Chapter 28
Logan
Trepidation grips me like a vise, and I’m suffocating in a storm of emotions, torn between the woman I love and the obligations that threaten to tear us apart.
And I hate that a day later, her words are still clanging around in my skull, shouting at me that she’s right, no matter how badly I wish she weren’t.
If I were to ask my dad if he was pursuing the rest of Seaside, the chances of him freely offering me the information would be slim to none. He keeps his plans sealed tight until it benefits him to expose them. It’s just how he’s wired, and before now, I accepted that.
But not any longer. One way or another, I’m determined to find some answers.
“Fuckin’ hate the ocean,” Declan complains, clinging to the built-in bookcase inside the office on my father’s yacht. “And I still don’t know what the hell we’re looking for.”
The boat rocks with the wind that’s carrying in a late night storm. Thunder rumbles in the distance, adding to my need to speed up this break-in.
“A long, cylindrical case. I saw it in here a couple of weeks ago during one of Dad’s parties.” Slamming the top drawer of the desk, I move on to the next.
“So, we’re looking for a map?”
“Possibly. I’m not sure what it is, but he didn’t want me looking at it when I spotted it the first time.”
Declan purses his lips. “Well, if it is a map, maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll lead us to an abundance of booty.”
His brows waggle obnoxiously as I slide the second drawer closed with a frustrated sigh. “I’m hoping it leads us to the truth.”
“Be cooler if it was booty…” he grumbles, crouching to look through the cabinets beneath the shelves. When a punishing gust bumps us against the edges of the wet slip, his face turns ashen.
“Just try not to vomit on the rug, all right?”
“You know I have a sensitive stomach,” he whines. “Besides, what is this thing going to prove, anyway?”
I yank the deep filing drawer open on my left. “Nothing… Everything… I don’t fucking know.”
“Truly profound,” he muses. “You’re a master wordsmith, Anderson.”
“Fuck off, all right? Pen thinks Dad has bigger plans for Seaside than just that one residential unit, and I’m trying to show her he’s not the vicious tyrant she believes him to be.”
Show her, or yourself?a voice whispers through my mind.
I remove a stack of files from the drawer and start flipping through them.
“And if you find something incriminating, then what?”
Inside the first folder is a contract for several smaller condos we opened in Tauntuma. I toss them aside, continuing my search. “Then I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”
Last night, I read through the contract Dad gave me, memorizing every damning detail on all thirty pages.
Yes, my name is on the document as a co-owner, but there’s only one way to ensure the group home is out of my father’s hands for good, and that’s precisely how I ended up going toe to toe with Ricardo this morning before writing him a check that would clear their debt with the bank.
Naturally, he was reluctant, spewing empty threats and a curse that my balls would spontaneously combust. At least, I assume that’s what he said; I don’t speak Spanish. But we’re backed against the wall, and though it may hurt his pride, he knew time wasn’t on our sides to find another option.
“There’s nothing here.” What I expect to be relief is nothing but a cavernous void when I come up empty-handed for any other contracts or plans for Seaside.
Declan moves to the back wall, continuing to search for the case, but I turn for the glass-encased shelves behind me. I find more folders and stacks of papers to sort through, but my hand stills, hovering over a photo album on the very bottom shelf.
No bigger than the printed photos inside, the time-worn album creaks when I ease it open.
The first page is a picture of me and Dad sitting on the couch at my grandmother’s house. I can’t be older than two because she’d passed away when I turned three—but the smile on Dad’s face as I hold my arms out for him is so foreign, it damn near knocks me on my ass.
The proof that he was—is—a good dad is right here in my hands.
I flip the page, finding a crinkled, stained picture of me and my parents on my first day of high school. I’m grinning so big that my cheeks dimple, and Mom has an arm slung over Dad’s shoulders.
We look happy, and my chest aches to know that the following year, we would be homeless, living out of our van and scouring sidewalks for coins to wash our clothes at the laundromat.
Dad’s lost some of the light in his eyes as I scour the rest of the photos. When I reach the last picture in the album, it’s replaced by determination and unshakable confidence.
We’re on an airplane, on our way to Topica Bay, and I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. He’s giving Mom a thumbs up, and that grin holds all the promise of the future he wanted, no matter what it cost him. A risk he would take ten times over if it meant we’d be where we are now.
Little did we know how much our lives would change that summer.
Especially mine.
“What the fuck?” Declan says, startling me back to the task at hand.
“Did you find it?”
“No, but I found this.” He crosses the room as I set the open album on the surface in front of the display.
Frowning, I scan the page he hands me. “Okay, I know my freshman year is spotty with all the frat partying we did, but damaged brain cells aside, I’m pretty sure you didn’t go to Stanford.”
Sure enough, the college’s official logo is stamped at the top, and below that, my name is printed in the same thick ink of the declination letter Dad hand-delivered to me three weeks after I’d applied. It’s an exact replica in all ways except the one that matters most.
“Where did you find this?” I ask, because I can’t comprehend what I’m staring at.
“In that filing cabinet over there, mixed in with a bunch of dated documents from the University of Michigan.”
My blood runs cold. “This is an acceptance letter…”
Dec and I lock gazes at the same moment, realization dawning—and because fate’s a funny bitch, another punishing round of waves pitches the boat into the side of the slip.
There’s a loud pop before the case we’d been searching for smacks the back of my head and rolls to the other side of the cabin.
