Interesting there wasn't a picture of Clive and his accomplishments. Oh right, because he was a fucking no-talent weasel suckling at the teat of JFW.
The last image with the Westerman name caught his eye. The caption card beneath the picture read:
The Westerman twins, Deacon and Dante, enjoying a round of golf with their grandfather, Jefferson.
Deacon went utterly still. As shocking as it was to see himself with hair, it was even more shocking to realize that he'd seen that face recently. And not in the mirror.
He raced down the hallway and froze in front of the picture of his cousin Warren.
The kid looked so much like the Westerman twins at that age, it was uncanny. A warning zipped down his spine and he scrutinized the photo more closely. It went beyond a first-cousin family resemblance-Warren had been adopted and he shouldn't look anything like them.
But Warren didn't look a little like them; he looked exactly like them.
Head spinning, Deacon fell back onto the bench against the wall and stared at the picture, unable to tear his gaze away from it. He'd lost his virginity at age nineteen. So even if he'd knocked that first girl up . . . Warren was fifteen-not eleven-so the math didn't work.
But it worked for Dante.
He remembered his anger, guilt, and jealousy the night Dante had died, after he'd confessed he'd lost his virginity and he'd been having sex with some girl Deacon didn't know.
A girl who'd gotten pregnant?
A girl who'd given the child up for adoption?
It couldn't be coincidence that his aunt Annabelle, who'd tried for years to have a child, had adopted that baby boy.
Which meant . . . his mother had known Dante had left a child behind. But why wouldn't she raise the child herself?
Because she's a selfish, mean, nasty bitch. She didn't want you. Why would she want a sniveling kid?
His stomach twisted. Did his dad know about this?
There was only one way to find out.
By the time Deacon reached the private dining room, he'd hit the boiling point. He stalked over to where his mother sat beside his father. He looked around. Didn't look like his mother had invited her own sister and her family to the party.
Because someone like Clive or Tag, who'd known him and Dante growing up, might see the resemblance in Warren-even when Deacon himself had blocked it out.
Last night Warren had said: I wasn't supposed to come tonight, but I just had to meet you.
And Clive, when asked about his appearance: Of course I wasn't invited, but when has that ever stopped me?
Tag's surprise this morning: No one told me about the family dinner last night.
His mother had gone to such trouble to keep it under wraps. Too bad he was about to blow the lid off her motherfucking world. He faced her and said in a tone that hinted at his rage, "Julianne. A word. Now. Outside."
She set down her china teacup. "Deacon. Don't be rude."
"You haven't seen rude yet."
His dad looked at him strangely. "What's going on?"
"I need to talk to you both. Privately."
"Bing, dear, do you mind handling it? Gina and I were in the middle of-"
"I'm sure Dad would love to hear what I have to say about my cousin Warren. Since it appears he's inherited his grandfather's love of golf."
Julianne didn't miss a beat. "Gina, will you excuse us?"
"Of course."
Deacon started to walk out of the room.
"Where are we going?" Julianne demanded.
He whirled around and loomed over her. "I'd suggest a soundproofed room so your friends don't learn the truth about what a lying, conniving bitch you are." He stormed down the hallway, so focused on not losing his shit any more than he already had that he nearly plowed Molly over when she stepped in front of him.
"Deacon?"
"Not now."
"But I need to talk to you. It's important."
Deacon stopped and glared at his parents, who'd hustled past him and ducked into a room to the left. "So is this. I have to deal with them and this situation I've been kept in the fucking dark about. I'll find you once I'm done."
"Do you need me to . . . ?"
"No."
As soon as he was in the room and had shut the door, Deacon exploded. "I don't have to ask if it's true, because I can see it with my own eyes. Warren is Dante's kid, isn't he?"
His mother looked over at his father.
"No. You look me in the fucking eye and tell me why you'd keep something like this from me."
Her eyes held the mean glint Deacon knew so well. "Shall I start with the fact you'd already run off when the girl approached me about her pregnancy? We didn't know where you were for years, Deacon. We weren't sure we'd ever see you again. So I was supposed to . . . what? Try to track down a sixteen-year-old runaway so I could ask his advice on what to do about his dead brother's unborn child?"