Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Alec
So much for avoiding Mara and her child.
It’s impossible. It’s like the universe heard me swear I’d keep my distance and immediately rearranged the schedule.
I called Eddie to help me figure out what to do—maybe get advice, maybe get a way out—and instead, I’m dragged into their penthouse. Again. Apparently, the lawyer handling her aunt’s estate is incompetent, and somehow that means Eddie and I now form a two-man rescue squad.
It doesn’t take long for Eddie and Mara to get Mr. Hanley, the estate attorney, on the phone. Eddie smooth-talks, Mara stands her ground, and within ten minutes, they’ve convinced the man to stop acting like she should already know the legal code of the state she moved to less than a week ago.
Eddie hangs up with a satisfied grunt.
“Now that that’s done—”
He rubs his hands together, as if brushing off dust no one else can see, then pivots toward Mila.
“So . . . Do we need tutors for her?”
“I want to go to school,” Mila says immediately, arms crossed, voice fierce for someone wearing socks with cartoon puppies.
Eddie taps his chin, thinking. “Well, the school year is almost over. What’s your take on being the new kid for only a few months?”
Mila swivels to face her mom. “He makes it sound bad.”
Mara lifts a shoulder in a way that’s both apologetic and honest. “It would be a little like walking into the middle of someone else’s conversation and hoping you understand what’s happening. You’ll catch up, but it might take time, and you might not feel included.”
“But I don’t have many friends. The only ones I have write me letters.” Her voice dips, almost like she regrets admitting it.
“You want friends?” Eddie asks gently, though I know that tone—he’s already planning three solutions and a backup.
Mila nods, her eyes bright but cautious. “Yes.”
“Alright,” Eddie says, then looks at Mara. “My assistant will send a list of activities where she can meet kids and bond. Plus, a list of tutors that can help you with her current curriculum so you can both have plenty of time to adjust to your new surroundings.”
“What kind of activities?” Mila asks, strikingly good at advocating for herself.
“Like music school, ballet, karate,” he offers. “Among other things.”
Her eyes widen. “Can we look into it, Mom?”
Mara smiles softly. “Of course.”
Eddie pulls a sleek card from his jacket and hands it to her. “If you need anything—anything at all—call me. And . . . truly, I’m sorry about your loss and everything that’s happening.”
Mara accepts the card, her fingers trembling just slightly. “Thank you?” A bit confused about the loss and what’s happening, and that is not a good sign.
That probably means dear Eddie found more than we bargained for.
“Shall we leave?” I ask.
Not because I want to get out of here—but because the look he gave Mara, that careful shift in his eyes, means he needs to talk. And he won’t do it in front of her. Or her kid.
“Sure, big guy.” He pats my shoulder and gives me a once-over. “Why don’t you get ready and we hit the gym?”
I glance at his suit. “You’re wearing a suit.”
“Yeah, and I have my gym bag in the car. Hurry.” He waves at Mara and Mila like he’s leaving brunch instead of stepping out of an emotional minefield, and we head out.
It doesn’t take me long to change. When I’m back in the living room, pulling on my hoodie, exhaustion circling my mind like a restless wasp, the question slips out: “What did you find out?”
Eddie watches me tie the lace on my boot. “Her husband died five years ago. Freak accident. She’s been moving around the world since then.” He pauses. “I guess we all handle grief differently.”
“And?” I press.
He grabs his keys. “Ready to go?”
“Eddie,” I warn, “don’t avoid the conversation.”
“Fine.” He exhales, rubbing his jaw. “Like every family, there are secrets that usually come out when someone has an accident or dies. Remember the Wilders’ secret?”
Fuck if I remember it. Julian’s accident. The blood tests. Cleo not matching her brothers. Then everything blew up. She’s not Caleb Wilder’s daughter. Her grief, her confusion, the spiral. She almost didn’t survive learning her entire life had been built on a lie.
Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose like the memory is lodged there.
I tap his hand. “It’s okay.”
“Now, yeah,” he murmurs. “But we almost lost her. We almost lost our light.”
And that’s when the words hit something inside me I pretend isn’t there. I don’t understand that. How one person becomes your center. Your gravity.
For Eddie, love looks like two people—Barret and Cleo.
I don’t understand that.
I’ve never understood that.
Probably because I grew up without anyone caring enough to show me what loving someone actually looks like.
