My life is over. Not literally, of course. But life as I dreamed of it? I doubt there’s much I can do to revive that. It’s been five days since Britta left me and the palatial paradise we shared, taking my son with her. As promised, she hired someone to retrieve the rest of her things, along with Jamie’s clothes, toys, and necessities. The house has felt like over ten thousand square feet of pure emptiness since then. Sure, my sister is still here. She means well. She tries to talk to me, cheer me up.
It’s not helping. Nothing is.
On Monday, Maxon lost his shit when Britta quit. I guess he didn’t believe me when I forewarned him. In fact, he and Keeley spent most of the Sunday afternoon following Britta’s departure with me. I’m sure dealing with my catastrophic breakup is not what they wanted to do on their first full day of marriage. But I’m grateful they came.
“I don’t think what Britta did was fair to you,” Harlow insisted just last night. “She laid landmines in front of you, then got angry when you stepped on them. She set you up to fail.”
It’s sweet that she wants to be so loyal and take my side. But she’s wrong. I didn’t see the landmines because I didn’t even stop to look. I made the same mistake now that I did three years ago by treating Britta with distrust before love. And, righteously cloaked in all my wronged fury, I cut her because she made me bleed.
I don’t have the energy to argue with Harlow—or anyone. I haven’t slept in days. I certainly can’t lie in the bed Britta and I shared. I can’t find any peace.
Hell, I don’t think I even deserve it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pry my eyes open and realize the sun is coming up at my back. I wince at the brightness of the cloudless dawn. I have a splitting headache, and my back is killing me. But drinking Lagavulin out of the bottle and falling asleep at two a.m. on a lounger splayed across the lanai will do that. All I can think of is that my dream wedding should have been tomorrow. If I’d been smart, I would have cancelled everything and gotten what refunds I could. That might have saved me a small fortune. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Some stupid part of me can’t stop hoping…
The phone buzzes again. I fish it out of my pocket to turn it off. I don’t want any more well-meaning texts and phone calls. Especially since I don’t know yet what to say or do. I want to fight for Britta…just as much as I’m sure she’ll hate me even more if I do. I don’t need my tribe’s feel-good chatter telling me to give it another go.
With a sigh, I look at the screen. Keeley has been texting me for an hour. Call me. Call me now. Call me, damn it.
I can’t accuse her of being inconsistent.
Moving like someone a few days shy of becoming a centenarian, I unfold myself from the lounger and head inside, empty bottle in hand. I feel like shit. I’m sure I look like it, too. I can’t remember my last meal. I don’t even miss food.
I don’t miss anything except Britta and Jamie.
God, I sound pathetic. And hungover. Definitely that.
When I walk in the house, Harlow is standing in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. She watches as I toss the bottle in the trash. Shaking her head, she gives the steaming mug to me, regarding me with a disparaging glance. Yes, I’m sure I look sketchy. I probably smell it, too.
“Want to talk yet?” she asks as I grab the cup and take a sip of the wickedly black brew. She makes java unapologetically strong.
“Do I have a choice?” I force myself to swallow. That shit could acid-wash the chrome off a bumper.
“Not really.”
Didn’t think so. “Is it just you or the whole intervention team?”
“Just me…for now.”
I don’t ask for clarification. If Harlow can reason with me, she won’t call for reinforcements. Got it.
“Can I shower first?”
“Are you finally going to do something today besides drink, beat the shit out of the punching bag upstairs, and sulk?”
“Gosh, Harlow. You really have to stop sparing my feelings. Just say what’s on your mind.”
She laughs. “Well, if your sarcasm is back, I hope that means the rest of you will be soon, too. Shower. I’ll make you breakfast. You’re going to eat it. Then—”
“I need to decide whether I’m going to give up and be a miserable bastard for the rest of my life or fight—again—for the woman who will always own my heart. Is that what you were going to say?” I raise a brow at her.
Her green eyes flare in surprise. “Something like that.”
I sigh. There’s no escaping her pep talk. I have to suck it up. And maybe…maybe it will be good for me to have another female’s perspective. Though with a bastard of a father and two competitive older brothers, Harlow’s feminine outlook on life ranks somewhere between auto mechanic and rugby player.
