Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

KYLE

T he inspector is on-site for less than an hour, basically rubber stamping our approval to move on to the next phase. He knows me, and he knows my crew does good work. Thankfully, rescheduling the concrete crew I subcontract with was easy, and they'll be here tomorrow. Wayne, Zeus, and Frogger know to be here before eight to meet them, and I'll be here to supervise the whole pour.

"Ms. Wilson?" I call as I knock on the back door. I hear noise on the other side and wait… and wait… and wait. Finally, I hear the lock turning and then she opens the door.

"Yes?"

She looks surprised to see me, despite watching out the back window while I showed the inspector around.

"We got the approval from the inspector. Everything's good out here." I point over my shoulder at the framed pool, and she looks past me, her face screwed up like she might see something the trained, certified, and experienced inspector missed.

"Oh, well… that's good, I guess."

I grit my teeth to keep from telling her it would've been better if it'd been done as originally planned, but she had to make up stories that pushed everything off-schedule.

"It means we have the go-ahead for concrete. That crew will be here tomorrow at eight a.m., and me and my guys will be here too, making sure it's all going to spec. Like we talked about before, this will be one of the days you'll have to get your car out early if you want to get it out at all. The concrete truck is not moveable once it's in place, and the pour will take all day."

"But tomorrow's my pickleball day. I'll be in and out several times. We might have to reschedule." She seems sad about that, but I can see the glee in her eyes.

Dani's right, Kathy's joy comes from others' misery. Well, two can play at that and I can create a fair amount of unhappiness of my own. I've got plenty of experience in that.

"Your call, of course. But we already rescheduled them once, so they'll push your job to the bottom of their priority list. That'll put concrete probably a month, maybe five weeks, out," I reply, glad for once for all of the Harrington business knowledge I absorbed by osmosis growing up. Including how to negotiate. "They'll require full payment up front to hold the spot since you're a bad risk for their books. The delay would also mean the inspection would have to be redone, and I quote for one inspection because I know my jobs pass the first time like we just did, so a repeat would be at your cost. Plus, I've got other jobs lined up, back-to-back, so getting Wayne and the guys over here? Hmm, might have to send in my secondary crew to finish this out."

I look back at the pool, nodding slowly as I scrub a hand over my jaw. "Yeah, if that's what you want to do, and you don't mind looking at a big hole in your back yard for a lot longer, I can make it happen." I pin her with an icy glare. "Or you could move your car in the morning to get to pickleball."

I'm making all that shit up. There's no secondary crew, or need for reinspection, or prepayment requirement with the concrete guys. But if she can fuck things up with a lie about a racoon, I feel zero guilt in doing a little bit of the same to get her to do something as minor as move her fucking car .

Apparently, I created enough potential discomfort in her world that she's willing to give in because she huffs out a displeased harrumph . "Fine, I'll have my car out before eight."

"Sounds good. See you then."

I stride around the side of the house, listening for Kathy to close her door. Once I hear that, I hop the fence and shortcut up to Dani's front door.

"Knock, knock," I call though the screen.

"Hey!" she answers, and I take it as an invitation to come on in.

Stepping into the house, I can see her in the kitchen at the big table in the middle of the room. She's working with some type of dough, punching and kneading and rolling it out. Her hair is piled on top of her head, her bun still fresh and neat in the relatively early morning hours. Her face is bare and has a slight sheen of sweat from her work and the heat, and she's wearing a tank top and bike shorts that end mid-thigh.

"G'morning. Whatcha making?"

She smiles, her hands never stopping. " Rollitos . One sweet and one savory for lunches today. What're you doing?"

"Giving Kathy shit so I get my way." That gets her attention, and though she keeps working, she cuts dancing eyes my way that say ‘tell me everything'.

I give her the quick recap of my conversation with Kathy, knowing she'll appreciate the lie I told and how it played out.

"Well done," she praises, and I beam, as happy that it worked out as I am that Dani approves. "So, what else are you doing today?"

I scoot around the table, coming to stand behind her with my hands on her hips and bending down so my chin rests on her shoulder. "I could hang out for a while."

