Anton’s mouth dropped open.
She clenched her jaw, trying to figure out a way to make him believe that she honestly had not touched the money, and had every intention of using it for the boys’ college educations … something they would never, ever be able to afford otherwise.
“I’m … Isabella … it’s …”
Lindsay held up a hand. “No, I don’t need explanations. I know you fired her when I asked you to. Of course, what I don’t know is how many times you fucked her before I caught you, and if she’s still sneaking into the brewery, angling to take you from me.”
Anton’s brow furrowed. The paper with the cold, hard facts of what else she’d done that weekend crumpled in his closed fist.
He swallowed. She waited.
“I’m sorry for that. It was wrong and I know it was and I …”
“I said I don’t require your explanations.” She slipped the bankbook into her jeans pocket. “I haven’t used a thin dime of Halloran money on anything here. Just like I promised you I wouldn’t when we first got notice of it. It’s safe in the bank, drawing interest, and will be there for the boys when they need it, come college time. That’s it.”
“No, actually, that’s not it. I grabbed the mail before I left the brewery and only now had time to read this.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and she caught sight of an official-looking letterhead. Her heart seemed to stop, then pounded in her ears.
It had to be Joe. He’d sent Anton a dang letter to tell him what they’d done. She’d only seen the man once, at the pub, while she was hugely pregnant with Aiden. He’d let his gaze flicker down her swollen form, then up to her eyes. He’d not been around at all after that.
She took the paper with trembling hands. But it wasn’t from Joe. It was from some attorney’s office in Louisville, and had a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo about the Love Brothers Brewing Company’s re-incorporation, with the mystery investor listed as a fifteen percent owner. She glanced up at Anton. His face was stony, his jaw set. His body seemed to quiver with rage.
She kept reading, trying to sort out what the problem was. She saw it at the bottom where the angel investor was to sign his name. The words: “JHJ Investments” were right above “James R. Halloran, Jr., President.” She stared at her brother’s name on the paper. “I … didn’t know.”
“Stop lying to me, God damn you.” He roared at her, lunging across the small room and grabbing her arms so hard there’d be bruises. She tried to wrench out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t let go. “I am just some kind of charity project for you still, aren’t I Lindsay? Miss Halloran?”
“Do not manhandle me, Anton.”
“Shut up. Just shut up and listen to me.”
“I won’t listen as long as you’re shaking me like a little kid. I mean it.” She glared at him. He dropped his arms to his sides and regarded her with an ice-cold stare.
“Fine. So here’s the deal. You have two choices.” He held up a finger. “One. Tell your brother to work out terms with me so I can pay him back. Then close that account in Louisville and return that money to him—that should be a start on it.”
She frowned. He loomed over her again. So close she could smell the wood smoke, brewery odors, and raw fury pouring off him in waves. “Two. Keep your goddamned Halloran money for yourself, pack a bag and leave.”
“That’s ridiculous, Anton.” She put some distance between them, legs shaking, horrified he might ask her about the real reason she had a piece of paper with blood types on it. “James is … I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm. He wanted to help.”
“He wanted to help you. Not me. He doesn’t give a shit about the brewery.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Anger at his presumptive attitude was making her see red along the edges of her vision. “Huh? What in the name of all that is holy is wrong with my brother wanting to help me? It’s what brothers do, Anton. Remember? It’s what your family did for you. Taking out a loan for this place without telling me was no problem. Why are you being such a … such a …”
He glowered at her. “So you’ve made your decision then.”
She blinked. “No. I’m … it’s … it’s not that simple. Honey, listen.” She was getting nervous. Anton Love did not make idle threats. That much she knew for a fact. She reached for him. He jerked away from her. “Please, Anton, let’s talk about it. I’m not doing anything against you. It’s all for our family, our sons.” The panic blossomed into legitimate fear. She’d made peace with the path she’d chosen—no, the one she’d engineered for herself. She loved Anton and this life. She was not about to walk out now.
“I told you more than once. I will not accept Halloran money. And now …” He snatched the legal document out of her hand. “And now, thanks to you and your damn brother, I’ve been forced to, without even knowing it.”
“Wait, you think I knew about this? You’re calling me a liar, right now to my face?” She grabbed his arms. “Apologize, Anton.”
He remained silent.
“I hate you,” she whispered. “I hate your damn fool stubbornness so much it’s … it’s not right Anton. You have to let go of it.”
“Suitcase is right over there.” He didn’t move. “It’s your chance to escape this shitty life, Lindsay. Go on. Run to your brothers and your money and leave me and my boys to ourselves. We will be just fine without you.”
“I think my Daddy was right about you,” she said, angry tears streaming down her face.
“Oh? Well, what a coincidence ’cause I know my Mama was right about you.”
She lashed out before she could stop herself, slapping him hard, twice before he grabbed her wrist. They froze in this position.
“I’ll bet she’ll be real happy to see that whore Isabella in my house, in my kitchen, taking care of my sons.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Like as not. Since it means we’ll maybe eat decent meals and the house might be a little cleaner.”
She tugged her arm out of his grip. The memory of Joe, of what she’d done of her own free will that night almost blinded her with remorse at that split second. “Better blow jobs too, huh?”
He didn’t respond. He’d closed down, she knew. He’d never show her another lick of emotion now. And she was half to blame.
Dazed, she turned from him. He grabbed her arm. Relieved, thinking they could maybe get past the ugly words, she opened her mouth to speak—to tell him everything she’d done the weekend she’d accepted her family’s money, so there were no more secrets between them.
But he held out the ragged little hard-sided suitcase she’d used that very weekend. She took it and stomped up the steps and all the way to her bedroom. Dropping onto the bed in tears, she tried to think of a way out of this.
She couldn’t just give the money to her brothers. That was the dumbest thing ever. She’d go for a day or two and let him try and manage this pack of heathens. If he did indeed bring that wop bitch into her house, she’d find herself the best lawyer her money could buy and snatch the boys away from him. Divorce was something so utterly foreign to him and his family; she wondered how he could be so angry that he’d suggest it. It was the opposite of everything he was raised to believe.
With a sigh, and a plan for the few days ahead, she started dumping underwear in the suitcase. As she stood contemplating her closet full of frumpy mom-wear, a gut-wrenching scream hit her ears. Running out to the hall, she met Anton, who shoved his way past her and threw open Dominic and Aiden’s bedroom door. Aiden was sitting up, thumb in his mouth, staring across the room at his brother. Dom was screaming as if the very hounds of hell were gnawing on him. He thrashed and kicked, pounding the wall with one small fist.
Lindsay stopped in the doorway, horrified, and at a total loss. Anton tried to pick him up, but the kid was stiff as a board, lashing out with his fists and feet. When he had to drop the boy onto the bed with a grunt of pain after a direct blow to his balls, Anton turned to Lindsay, the confused terror on his face matching hers.