“I’ll be back in fifteen.” I head for the stairs.
“Make it ten,” she shouts after me.
I acknowledge her with a wave of my hand and find a bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet. As I start the shower, I try not to look at Britta’s empty counter or remember her swiping everything in her suitcase as, tears rolling, she left me for good.
I’m not very successful.
After a punishingly hot shower and a few more sips of caffeine, I feel marginally better. My brain even starts to kick in again, what-iffing and unfolding scenarios. How much will I always regret it if I give Britta the moral victory and simply leave her alone? How shitty will I feel? A lot. Terribly. But this isn’t about me. How unloved will Britta feel if I don’t even try? How bitter? What about Jamie? He needs a father.
And I can’t leave everyone shattered because I didn’t have the balls to try again.
Harlow is shouting that my time is up when I toss on a pair of clean shorts and a T-shirt, then run my electric razor vaguely over my stubble. I slide into flip-flops and run down the stairs. My headache protests, pounding until it feels as if my brain is trying to push my eyes out of their sockets. I grimace and cradle my head as I enter the kitchen.
“Maybe that will teach you to stop substituting Scotch for dinner.”
I glare her way. “A beacon of compassion… What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful sister?”
That makes her laugh. “I am wonderful. I’m going to straighten your shit out.” She shakes her head. “Men are so dumb.”
She’s plating eggs as I toss myself onto a stool at the breakfast bar and nurse more coffee. “I’ll ask you what that means only because you’ll tell me whether I want to know or not.”
Harlow pauses, hand on hip. “Stop being snarky.”
“Sorry. Predictably, I’m not in a great mood. But yes, I know I need to do something today. I know I can’t walk away forever and prove to Britta once and for all that I’m an incredible shithead.”
“I was going to say dumb ass, but the rest of the speech is about right.” She flips a couple of pancakes onto my plate, then slams butter and syrup down in front of me. “You weren’t an asshole, Griff. You were stupid. I still stand by my statement that she set you up. But given your history together, I would have needed some proof to take back the dirtbag who crushed me once, too. This is a heap of complicated.”
“Yep.” I shovel in some eggs because I know I’m going to need energy later. “I don’t know how to simplify that.”
“This is why men are so stupid.” She shakes her head. “There’s a reason you keep doing the impulsively idiotic thing. Something makes you believe the worst. Do you do that to all people or just women? You don’t even have to tell me. But you need to tell Britta. Whatever it is, no matter how ugly. Unless you come clean, she will never understand you. If you don’t and if she gives you another chance, you will be doomed to repeat this cycle again.”
Leave it to brutally honest Harlow to cut through five days of my confusion and lay it all out in a few sentences while forking in some pancakes. Granted, I’d somewhat arrived at this conclusion last night in my Scotch-induced stupor.
But it sucks.
Telling Britta about Julia gave her the power to hurt me. Telling her the rest… She could utterly destroy me.
Then again, can’t she already, simply by not being with me?
“I know.”
“Then why are you sitting here with me?”
“Because you told me to,” I remind her. “And because I’m actually hungry.”
At that, my sister smiles, whipping a mass of dark curls off her shoulder and behind her back. “Glad to hear it. You need to go get your woman back. And you need to convince her to marry you tomorrow.”
Because that won’t be challenging at all. I smirk at Harlow. “Thanks, doc.”
“I’ll send you my bill later.”
“If you’re so damn smart, why are you marrying a man you don’t love?”
She freezes, fork filled with eggs halfway to her mouth. Slowly, she lowers it. “We’re compatible. Simon is easy to get along with…and easy on the eyes. We both want kids. He’ll never demand attention if I’m busy working. He’s a logical choice.”
But his behavior just before the wedding… He’s utterly ignoring her. Doesn’t she care? “Twenty bucks says he’s cheating on you.”
Harlow tries to shrug but falters. “I know he probably does when he’s on the road. But is that really the most important thing in a marriage? He’s kind. He’ll never do half the shit Dad did to Mom. And I won’t fall in love with him so he can’t break me.”
I stare at her like she’s lost her mind. “So the most he has to recommend is that he won’t be asshole enough to hurt you but you won’t care because he’s not interesting enough to fall for? Why get married at all?”