She tilts her head over, resting it against mine. Her hands even still, and I feel her body relax, but too soon, she takes a loud breath and stands back up, her spine going stiff and straight once again. "I need to get this dough done and covered so it can rise while I make the fillings. I don't have time for… a friend today."

But even as she's turning me down, there's a teasing smile on her face. I was afraid she'd be having second, third, and fourth doubts about last night, but she seems okay, comfortable, and not biting my head off, which is sometimes a bigger win than you'd think.

"How about tonight? I can come by later, help with the dishes and clean-up duties, and then eat your rollito ." I have no idea if that makes sense. I'm assuming a rollito is some type of roll, given the way it sounds, but regardless, I make it clear what I'm offering with the grumbly, rough tone of my voice.

Dani laughs. "That was awful." I shrug, not offended when she's smiling that brightly. I raise my brows questioningly, and she rolls her eyes. "Fine, come by later. But you have to get out of here or I'm not gonna get my work done before my first customers."

She bumps her shoulder against my chest, playfully pushing me back, and I let her, enjoying this new side of Dani. I might've been right… a couple of orgasms and she's downright nice .

"Alright," I say, moving away from her with my hands raised in surrender, "but you're gonna be thinking about me licking and sucking your rollito all day, aren't you?" I grin big and cheesy. "Save me a sweet one." I lick my lips, aiming for subtle, but given the way Dani's eyes zero in on the movement, I fail spectacularly.

"You are such an asshole," she teases, laughing. But I don't miss the way she shifts from one foot to the other, like her pussy is responding to my silly flirting.

"Glad you actually showed up," Dad says from his throne, a.k.a. a leather tufted executive chair behind his desk in his home office. He sounds disappointed that I'm here despite his being the one who asked me to stop by.

I don't acknowledge the statement because I did almost ignore his text. It's too easy to claim I didn't see it, or was too busy, or boldly tell the truth, which is that I don't want to talk to him.

But for some stupid ass reason, here I am. Glutton for punishment, I guess.

He's got an entire living room's worth of furniture in here—a couch and four chairs in a conversational circle on one side of the room by the fireplace, plus two chairs in front of his desk. Over the years, every kid has had a favorite perch, except me. I was never one to sit in here while Dad worked, didn't curl up in a corner of the couch and read the way Kayla did or use the front edge of Dad's desk as my own work space the way Cameron used to.

I mostly only came into this room if I was in trouble, and then, only by force, much like now.

I drop into a club chair, intentionally slouching and manspreading for precisely two reasons… one, to make myself appear completely at ease, and two, because I know it irks Dad for any of us to not appear proper and professional.

"What do you want, Dad?" I huff out.

He sighs and stands up, going over to his bar. "Chivas?"

I narrow my eyes at his back. Why is he plying me with top-shelf liquor in the middle of the afternoon? There's a reason. Dad always has a reason.

"Sure. Maybe it'll soften the blow of whatever you're about to hit me with. Or we could get straight into it so I can start recovering from another one of our little chats about how I'm a failure, an embarrassment to the Harrington name, and what was it?" I cock my head like I'm remembering something I can't quite put my finger on even though Dad's words replay in my head all too regularly. "Oh, yeah, you wouldn't have expected anything better from a hellion like me."

"Kyle, I'm done apologizing for that," Dad says, although my memory says he never truly did apologize. It was one of those ‘I'm sorry buts' , where by the end of it he made it sound more like I deserved it than actually apologizing. "At the time, neither of us were at our best. I was angry, you were in handcuffs, and the officer dropping you off said you'd been drag racing… again. I'm sure you've said things you wish you could take back too." He hands me a heavy pour of whisky, his brows raised expectantly like he's waiting for me to admit my own wrongdoings too.

I'm not going to.

Have I said some mean things? Yes. Would I take them back? Nope. At the time, I meant every word… I hate you, I wish I was born into another family, why did you even have me if you didn't want me, and best of all , fuck you and the high horse you rode in on . Hell, I'd say them all again, even though it doesn't reflect too kindly on me. But I don't, which shows my own growth as far as I'm concerned.

