On A Night Like This (Callaways #1)

through my personal things."
    She ignored his protest. "I was touched at first that you'd kept photos of me, even if you had stored them in the basement. But then I realized that most of the pictures were not of me, but of someone else, a baby I didn't recognize, a toddler I'd never seen before. What was even more odd was that he had your name and your eyes and even your smile. The smile was actually unfamiliar to me, as you never looked at me like that, but after more intense scrutiny I came to the conclusion that it was actually you in the pictures."
    "Sara, stop."
    At one time the forceful determination in his eyes would have scared her into quiet, but not today. "I'm not going to stop, not until we're done. You and Mom had a baby, a boy, my brother." She took the pictures of her bag, dropping them in a pile on the bed.
    Her father glanced away.
    "Look at him," she demanded. "Look at Stephen Davidson, Jr., and tell me why you kept his life a secret from me."
    Her father finally turned his head. He stared down at the photos and then lifted his gaze to meet Sara's. There was no longer anger in his eyes but agony. The raw pain shocked her, but she was also infuriated that almost thirty years later he could have so much emotion for a son he'd only shared four and a half years with and yet feel nothing for her.
    "He died," her father said finally.
    Two short words that meant so much.
    "Why did you keep his life a secret?"
    "Because he died."
    She stared at him for a long minute. "You have to tell me more. I need more."
    For a moment there was a battle of silent will.
    Finally, he continued. "We were living in Portola Valley at the time. I was planting a bush in the front yard. I accidentally left the front door unlatched when I went outside. I didn’t realize that Stephen had come into the yard until I heard a squeal of brakes and saw my son –" His voice shook with pain. "My son was on the ground."
    She put a hand to her mouth, wanting to tell him to stop now. She'd heard enough.
    But the dam had been opened. The rush of words continued.
    "I ran to him. I could hear your mother screaming behind me. Stephen wasn't breathing. I tried to revive him. I blew into his mouth. But he was so limp in my arms. I could hear the fire engines coming. I prayed they would be in time. I kept telling my boy to hang on, that help was on the way. But it was too late. It had always been too late. He was killed on impact."
    "Dad," she breathed. "You can stop."
    He cut her off with a glare. "You wanted to know, so you'll know. We moved out of that house two months later. I couldn't stand being there, seeing that damn bush I'd wanted to plant, walking down that street. The blood stain on the street was there for days."
    She felt sick at his words.
    "We got an apartment in San Francisco. I didn't want a yard. I didn't want to see kids playing in a neighborhood." He paused. "But mostly I didn't want to have another baby."
    His gaze met hers, and for the first time in her life he wasn't even trying to pretend that he loved her.
    "Why did you have me then?" she asked.
    "Because your mom stopped her birth control without telling me. After two years of intense loneliness, she wanted another baby and she was tired of waiting for me to change my mind."
    "So she had me, even though you didn't want me."
    "I couldn't want you. I didn't have anything left to give you. My heart was destroyed. It died on the street with my son. Your mom said she'd do everything and that she'd love you enough for both of us. And I know she tried. I did my part by providing for you. You had everything you needed to succeed in life. I made sure that you got good grades and could get into a good school and make a career for yourself."
    "You wanted to make sure I could be independent, so that I wouldn't need you."
    "I never wanted to hurt you, Sara."
    "You just couldn't love me the way you loved him," she said, the truth finally clear. "You can pretend that you didn't hurt me, but you did. Your constant rejection shaped who I was. You made me feel uncertain about myself. You made me think I wasn't good enough. But I was good enough—for everyone but you. How dare you act like providing for me was enough? You may have put a roof over my head, but I deserved a lot more than that from my father."
    "I couldn't let myself care about you. I didn't know how your mother could love you. How she didn't panic every time you weren't where you were supposed to be? How she tucked you in