, his green eyes intense upon mine. "You can talk to me," he coaxes.

Just then his phone blares loudly from his pocket, shattering the moment. He grimaces, arms tightening around me briefly and reluctantly he withdraws from me to check the caller ID.

"It's my mother again," he sighs, tension creeping back into his body. He looks down at me with uncertainty.

"It could be an emergency," I suggest.

He scoffs, jaw clenching. "Everything is life or death with her—but only when it's convenient for her selfish drama." His eyes flash angrily.

I tilt my head, hesitant curiosity getting the best of me. "Why don't you get along with her?"

Ty drags a hand through his dark hair in agitation. "Because she's a shitty, toxic person and an even worse mother," he harshly bit out.

I blink in surprise at his vehemence. Myra seems to love her, I don't understand why they have opposite reactions about this woman. "Aren't you exaggerating a little?"

Before he can respond, the phone screams again. With a humorless smirk on his lips, Ty offers it to me. "Wanna see just how shitty she is?" His tone drips with bitter challenge.

I slide my finger across the screen and set the call on speaker with no small amount of trepidation. "Hello?"

"Why the hell are you answering my son's phone?" a harsh female voice demands angrily. "Are you his new mistress? You slut. Let me guess—you want money, right? Well, I've got news for you, that bastard won't give you anything. He has me rotting in this hellhole nursing home like yesterday's trash while he plays pro-athlete." She breaks off with a spiteful laugh that has me cringing.

I stare at the phone and then at him. He gives me a look that says, ‘and that's just the beginning, darling.'

I stare wide-eyed at the phone, shocked by her venom, then back at Ty. His knowing glower clearly says this is mild for dear old mom. I clear my throat. "How can I help you, Mrs. Brynes?"

"Brynes? You think I have the last name of the asshole who knocked me up and left me with a bastard who doesn't give two shits about his mother?" She barks another caustic laugh. "Listen, honey, just tell my useless failure of a son that his mother Lucille called. It's important he knows: Anastasia is clean and wants her daughter back—of course, he'll have to pay us child support. We're not made out of money. Maybe buy us a house in Boca or the Keys. Can you be a doll and give him the message?"

Before I can respond, Lucille abruptly ends the call.

Ty drags a weary hand down his face, tension radiating from his broad shoulders. "And that, in a nutshell, is my toxic mother," he says bitterly.

I'm reeling, confused and conflicted. I have so many questions swirling chaotically in my mind but I hesitantly dare to ask, "Who is Anastasia?" Maybe his mother has a bizarrely close relationship with his ex and that would explain . . . things. I try not to let my rioting emotions show, attempting to keep my expression neutral.

"My half-sister. Same crazy mother, different deadbeat father," Ty replies flatly.

He gives me a quick recount. He's the oldest of three. The brother between him and Anastasia has a rich dad who took his kid when he dropped Lucille. His little sister was born when he was thirteen and though he helped take care of her for five years, once he was in college he left for good—but his mother kept finding him.

I swallow hard, anxiety rising. "So . . . your sister. . . she's Myra's mom?" I force the words out through a constricted throat, working hard to keep my voice steady. Don't freak out, I order myself. And fail miserably.

Ty presses his lips together and gives a short nod. "Yep. She dumped the baby with Lucille soon after giving birth. I never even knew who the father was." His hands curl into fists.

I stare at him, mind reeling. "Myra is your niece?" I finally choke out.

He nods. "Yeah. The moment Lucille realized what was going on, she called me. Said I had to take responsibility since it was ‘my blood.'" His mouth twists bitterly over the words. "I couldn't just abandon Myra to the chaos I grew up in. So I adopted her, made her legally mine with my agent's help. None of Myra's history is public knowledge."

"That's why no one knows about her mother," I mumble.

Ty nods, a muscle tics along his tight jawline. "And Lucille uses it against me, leverage to try and bleed me for money." Disgust laces his tone.

"Have you told her?" I ask him.

"To stop harassing me?" He chuckles. "Multiple times, but Lucille doesn't know the word no."

I shake my head. "No. I meant Myra. Have you told her she's adopted?"

Ty scrubs a hand over his face, looking suddenly frightened. "Of course not. I don't . . . You know all the things that could happen if I do?" His shoulders hunch defensively.

I lift one shoulder in a slight shrug. "Probably nothing, if you handle it the right way."

He scoffs derisively. "You have no idea."

I fold my arms across my chest. "My parents told me the truth about my adoption from the very beginning. I've always known that they chose me."

Ty's gaze sharpens on mine in surprise. "I didn't . . . You're adopted?"

I chuckle softly. "Isn't it obvious?" I sweep a hand down my petite frame. "My brothers and sisters are all Amazonian. I'm the only shorty Decker—even Lyndon is tall."

Ty just stares at me, clearly thrown. "Why wouldn't Lyndon be tall?"

"He's adopted too."

"And he knows too?" Ty asks incredulously.

"Yep," I confirm matter-of-factly. "It was never a big deal in my family."

Ty rakes both hands through his already disheveled hair, exhaling harshly. "If I tell Myra . . ." Fear shadows his eyes again.

"You don't need to do it right this minute," I rush to reassure him. "Maybe start with speaking to a child therapist. Get guidance on the best way to approach it."

He bobs his head a couple of times. "So you know my secret, what's yours?"