“What the fuck!”
The outburst drew the attention of several other patrons, and Hayden quickly shot them an apologetic look.
“What’s wrong?” Hayden asked her friend.
Darcy grimaced, wiping her mouth. “That’s not water, babe. It’s vodka.”
Hayden stared at the glass in disbelief. “Seriously?”
She snatched the glass out of Darcy’s hand and took a tentative sip. Sure enough, the sharp taste of alcohol burned her tongue.
What the fuck was right.
Her father had been pretending to drink water when he was consuming pure vodka? At eight thirty in the morning?
And he was trying to tell her he didn’t have a problem?
“Darce,” she said, as a queasy sensation churned in her stomach.
“Yeah?”
“Do you mind if I bail on the dress shopping?” Hayden bit her lip. “I need to go and talk to my stepmother.”
TWENTY-THREE
An hour later, Hayden was standing outside the lavish ten-bedroom home her father had bought for Sheila. It was only a few blocks from the Gallagher Club, in the heart of one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Chicago.
After what happened at the restaurant, there was no way Hayden could ignore Sheila’s accusations anymore. Although a part of her still didn’t fully trust her stepmother, she knew this conversation was long overdue. And if she had more information, maybe she could find a way to help her dad.
Because if his recent behavior was any indication, her father definitely needed some help.
Sheila answered the door wearing sweats, her expression clearly conveying her surprise at seeing her soon-to-be ex-stepdaughter standing on the pillared doorstep. Hayden had called ahead, but Sheila still seemed startled to find her there.
“Hayden, hi. I...uh... I’m still confused by your call. What’s this about?”
Hayden fumbled awkwardly with the strap of her leather purse. “Like I said, I think we should talk.”
With a nod, Sheila opened the door wider so Hayden could step inside. The enormous front parlor, with its sparkling crystal chandelier, was as intimidating as it had been the first time she’d seen it. The white walls were devoid of artwork, a sight that made her frown. She’d encouraged her father to pick up pieces at auctions she’d recommended, but it looked as if he hadn’t bothered.
“So what’s on your mind?” Sheila asked after they’d entered the living room.
Hayden sat on one of the fluffy teal love seats, waited for Sheila to sink down on the matching sofa, then cleared her throat. “I want you to tell me about my father’s drinking.”
Her stepmother raked one delicate hand through her blond hair, then clasped her hands together in her lap. “What do you want to know?”
“When did he start?”
“Last year, about the same time the pharmaceutical company he’d invested in went bankrupt. He lost a lot of money, tried to recoup it by making more investments and lost that, too.”
Sheila spoke in a steady, confident voice. It didn’t sound like she was lying, and Hayden fought back a wave of guilt as she realized that if this were true, she’d had absolutely no idea any of it had been going on. Her father always sounded so jovial on the phone, as if he had no cares in the world.
Was she a terrible daughter for not seeing through the lies?
“He didn’t want to worry you,” Sheila added, as if reading her mind.
“So that’s when he started drinking?”
Her stepmother nodded. “At first, it was just a drink or two in the evenings, but the worse the situation got, the more he drank. I tried talking to him about it. I told him it was becoming a problem, but he refused to hear it. That’s when...” Sheila’s voice drifted.
“That’s when what?”
“He slept with another woman.”
A silence fell between them, but this time Hayden didn’t try to defend her father. That day at the law office, she’d believed Sheila to be a heartless lying bitch who was baselessly accusing Pres of adultery. But after his blowup at the Gallagher Club and discovering this morning that his water glass was full of vodka, Hayden couldn’t deny her dad had a problem. And if that problem had driven him to cheat, she needed to accept it. No point sticking her head in the sand and pretending things were okay, when they obviously weren’t.
So she leaned back and allowed Sheila to continue.
“He told me what he’d done the next morning, blamed me for his infidelity, said my constant nagging forced him to do it.” Sheila made an exasperated sound. “And he kept denying he had an alcohol problem. I might have been able to forgive him for the affair, but I couldn’t look away while he destroyed the life we’d built.”
“What happened?”
“I confronted him again and ordered him to get help.”
“I take it he didn’t agree.”
“No.” Sheila’s features twisted in distress and anger. “He only got worse. A couple nights later, I came home from the gym and found him in the study, drunk out of his mind. That’s when he confessed about the games he’d fixed.”
A rush of protectiveness rose inside her. “It could have been the alcohol talking. Maybe he didn’t know what he was saying.”
