Chapter 12: Keith's Terms

Keith's POV

By Wednesday the clip had been watched a million times.

Darcy had shut the shop, and a news van sat on our street with its engine running.

Preston had put it there, so I went to tell him what it cost.

I waited until Dade's closed.

The kitchen lights went off at midnight, and the last cook came out of the back door with his knives in a roll.

I stood on the sidewalk and let him see me.

He crossed to the other side of the street.

Through the front window I could see Preston alone in the dining room, wiping down the bar with a white towel, still in his whites.

I knocked on the glass.

He let me in and locked the door behind me.

"Keith." He was pleased, and he tried not to show it. "I thought you'd come with a lawyer."

"I came with nothing."

"Drink?"

"No."

"Then sit, so we can talk like men."

"I'll stand."

I stood by the bar with my hands in my jacket pockets, and I made myself breathe slowly.

For four years I had practiced what I would say to this man.

I'd said it to the bathroom mirror, to the dashboard, to the ceiling over my side of the bed.

Now it came out short.

"Leave my family alone."

"They're my family."

"They're my children, and they've never heard your name."

"They will." He laid the towel over his shoulder. "I've been honest with you, Keith. I'm not even angry. I was young and stupid."

"You were thirty-six."

"I didn't know she was pregnant."

"She told you. She left a voicemail the day they were born, and you never called her back."

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