Instead, I swallow the double finger of whisky in one gulp, like it was nothing more than a single shot. Dad gives me a disappointed look and sighs as he lowers himself into the other club chair.

Not behind his desk? Interesting. He's playing at putting us on an equal field by sitting beside me, even though we both know we're not peers.

"Does everything have to be a fight with you?" he asks. I hold my hands out for a second, like ‘what did you expect?' because he knows what he's getting when he calls me here. "Fine, I have an opportunity for you, though I'm second-guessing myself already." He gives me a considering glare, and I can read every thought going through his head…

Where did I mess up with this one?

Why isn't he like his brothers and sister?

What's wrong with him?

"Don't want whatever you're peddling, Dad. I'm fine without whatever you've got." As I say it, I remember last night, telling Dani that I'm happy with my life how it is, and that's true. Or at least it is when I can avoid my dad. The rest of it, though? All fine and dandy by me, and I especially don't want anything that'll leave me beholden to my father.

Dad acts like I didn't say a word, as per usual. "We have a prospective investment under consideration. It's a hotel of sorts with an in-house water park that runs both indoors and outside. The park portion is in utter disrepair, which is why we can get it for a steal, and it will need a total renovation. I thought you might benefit from a large-scale job like this. It could make your company's entire year."

Dad knows I own a custom pool design and installation company. He makes it a habit to know what all of us kids are up to, one way or another. Not because he cares, but because he doesn't want anything we might do to reflect poorly back on him and his reputation. And at one point, I might've considered something like what he's suggesting. Hell, if it were an opportunity coming from someone other than him, I might still consider it. But it is Dad, and he's acting like I'm starved for business while he holds this out like a filet mignon on a silver platter.

"No thanks." I set the empty tumbler on his desk, specifically placing it next to the leather coasters he uses to protect the wood's finish, and stand up. "If that's everything, I'll be going."

"Kyle," he scolds, "this could be a significant win for both you and Blue Lake. Don't be rash and shoot yourself in the foot solely because it's me bringing it to the table."

Blue Lake Assets is Dad's company. Before it was his, it was Grandpa Chuck's, and after Dad finally retires the way he keeps saying he's going to, it'll be Cameron's because he's worked at Dad's side for years and has earned it with blood, sweat, and tears. Maybe Kayla's too because, though she keeps out of Dad's target range, she bleeds Blue Lake too, like a good Harrington.

I freeze, pinning Dad with blue eyes that are markedly different from his, Mom's, and all my siblings. Theirs is more like a summer sky, pure and brightly beautiful, while mine are faded, dirt-cheap denim. "No thanks. I've got jobs lined up for the rest of the year and a waiting list of people to get on my schedule when I open it for next year. I don't need a pity contract, don't need your help, and don't want anything to do with you or Blue Lake after working my ass off to build my own reputation without the weight of the Harrington name dragging me down."

"What's wrong with the Harrington name? Our family is responsible for generations of growth, investments, and capital all across the globe," Dad sputters, the vein in his temple starting to pulse.

"Exactly," I say slowly, like Dad's finally getting it. "And that takes priority over everything else, doesn't it? Wouldn't want a bothersome thing like a family or kids to get in the way of making your mark on the world, now would you? Don't worry, Dad, if nothing else, I learned that from you. Work over everything, even family, which is why I'm putting my business over helping out with your ‘little investment'."

Because I get it now. His ploy of sitting beside me, offering me fancy whisky, and framing this contract as a favor for me? Yeah, it's all because he needs me more than I need him for this water park deal. Probably expecting some family discount or wanting oversight that a company without a family tie wouldn't allow.

I stride from the room, ignoring Dad calling my name as I head toward the door, but as I pass by Mom's conservatory, I hear her voice inside and pause.

Conservatory is a fancy way of saying Mom's private office, where she spends time coordinating the family's philanthropy, reading, and occasionally dabbling in acrylic painting after going on a girls' outing with Luna to a bring-your-own-wine paint studio. Mom's actually pretty good with a brush, and though no one's going to hang her work in a museum, she has fun with it and that's what matters.

