if he thought he could use people and get away with it. I was the son he never knew, and I was going to make him regret it. I didn't give a shit whether or not I’d had him as a father. That didn't matter to me. What mattered was my mother's heart.
Any man who would hurt a sweet, sensitive woman like Jessica Nolan deserved the full impact of Crash right in the fucking face.
It took an hour and a half to get from East LA to Malibu. By the time I got there, my anger was like an inflated balloon, ready to burst. I followed the street to the address on the envelope and drove down the driveway that led to the biggest motherfucking mansion I had ever seen.
Somebody with this much land in this zip code must be fucking loaded. The fact that I'd spent my entire life wearing secondhand shoes and pants that were too short just made all the contempt inside me boil even hotter.
He could have helped her, no problem. The amount of money that could have changed our lives forever would have been a drop in the bucket for this asshole.
I parked my bike in front of the house and climbed off. A concerned looking maid hurried out of the house and asked me what I was doing there.
"I'm here to see Don Porter," I said to the woman. She took a step backward, fear evident in her eyes. I felt bad for a minute.
I'd grown up around housemaids. My mom had been a housemaid all my life. It wasn't her fault her employer was a dickhead.
"Mr. Porter is busy, sir.”
"Tell him it’s important,” I said, flexing my arms.
"Sir, just wait right here. I will get Mr. Porter for you.”
She hurried through the front door, expecting me to wait in the driveway. I followed her inside and could hear noise from the back of the house. A moment later, a tall, light haired man with eyes the color of mine and a face that could've easily been me in thirty years stared at me with confusion and irritation. I took a step forward, ready to swing.
"What is this all about, young man?" he asked. I'd expected his tone to be pissed off, but it wasn't. He sounded more concerned than angry. That settled me down. A little bit.
"You know a woman named Jessica Nolan?" I growled.
"That's a name I haven't heard in a long time. Of course I remember Jessica," he said, his tone regretful. "How is she?"
"She's dead."
His face fell. He lifted his hand to his temple and rubbed, looking genuinely upset.
"I'm Jessica's son. When I was cleaning out her boxes, I found this letter,” I said, shoving the letter in his face.
Don took the letter and sank into a chair, reading it carefully. His brows were knit together in confusion and concern.
"She never sent the letter," he said sadly. "Why didn't she send the letter?"
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?"
"I don't understand. It's true Jessica and I were lovers. It was a tumultuous affair. And I made mistakes. I was a different man when I was younger. I was concerned about different things than I am now. And, I admit, I hurt her. I married another woman and it turned out badly. All she’d wanted was my money. I lost millions in the divorce. If I had stood by Jessica, I believe we would have been together all this time."
"Am I supposed to feel bad for you right now?”
Don stood and walked toward me as if he was going to embrace me. I took a step back. I didn't want any of that. I just met this guy. He definitely wasn't going to be having any father-son moments with me.
"I believe that you are my son," Don said, respecting my space. He stood still several feet from me, glancing down at the letter again.
"Jessica was a good woman. If she believed I was the father, I believe it too."
"I came here to kick your ass," I said.
"I don't blame you. I would have felt the same when I was your age," Don said.
He was making it really damn hard to stay mad at him. That pissed me off even more.
"Don't you want to know for sure?" I asked.
"Well, of course. We should get some kind of DNA test, as a technicality. But your mother's word is
Any man who would hurt a sweet, sensitive woman like Jessica Nolan deserved the full impact of Crash right in the fucking face.
It took an hour and a half to get from East LA to Malibu. By the time I got there, my anger was like an inflated balloon, ready to burst. I followed the street to the address on the envelope and drove down the driveway that led to the biggest motherfucking mansion I had ever seen.
Somebody with this much land in this zip code must be fucking loaded. The fact that I'd spent my entire life wearing secondhand shoes and pants that were too short just made all the contempt inside me boil even hotter.
He could have helped her, no problem. The amount of money that could have changed our lives forever would have been a drop in the bucket for this asshole.
I parked my bike in front of the house and climbed off. A concerned looking maid hurried out of the house and asked me what I was doing there.
"I'm here to see Don Porter," I said to the woman. She took a step backward, fear evident in her eyes. I felt bad for a minute.
I'd grown up around housemaids. My mom had been a housemaid all my life. It wasn't her fault her employer was a dickhead.
"Mr. Porter is busy, sir.”
"Tell him it’s important,” I said, flexing my arms.
"Sir, just wait right here. I will get Mr. Porter for you.”
She hurried through the front door, expecting me to wait in the driveway. I followed her inside and could hear noise from the back of the house. A moment later, a tall, light haired man with eyes the color of mine and a face that could've easily been me in thirty years stared at me with confusion and irritation. I took a step forward, ready to swing.
"What is this all about, young man?" he asked. I'd expected his tone to be pissed off, but it wasn't. He sounded more concerned than angry. That settled me down. A little bit.
"You know a woman named Jessica Nolan?" I growled.
"That's a name I haven't heard in a long time. Of course I remember Jessica," he said, his tone regretful. "How is she?"
"She's dead."
His face fell. He lifted his hand to his temple and rubbed, looking genuinely upset.
"I'm Jessica's son. When I was cleaning out her boxes, I found this letter,” I said, shoving the letter in his face.
Don took the letter and sank into a chair, reading it carefully. His brows were knit together in confusion and concern.
"She never sent the letter," he said sadly. "Why didn't she send the letter?"
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?"
"I don't understand. It's true Jessica and I were lovers. It was a tumultuous affair. And I made mistakes. I was a different man when I was younger. I was concerned about different things than I am now. And, I admit, I hurt her. I married another woman and it turned out badly. All she’d wanted was my money. I lost millions in the divorce. If I had stood by Jessica, I believe we would have been together all this time."
"Am I supposed to feel bad for you right now?”
Don stood and walked toward me as if he was going to embrace me. I took a step back. I didn't want any of that. I just met this guy. He definitely wasn't going to be having any father-son moments with me.
"I believe that you are my son," Don said, respecting my space. He stood still several feet from me, glancing down at the letter again.
"Jessica was a good woman. If she believed I was the father, I believe it too."
"I came here to kick your ass," I said.
"I don't blame you. I would have felt the same when I was your age," Don said.
He was making it really damn hard to stay mad at him. That pissed me off even more.
"Don't you want to know for sure?" I asked.
"Well, of course. We should get some kind of DNA test, as a technicality. But your mother's word is
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