My sister glares at me and scoops up her plate. “I don’t want to be alone. Simon is fine. It will be…fine.”
Fine? “A pretty day is fine. Vanilla ice cream is fine. Flowers are fine. Love should be more than that.”
“I’m not looking for it. I’m glad that you and Maxon found it but…” She dumps her plate in the sink with most of her food still on it. “Yeah, that shit’s not for me. I’m going to…”
When she seems to search for words, I swallow my next bite and try to help her. “Run on the elliptical? Take a shower?”
She shakes her head. “End this conversation. Putting me and love in the same sentence gives me hives. Hey, I need to know if we should keep all the wedding plans tomorrow as is or start bailing on what we can?”
“Leave it. I’ll do my best to get Britta there. If it doesn’t work…” At least I’ll have gotten to see it, and I’ll be able to close my eyes and imagine our perfect wedding for a brief, bittersweet moment. If I can’t have her anymore, at least I’ll have that memory.
“All right.”
Her expression tells me I’m crazy. Maybe I am.
She waves as she heads up the stairs. “Good luck.”
Yeah, I’m going to need it.
How the fuck did I get here?
An hour after breakfast with my sister, I sit outside of Britta’s little blue house. There’s a FOR SALE sign in the yard.
My heart still stops at the sight.
The longer I sit in my Porsche and stare at her door, the more I refuse to give up on her without one last attempt. If she doesn’t want me—us—even after I’ve given her every part of myself… Well, there’s nothing more I can give her.
I check to make certain I have everything I need in my pockets, then I head to the front door. Her car is under the carport. There’s a sign in the window proclaiming it for sale, too. Yes, she might have decided it’s time for a new car. It sounds more likely that she’s decided to leave Maui.
Guts twisting, palms sweating, I knock and wait the longest thirty seconds of my life for her to open the door.
Finally, she cracks it. Her golden hair is slicked into a ponytail. Her face is as bare as her feet. She’s wearing a pair of short denim cutoffs and a too-big Hawaiian-print blouse with the tails tied at her slender waist. I can’t go down the rabbit hole of being aroused by the sight of her. I’ve got too many important things to say. But I can’t help being a man. I think of the perfect night we spent together last weekend. I wish to fuck I could go back there and do it all again and make different choices the next morning.
But I have to play the hand I idiotically dealt myself.
“Griff.” She bites her lip. “What are you doing here?”
“I’d like to talk to you.” I glance across the yard. “You’re moving off the island?”
“Yeah. The landlord called me on Tuesday and told me he’d decided to sell the house. So it seemed like the right time to head back to Chicago.”
She’s not just leaving the island; she’s leaving me. Her mother has always tried to tempt her to go back home. Maybe, with nothing to tie Britta to Maui anymore, she’s relented.
My gut seizes up. If I don’t succeed today, I’ll be lucky if I see Jamie once a year. I’ll be a name, a picture, and a voice to him at most. Britta will only speak to me through lawyers. But if my gamble doesn’t pay off, I won’t even have that.
“You hate Chicago.”
She stifles whatever is on the tip of her tongue. “What else do we have to say? I’m pretty sure we said all we needed to the other morning.”
“I just want one conversation. Can I come in and talk to you? That’s all; just talk.”
When Britta blocks the entry through the door with her body and looks like she’s going to refuse me, I blurt, “I have something you want.”
“You don’t.” She shakes her head. “You don’t have a damn thing I want anymore, Griffin Reed.”
I dig into the pocket of my shorts and take out the papers she gave me weeks ago to force me to relinquish my rights to Jamie. “If you give me thirty minutes, I’ll sign them. And you never have to see me again.”
It guts me to offer her that. Hell, to even think it. The thought of never seeing Britta or my son again is a physical ache twisting my stomach. My chest is on the brink of imploding. I’m making the biggest gamble of my life. If I lose, I can’t even imagine how it will decimate me.
I never wanted to sign the papers. Normally, I would refuse for the rest of my fucking life. But it’s literally the only way I know to persuade Britta to listen. To save us.
Finally, she sighs and opens the door wide enough to admit me. “Thirty minutes.”