I'm about to go inside to tell her what Dad's up to when I realize she's talking about me.

"Yes, Kyle came by to talk to Charles. He's doing really well, despite always poking the bear with his father." Mom laughs like mine and Dad's antics are adorably cute, not painfully bitter, and then she's quiet for a minute.

She's on the phone, and I can't hear the other side of the conversation, but still, I listen.

I shouldn't. I know it's rude, and is a sure-fire way to hear things you wish you hadn't, but a peek behind the curtain of what Mom actually thinks is too tempting to resist.

As much as I hate Dad, I love Mom. She's been the tempering force between me and Dad my whole life, somehow straddling a line where we both feel like she's on our side. She would never let Dad go too far in punishing me, even when I deserved it, but she would also talk to me, getting me to see his side of things sometimes. And she was my foundation point in the family, the one who took me here, there, and everywhere with my siblings, especially when they got older and started leaving home on their own. Mom made sure they came back for dinners, for visits, and would take me to see them. She's not perfect, but she's stood by me through some dark and ugly shit, and I love her for that and so much more.

"Oh, good for them!" Mom exclaims, then she hums, listening. "Yes, it was like that for us after the twins were born too. Charles was the same way. I think he saw them as two more mouths to feed and panicked a bit. It was like he had this instinctive urge to go out and conquer the world, no matter that he'd already done that several times over." Mom sighs, and I can almost sense her rolling her eyes.

Cole and Kayla are twins, though you'd never know it. From what I've gathered, Cole was always chasing after his older brothers and Kayla was the princess everyone always wanted.

It's interesting to hear about my family before I was even a glint in Mom's eye, though, especially since by all reports, Dad was a doting father when the oldest boys were little. I guess somewhere along the way, he became a workaholic and morphed into the father he was to Cole, Kayla, and me in the process.

"I didn't need more money in the bank, you know? We were more than fine there. What I needed was help at home. I had the twins, plus the older boys, who were essentially running wild, and just needed someone to run defense with me. That's when we hired Anders. He was a godsend."

Anders. I've heard the name. He was the family ‘manny' for a while before I was born, from Iceland or Norway or one of those Scandinavian countries, and left to go back home while Mom was pregnant with me. I don't think my brothers remember him much, and I've never seen pictures of him, but I've heard some of the long-time house staff mention him, so he must've been well-liked.

"Maybe they could hire someone too," Mom suggests to whoever she's talking to, but then she laughs. "Just tell them to be alert because as soon as we had help, even with Charles being in and out of the country seemingly every other week, fate had one more surprise in store for us. Boom, here came Kyle!" She laughs again, not at me exactly, or about me, but there's something…

‘Boom' was one of my favorite words as a kid. I was a bit of a linebacker type to my brothers' taller, leaner body types, and even as a toddler, I could take Cameron down and he's years older than I am.

But that's not what's wiggling in my mind, trying to come together into a fully-formed thought.

Dad was gone a lot. Mom had help with Anders. Here I came, an unexpected addition.

"No way," I hiss to myself. I freeze, thoughts hitting me from every direction.

I mean, it'd make sense.

This could be why I'm the only kid who doesn't look like a Harrington. It's not like I'm brunette, but my hair is shades darker than any of my siblings, and my eyes are several hues lighter. My jawline looks nothing like my brothers' or Dad's, and I'm the only boy built like a brick shithouse.

Could it be because I only share half my DNA with the rest of my siblings?

Is Dad not my dad?

Holy fuck, he knows . Or at least suspects. Maybe he tried to do right by me, not blowing up the rest of the family over it, but he's got to have that little doubt in the back of his mind, that little prick of the thorn that makes him wonder every time he looks at me.

That's why he's always been distant with me. That's why I can never live up to his expectations. Because from the beginning, I'm proof of a bigger failure.

I have to go. Now.

I admittedly have more parental issues than Batman, but this is a lot to take in, and as much as I'd like to burst in and demand some answers from Mom, I need to think about this before I do something stupid. All I have is half a conversation and some suspicions.

And a lifetime of feeling like an outsider.