Every time I tried to attach to a foster home, someone packed my things in a bag or signed a form, and I was back at square one.
I learned early how to keep my distance.
How to make sure no one got close enough to hurt me when they left.
So yeah—emotionally stunted fits while describing me.
And yet . . .
There’s a part of me that wonders what it would be like to feel something close to that once in my life. Even if the rest of me keeps insisting I’m fine as I am. Even if another part is relieved, I don’t depend on anyone.
“If you want to go home, you should.” I offer because I know how much it hits him when he remembers those months without her. “I’m fine. Just trying to figure out an escape route that doesn’t involve Los Angeles or New York, where too many people recognize me, and I lose my shit.”
“Nah, I’m good.” He presses the elevator button. “You need to tell me what’s happening, though. I can see why you’re startled.”
“I wouldn’t say startled.” I step in beside him, already regretting the SOS text I sent him earlier.
“That’s exactly how Barrett put it,” he says. “‘He’s losing his shit for a woman who happens to have a child.’”
“I’m not losing anything,” I growl.
“You’ve been in the studio banging drums for three days in a row,” he counters. “Have you hit any meetings lately?”
“Daily.”
“Good.” He nods. “So how do you need me to help in this ‘emergency?’” He lifts his fingers in air quotes.
“I don’t know.” The confession leaves me sighing. “She knows who I am, so that’s probably good. No one wants to be close to a monster.”
“You’re not a monster, Alec.”
“She clearly said I rearranged my hotel furniture—”
“And broke people’s noses,” he interrupts. “So she’s aware of your past. Everyone has a past. What matters is who you become once you learn from it. If she were concerned, do you think she’d allow you to be close to her child?”
“I’m a lonely person because of who I am,” I mutter.
“That’s by choice,” Eddie says as his driver pulls up. “You have a family who cares for you and places to stay—if you stop avoiding us.”
“Dexter is with Ali. You have a thousand companies to manage. Then there’s B and Cleo, who take up the rest of your time. Rod and Kit have Arlo and a bunch of farm animals.”
“Very fun farm animals,” he says with a grin. “You should visit. It’s like going back to the eighteen-hundreds. You can make your own butter. Milk cows.”
“You’re serious?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Not even remotely.” He leans back. “But I like giving them a hard time. What I’m serious about is you needing to stop pushing us away.”
“I’m going to end up like Lina Lafferty,” I mutter.
“Your neighbor chose her path,” he replies. “But I think it’d be good for you to stick around and help Mara go through the things she left behind.”
“I wouldn’t mind going through the vinyl collection,” I admit, with a smirk.
“Of course you wouldn’t.” He looks satisfied. “Be there for her. It might teach you something.”
“Any ties to the O’Sheas?” I ask, needing to know whether this woman brings family drama that could throw everything off.
“No. But her in-laws are shady. They filed paperwork trying to get custody of Mila, claiming Mara was unfit.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. “Can they take the kid?”
“They filed five years ago, but when she was already out of the country. Nothing happened,” he says. “I have someone looking into it.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t see the point. It’s bureaucratic garbage that needs shredding. Why add to her fear when she’s already overwhelmed?”
I exhale. “You’re a good man, Edgar Reznor.”
He snorts. “I’m just solving things before they turn into problems.”
“Is that why you offered tutors?”
“Nah. Found out the kid’s homeschooled and wanted to help.” He shrugs.
“Anything else I should know?”
“Not at the moment.” He taps the dashboard. “We’re good.”
But we aren’t.
Because as he turns forward, something inside me loosens—too much, too fast, like a thread pulled without warning.
And the truth spills through before I can stop it.
“I can’t stay away from her,” I say quietly. “I don’t know why. I don’t know what the fuck is happening. Every time I try to leave her orbit, something drags me back in.”
Eddie glances at me, expression calm, almost resigned.
“There it is,” he murmurs.
“There, what is?” I snap.
“The start.”
“The start of what?”
He gives me a look that is entirely too perceptive.
“You’re unraveling,” he says softly. “And maybe . . . you’re afraid of what could happen if you get attached. You hate getting attached and building relationships.”
My pulse stumbles.
The car slows at a red light, the city outside hazy from the mist. And there it is. A truth.
I’m in danger.
Real, emotional danger.
And I don’t know how to stop it.
But I also don’t know if I can look away.