“Is Jamie here?” When she nods, I look around for my son. “Can I see him before the clock starts?”
Before Britta can even call him, he comes toddling down the hall, holding a book in one hand and a truck in the other.
“Daddy!”
I run to scoop him up and hold him close. He smells like baby powder and peanut butter and sunshine. Grief twists my insides when I think this may be the last time I hold him. I can’t imagine it. This can’t be it.
“Jamie, boy,” I manage to croak out. “I missed you, buddy.”
He wriggles out of my grip and tries to hand me his truck. “Can we play?”
“Not right now, young man,” Britta says softly. “You’re supposed to be taking a nap.”
“Don’t want my crib,” he insists. “I want da big-boy bed.”
It’s still at the Stowe estate, in the room adjoining the master. It’s the only thing in there that reminds me Jamie once slept feet away from me. Everything else of my son’s is gone.
“I know. How about if I let you sleep in my bed?” When Jamie looks unsure, Britta throws in a sweetener. “And ice cream for dessert.”
“Yeah!” the little boy cheers, then looks my way. “Can we play later?”
Britta sends me a warning glance. Don’t make promises I can’t keep. Right.
“We’ll see,” I say finally. “I hope so.”
“Go on.” Britta shoos him down the hall and into her room. I hear a fan engage. Then she shuts the door behind her.
I stand awkwardly in the foyer, waiting. She glances at her watch.
The clock is ticking.
“You can’t talk your way out of what you did, Griff. You can’t apologize. I know you love me…in your way. I love you. Unfortunately, that doesn’t change anything. I can’t trust you to trust me.” She meanders to the sofa and sits with a heavy sigh. “You’re broken. And if I stay, you’ll break me, as well.”
I follow and sit beside her on the couch, gripping my thighs so I don’t give in to the urge to touch her. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I want you to understand why. Even if it doesn’t change anything between us, at least you’ll know the reason I broke us apart twice, and maybe you’ll see that I never meant to hurt you.”
She crosses her legs away from me, arms wrapped around her waist. Everything about her body language screams at me to keep my distance. I’m on my end of the sofa, doing my best to respect that.
“I’m listening,” she murmurs.
“I told you about Julia.”
She nods. “I know she hurt you but—”
“She wasn’t the problem, just the final straw.” I swallow, feeling like I’m going to choke on the boulder of my past. It’s stuck in my throat, suffocating me. “It started months before that. When I turned sixteen, my dad thought it would be a great rite of passage to get me laid, so he brought me to his office and set me up with his assistant and mistress, AnnaBeth. She was twenty-three. She couldn’t type at all…but my father hired her because he wanted her to bang out more than correspondence. I didn’t know her. I didn’t even like her.”
“He told you to have sex with her?”
“What he said was that he’d made the same offer to Maxon with his previous assistant, Danielle. My brother passed on the opportunity to ‘become a man.’ Dad mocked Maxon and made his life hell from that day forward. He constantly referred to my brother as a coward and a pussy. I didn’t want Dad’s needling and contempt. So I told myself losing my virginity was no big deal.” I shrug. “After all, I was sixteen and horny. Sex with her was better than randomly choosing some girl at school to deflower. I was happy to skip the blind-leading-the-blind thing. If not AnnaBeth, it would have been someone else. I had a lot of excuses for why this was okay. My dad always said relationships were a waste, and after seeing him and Mom constantly at each other’s throats, I didn’t want one.”
“They’re toxic together,” Britta agrees quietly.
I nod. “They feed each other’s worst tendencies. I’m glad they’re finally getting divorced and ending their thirty-five years of lying, cheating, and misery.”
“I can’t disagree.” Her face softens. “So you had sex with this woman?”
“A lot of it.”
Britta looks somewhere between stunned and horrified. “She just…let you?”
“She was happy to. She said having sex in the office was way better than working.”
My angel’s expression asks me if I’m kidding. She must know I’m not. “What a—”
“Yeah. But Dad was glad to have a ‘real man’ as a son, so he hired me to work after school. I thought I wanted to follow in his professional footsteps. According to him, I had the killer instinct. And the market was volatile that year. He claimed he wanted to train an analyst the ‘right way.’ What he really meant was that he was traveling a lot and wanted someone to keep AnnaBeth thoroughly occupied whom he could control.”
