Chapter 43
CARI
These last few days of ours are beautiful memories I will cherish forever. Jett checks his laptop every morning and night, but he doesn’t go into the study to work. He’s adamant that he won’t.
We’re at Horseshoe Bay where the air smells of salt and sunshine, and the water sparkles like a jewel. Brooke squeals as she splashes in the shallow lagoon chasing minnows, while Jett eyes her like a hawk. He’s protective in a way that makes my chest tighten—a man who will do anything for his daughter.
The day passes in a blur of laughter, swimming, and exploring. Jett even loosens up enough to join Brooke on a makeshift rock slide into the water. Watching him laugh, his hair dripping wet, is something I’ll never forget.
Back at the house, we have dinner outside in the gazebo. It’s such a pretty place, a wooden structure elevated slightly above the garden, framed by lush bougainvillea spilling over the edges. I wish we’d had more dinners out here, but Jett tells me the private island will take my breath away.
I can hardly wait.
The air is balmy and filled with the clicking of crickets and the occasional rustle of palm fronds in the breeze. It’s the kind of August night that feels like it could stretch on forever.
After dinner, Brooke plays on the swings while Jett and I sit with cocktails. Mine is fruity and bright, his is dark and brooding like the man himself. He leans back, stretching his long legs as he looks out at the garden.
“This was a good idea,” I say, taking a sip. “Having dinner out here. I wished we’d done more of that.”
“We haven’t spent much time relaxing around the house,” he agrees. His gaze softens. “I wanted to make a few memories.”
I smile at that. “You’ve finally figured out how important those are?”
He looks at me, something unspoken in his eyes, and nods. I feel as if he’s about to say something, but Brooke’s giggles float through the balmy evening air and grab my attention. She’s moved from the swings to the small slide and climbs the ladder, pausing dramatically at the top. “Look at me!” She waves as if she’s royalty addressing her kingdom.
Jett and I wave back, our smiles conspiratorial as we huddle close, whispering about our island getaway. It’s a delicious little secret, a treasure we’re keeping from Brooke until we get there. Just thinking about those three days of peace, surrounded by turquoise waters and quiet, makes me giddy. Like a kid on Christmas Eve.
Brooke sits at the top of the slide, her little legs swinging. She’s about to push off when her gaze shifts over my shoulder. Her eyes light up. “Grandpa!” she shrieks.
My blood freezes.
I freeze, turning slowly to see if Brooke is imagining things—or if the devil himself has decided to ruin our perfect evening. And there he is—Paul Knight, with his cold, piercing gray eyes locked on Jett.
Jett stiffens beside me. His jaw clenches so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. We pull apart, the easy warmth we shared seconds ago is gone, replaced by an icy tension that prickles my skin.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Jett says, his voice flat, controlled.
Paul Knight doesn’t flinch. “Good evening to you, too.”
No hug. No handshake. Not even a nod of acknowledgment between father and son. It’s like they’re strangers passing each other on a street corner, the air between them electric with unspoken resentment.
“Hi, Mr. Knight,” I manage, though my voice sounds too thin, too weak. My heart plummets to the depths of my stomach like a rock. The island getaway we were planning vanishes in a puff of smoke.
Brooke doesn’t notice the tension crackling around us. She’s already slid down the slide and is racing toward her grandfather. “Grandpa!” she squeals again, throwing herself into his arms.
Paul scoops her up with a smile that looks almost genuine. Almost . He spins her around, laughing like a doting grandparent. The display is so out of character that I blink, wondering if I’ve stepped into an alternate reality. Since when does Paul Knight indulge in anything resembling affection?
“What are you doing here, Grandpa?” Brooke’s voice bubbles with joy. Jett and I hold our breath, waiting for his answer. Waiting for the motive behind this sudden, unannounced appearance.
“I was passing through,” Paul says, his tone vague.
Passing through? Passing through Bermuda? What’s next—he casually drops by Antarctica?
“Are you here to check up on me?” Jett’s voice is sharp. There’s no mistaking the animosity there.
Paul’s smile tightens, and he sets Brooke back on her feet. “I had business to attend to, actually.” He strolls over to the table and makes himself at home, ruining our evening. Brooke skips back to the swings, blissfully unaware of the dark cloud descending on us.
Gloom settles over the table like another uninvited guest. I glance at Jett. His face is filled with anger layered with frustration, but something heavy lurks beneath the surface. His shoulders are tense, his hands curled into fists on the table. He looks like a man robbed of the last fragile moments of peace he was clinging to.
“How long are you staying?” Jett asks.
“A couple of days.” Paul casually reaches for the bowl of fruit on the table. He pulls off a cluster of grapes, popping one into his mouth with the air of a man entirely at ease. “No work today?” he asks. His tone is light, but the jab is unmistakable.
My hands are shaking, so I fold them on my lap. My stomach is a jumble of nerves and anxiety, because Paul is like the harbinger of doom. Nothing good ever comes from him being around.
And now he's here. In paradise, throwing a sharpened machete into our dream trip. Our last few days together.
Jett’s jaw ticks and I know he’s even more annoyed by this interruption than I am. “I just came back from Florida. I’m taking time for myself—and for Brooke. We’ve been having fun.”
Paul waves at Brooke again, beckoning her over. She skips to his side, and he hands her a small bunch of grapes. “Have you had fun, sweetheart?”
Brooke beams. “Yes! Daddy and Cari have been so much fun!” She darts back to the swings, giggling.
The mention of my name makes my stomach flip. I hold my breath, praying Brooke doesn’t accidentally let something slip—like walking in on me and Jett in bed. My face burns at the memory.
Paul leans back in his chair, his eyes flicking between me and Jett. “You seem … relaxed. ”
“Imagine that.” Jett replies coldly. “Spending time with my daughter does wonders for my mood.”
“And your other responsibilities?” Paul presses. “The family business doesn’t take vacations, Jett.”
“I just spent four days fixing a problem in Florida,” Jett snaps, his voice low and simmering with anger. “I’ve earned a few days off.”
Paul’s expression doesn’t change, but his silence speaks volumes. He’s not impressed. He never is.
I sit perfectly still, trying to disappear into my chair. The tension between them is suffocating, and I’m terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing.
Jett stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone patio. “Cari, why don’t you take Brooke upstairs?”
I nod quickly, grateful for the escape, but I’m worried for Jett. I want to take Brooke out of here, but a part of me wants to stay to offer Jett support. He needs to know that he isn’t alone, that I’m there by his side. I’m so torn.
“Come on, Brooke,” I call. She skips over, and I grab her hand, leading her toward the house. “Let’s go play in your tent.”
I glance back at Jett as we walk away. His back is to me, his shoulders rigid as he faces his father. The peaceful evening we were supposed to have—our plans for the island, the quiet joy of just being alone together—feels like it’s been ripped apart.
Paul Knight has ruined everything. Again.