“You,” she says, her voice painfully quiet.
I’ve barely started, and she’s already nearly mute. Believe me, I’m not thrilled about my sordid sexual past, either. “Exactly.”
“Your dad wasn’t any sort of responsible father. You weren’t even old enough to consent. That woman raped you repeatedly.”
I give her an ugly scoff. “I never saw myself as a victim. Hell, guys at school thought I was downright lucky. Sex anytime I wanted it with a woman who knew how to please a man? They envied me.” I frown. “I won’t say the pleasure wasn’t great, especially at first, and I won’t lie and say I ever turned her down. I kept…” I reflect, trying to put that time of my life into words. “I kept thinking there had to be more. Physically, it was fine. Great. But every time we did it, I felt less for her and more… I don’t know. Empty is the word, I guess. I kept waiting for it to mean something. It never did.”
“How long did that go on?”
“About six months.”
“And all that time, your dad was still having sex with her?”
I really don’t want to answer that. I’m nauseated when I think of it now. “Yeah.”
Every time I think my angel can’t look more shaken by something I say, I open my mouth again.
“Oh, my god.” She lifts a trembling hand over her lips.
If she thinks that’s bad, I’m just getting started.
“And you weren’t having any sort of…relationship with her?” Britta is still having a hard time wrapping her brain around what I’m admitting.
“We didn’t date, if that’s what you mean.” Having a relationship with AnnaBeth would have been as cozy as cuddling up to an octopus. If she wasn’t bending herself over my desk or bobbing her head between my legs, I never saw her. “We didn’t even talk. In fact, I didn’t really attempt more than casual flirting with someone my age until I was almost nineteen.”
“So, you’re saying she warped you and that’s why you are…the way you are?”
“No. I had to explain AnnaBeth because, if I didn’t, you couldn’t comprehend what happened next. One day, I was too wrapped up in what she was doing to me orally to realize I should have been in a meeting. The firm lost a client. The pressure from other partners was too much and Dad had to fire me.”
“After letting his mistress abuse you, he threw you under the bus?” She blinks at me incredulously.
“Actually, I was relieved. I didn’t have to see AnnaBeth anymore. I didn’t have to have sex with the gossipy, catty, and vindictive shrew. It was for the best—or it should have been. Everything would have been all right—mostly—if she hadn’t decided she wanted to be the next Mrs. Barclay Reed. You see, when my mom asked why I got fired, I told her that I’d been goofing around. It was kind of true. Dad happily went along with it.”
“Of course he did.” Britta scoffs. “That way he didn’t have to take any of the blame.”
Precisely. “But AnnaBeth knocked on our front door one day while I was in school, just before the end of my junior year. She told my mother everything. Every. Single. Thing.”
Britta’s jaw drops wide. “What a heartless, horrible…”
Bitch? Yeah. “She was. When I got home, my mom confronted me. I thought she was going to be furious with my dad. I thought she would scold or ground me for not telling her sooner—or telling anyone who could put a stop to it. I had visions that she might even call the police. I expected something. But AnnaBeth went on and on about my prowess. And my dad’s, too. She was probably just looking for any blade in her arsenal that would stab my mom in the heart.”
Little did she know that Linda Reed had grown an iron shield around hers years ago. I discovered that ugly truth.
Easing to the edge of the sofa cushion, Britta leans closer. “What did she do?”
“My mom? First, she asked me what happened.”
“What did you say?”
“I confessed to everything. I knew she was already aware of my dad’s hookups, affairs, and mistresses. But I thought she would be shocked by what had happened to me. I thought she would make sure no one used me again.” I duck my head because I can’t look at Britta right now. I might not be able to look at her for the rest of this confession. “Instead, my mom cooed and awwed, like she was comforting me. Then, once I’d gotten my emotions under control, she asked me if I would help her get voted onto the country club’s social committee—a really prestigious honor in her eyes. According to her, she’d always been snubbed because she came from a dirt-poor Nebraska farm, and that made her blood less blue.”
Britta drops her hand on my knee. I didn’t realize she’d come that close. I had no idea she was going to touch me again. I jolt when her warmth seeps into my skin. It’s as if I’m alive again.
I find the guts to lift my head and meet her stare. Is this the last time I’ll ever be this close to love—to her?
“What did she mean?”
“Well, if I could just be a good boy and ‘persuade’ the committee members she’d make a fine addition…”
Britta’s horrified gasp guts me, and I look away again. Yeah, I never wanted her to know just how fucked up I was. But I couldn’t shove it down forever. One way or another, my damage was going to ruin us. At least now she doesn’t have to wonder if she somehow contributed to our problems.
“She wanted you to sleep with them?”
I nod. “I didn’t know that at first. She simply told me to visit them. I had better manners than Maxon, you see. Once they met me, of course they would understand how she could add to their community.”
“But what she meant was, scratch their itch until they were convinced to let your mom onto the committee?” Britta looks outraged. Or is that disgusted?
“I think blackmailed would be a better term.”
“Oh, my god… She’s your mother.”
“I don’t say this lightly, but she’s a self-serving bitch.”
“How many committee members were there?” Britta’s voice shakes.
Once I tell her, I can’t take it back. She’ll know what a man-whore I was as a teenager. The kind of man-whore who became exponentially more practiced as an adult. “Twelve. I started on her ‘project’ in mid-May. By August, I made sure she was not only on the committee but she was the chair.”
“And you were sixteen?”
I risk another glance at Britta. She’s gone ghost white, pale lips pressed together. “Yeah. I think what hurt most was that my mom knew I wanted more than empty sex. I found the courage to tell her that’s what I hated about being with AnnaBeth. But…”
“She set you up to have more of it.” Britta shakes her head, looking dumbfounded and numb. “A lot more.”
“A summer full, yes. Dad found out, of course. He clapped me on the back and congratulated me on my ‘hot dozen hussies.’ His words, not mine. Maxon had already escaped to college. Harlow probably knew something was up, but I did my best to shield her from everything ugly.” I sigh, wishing like hell I was at the end of the story.
“I don’t think she knows,” Britta assures.
One small blessing. If my sister knew, she would look at me like a monster. The same way I fear Britta is going to look at me by the time I finish.
“The only one of the committee members I was with more than the few times it took me to ‘convince’ them to give my mom a seat at the table was Julia. She came across as nice. She actually talked to me. She seemed to care.”
“So you didn’t mow her lawn?”
“I did. That was my cover story for all of them. A free mow, some conversation, a smile, an invite inside for a drink since it was so hot outside and…” I was between their legs in under thirty minutes.
“Didn’t any of them care that you were just a kid?”
“I was six feet tall, one sixty, with a full beard. A kid wasn’t what they saw. And these were people used to getting their way at someone else’s expense.”
“You should have called the police.”
Probably. “I was too ashamed. I couldn’t imagine going to school and everyone finding out I had cried rape.” Life in high school was already vicious enough, constantly fighting off guys who were already jealous of all the pussy I was getting. All I wanted to do was crawl out of my skin. “Julia came in the middle of the bunch. By then, the whispers had started. She knew why I was knocking on her door. Unlike the others, she didn’t make me go through the motions. She just sat me down and asked me how I was doing. How I felt. I don’t know what possessed me, but I told her that I wasn’t very happy.” I drag in a deep breath and let it out in a shudder. This part is going to be harder. “I told her I was lonely. She said she was lonely, too.”
“She connected with you emotionally. You thought she understood you?”
“Yeah.”
“But she still used you?”
“Absolutely.” I scrub a hand across my face and stand. “I thought I was in love with her and that she was the one person I could trust, who would always be on my side. She dumped me just before Halloween, laughing like it was a great joke because she had already replaced me. You know the rest.”
“Griff…” Britta stands, easing beside me, compassion welling in her blue eyes.
“Don’t cry for me, angel. I’ve cried enough.” It’s hard for me to admit that. “It’s over. And I admit I’ve let it fuck me up for far too long. When I met you, my first thought was that you were an angel.” A little smile creeps across my face.
“I thought you were the most handsome devil,” she whispers. “Your brother warned me…”
“But you didn’t listen. He warned me to leave you alone, too.” I shrug. “But I couldn’t. When I first kissed you, I was sure you were too good to be true. I guess… I was afraid to let myself believe you were beautiful, inside and out. That I could trust you with my whole self until it was too late.”
Her chin wobbles as she tries to hold in tears. I hope she doesn’t regret me for too long. What we’ve been though is gut-wrenching torture, but I wouldn’t trade my time with her for the world. She’s changed me, made me better. Maybe after this—someday—I can have a normal life. Oh, I’m still going to make my last-ditch pitch to win her. But I’m not holding my breath that she’ll say yes.
Now that she knows how fucked up I am, why would she ever marry me?
“Do you have any questions?” My voice almost sounds normal.
She frowns, searches her thoughts as she holds back tears. “Now that you’ve told me, do you feel any better?”
“Um…” How do I answer that when I feel as if I’m dying inside? “If you understand me better, I’m glad. But my adolescent shit cost me my son and the only woman I’ve ever loved. And trusted. I didn’t show it last weekend, but I do trust you, Britta. Sometimes I have to remember not to be an ass, that not everyone is out to get me. I just spent a lot of years feeling that way.” I press my lips together. Emotion clogs my chest, tightening my vocal cords. I grit my teeth to hold it back. “I know it’s good to unburden, as Keeley would say.”
“Does she know any of this?”
“I’ve never told a soul.”
She looks touched that I chose her. “Thank you for telling me. For trusting me.”
I can’t imagine ever telling anyone else. “I know it’s a lot to digest.”
“It is. But all of this helps me understand you.”
I nod. “Then, yeah, I feel better. You got a pen?”
Britta seems perplexed by my request when she meanders to the bar between her family room and kitchen. I follow as she produces a pen and a pad of paper.
I set the pad down again and withdraw the document relinquishing my parental rights. With my chest buckling, I grip the pen tightly and sign my name everywhere her lawyer has laid a tape flag. My hands are shaking when I set the pen aside and leave the paper behind. “There. Now you’re free of me.”
“Oh, god. Griff…”
I don’t know what she’s thinking exactly, except that she’s feeling sorry for me. I don’t want her making decisions on that kind of emotion. This is the last time I’m ever going to lay my heart on the line. She’s the only woman I’ll ever do this for.
“Shh. I’ve said everything I came to say except two things: First, if Jamie ever wants to know his father, I will welcome him with open arms. I’ll be the best dad I know how.”
“You were wonderful with him.” I hear the tears in her voice.
I look up to find them pouring down her face. I wipe a path dry with my thumb, more than grateful when she doesn’t flinch away. “I love him. Would you tell him that for me?”
She doesn’t answer, just dissolves into sobs that shake her entire body.
I want to take her in my arms, soothe her, kiss her, tell her everything will be all right. But I won’t lie to her.
“Angel… Don’t do this.” Please don’t make it harder. “I’m not worth it.”
“Don’t say that.” She lays her hand on mine and clasps our fingers together.
I close my eyes and savor her touch for a sweetly sharp moment. But I’m barely holding it together now. I need to say the last thing I came to, then leave.
“Second”—I reach into my pocket and pull out the box containing her engagement ring and wedding band—“I want you to have these. I bought them for you. I know you probably won’t wear them. But…maybe you’ll look at them and think of me sometimes. Or not. I just know these don’t belong with me anymore.”
She presses her hands to her chest, as if her heart will fall out at my feet if she doesn’t. “I can’t take these from you, not like this.”
“Hey, I’d love to insist that you wear them for real… But unless you want to marry me, I don’t have that right. My offer still stands, though. I would marry you tomorrow. I will—if you want that.” When she opens her mouth, I press a finger over her lips. “Don’t answer me now. I want you to think. Without me here, without my interference. I want you to comb through everything I’ve said and everything we’ve been through. I’ll never be an easy man to live with. I know that. If you still want me, come to Maxon and Keeley’s house tomorrow about noon. If you can’t spend your life with me, if this is good-bye…then it’s been my pleasure and my honor.” I lean in to kiss her cheek softly, working my jaw to hold myself together. “And I will love you always.”