I rub the throbbing spot, glancing up at the hollowed hiding place it fell from above the grand display while Declan makes a break for it. As soon as he gets his hands on it, he removes the lid and slides a loosely rolled tube of paper out onto the desk.
“I fucking knew it,” he mutters, but I’m still reeling over the acceptance letter I never received.
It can’t be true. He wouldn’t—I can’t even force the lie when he’s kept the fucking thing like some sort of memento.
I told Penelope he wouldn’t have blocked our messages because I didn’t believe the same man who was holding and laughing with me in those pictures was capable of something so awful. But he didn’t even deny it when I confronted him, did he? So why wouldn’t he use this letter as a means to control me as well?
Anguish rips through me so swiftly I’m forced to close my eyes. My scars flare to life, mocking me by burning beneath my collar, even though I know all that’s left is dead nerves.
Twelve. Years. Ripped away from us, and there’s no way to get them back. There’s no button to push to take me back in time to experience all the aches, pains, and joys we should have had together.
We would have had a house and kids by now. Forcefully dizzy, I lean against the desk for support as that visual bolts through me.
I would be a dad.
My stomach clenches tightly, making me nauseous. I could never… I would never do something like this to my child.
Thoughts are firing so fast, my body can’t keep up.
I experience every emotion at once. Anger. Betrayal. Grief. Sorrow.
They assault me rapidly until I’m forced to face the truth that my father robbed us of that time.
“Oh fuck,” Declan says, eyes darting to mine from the desk, where he’s laid out a map of Topica Bay.
White flags are scattered across the island, denoting areas where he’s already developed properties, with Butterfly Cove being the newest. But anxiety floods my system when I follow a trail of red flags along the various coasts, all the way up to the harbor.
Taped in the corner of the map is an illustration for a massive resort with the words Anchorage Harbor written in bold black marker.
“Fucking hell,” I murmur.
He’s dividing and conquering like a modern day Genghis Khan, and the faint amount of relief in Augustine being unmarked utterly dissipates with all the buildings I find flagged to be bought on Seaside Avenue.
“He’s not going to stop,” I say. “He sees Seaside as an investment opportunity–a way to make even more money–and he’ll turn the entire strip into a playground for the wealthy. He doesn’t give a shit about the community or the people who live and work here.”
The faint scent of cigarette smoke wafts from the map, stinging my nose, and tripling the anxiety I’d felt moments ago.
I’ve solved one problem by giving Ricardo the money he needs, but even if I hadn’t drained several major accounts, I wouldn’t have enough to compete with the millions my father has at his disposal, and at this point, if I don’t have Penelope, does it really even matter?
“I have to warn her,” I say, but my collar’s closing around my neck like a noose and constricting the air flow to my aching lungs.
I look at the album, splayed open beside the map, and bile skates up my esophagus. I don’t recognize that man, and more than that, I don’t trust him.
The fucked-up part in all of this is how devastated I am to be betrayed by someone who was supposed to love me. It’s fucked-up because I desperately don’t want to believe it, and yet, here we are.
“Logan, are you all right?”
Dec’s voice is weak compared to the blood pounding in my ears. My shirt feels like hay, scratching my skin, and desperate to be rid of the sensation, I yank it overhead.
Breaths sawing in and out of my chest, I spin, flattening my palms along the edge of the shelves behind his desk. “I-I can’t lose her again,” I croak, staring at my reflection. “He’s going to take her from me, Dec. Ida, Seaside, and Summit. Everything I care about, gone.”
“Hey.” He takes two cautious steps toward me as if I’m some wild beast. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath for me.”
I try, honest to god, I do, but I’m trembling with the weight of my father’s deep-rooted governance when I meet my frantic gaze in the mirror.
My eyes cling to the gnarled, unnaturally white marks beneath my collarbones and scattered across my pecs. I can practically feel his hand splitting my lip, feel it cupped across the back of my neck, punishingly.
“We’re going to figure this out, Logan. Just tell me what you need.” Declan securely folds a hand over my bare shoulder, and agonizingly slowly, that touch brings me back.
Pain. I need pain.
I shake my head furiously. I won’t turn back down that road. I won’t give him another way to control me.
It hits me then.
What I need is my safe space, my rock, my anchor in a sea of chaos. I need the woman who’s my home when I have nowhere else to land and no solace to greet me.
What I need is, “Penelope.”
* * *
Returning to Augustine is like traveling back in time. The area is much more rural than the rest of the island, and I always admired how detached it was from the city.
Below the skyscraping mountains, rays of sunlight compliments the natural waterfalls and rivers that run through the landscape, feeding miles of lush farmlands and vibrant green forests.
It’s breathtaking, and that’s saying a lot, considering I’m struggling for air as I coast the final bend onto Patrick’s property. Dust billows up behind my rear tires, and through the vents, the familiar scent of hay and horses tickles my nose.
So many memories in what was a blink in our lives. But at one point, this community—this family—was everything to me. I woke up every day with the same sense of purpose I’ve found in my plans for the harbor, with a girl who wore colorful dresses and demanded I experience life and happiness with nothing more than a smile.
I amble my way up the drive, taking in every change that’s been made to the property. Someone remodeled the old barn we used to escape to with fresh red paint, new doors, and bushels of vivid wildflowers planted at its base.
From the top of the drive, I can just make out what was once the house we lived in, nestled in that damn pasture.
Standing inside a small paddock, I spot Penelope and her dad brushing and feeding a speckled horse, who pauses between bites to nudge her any time she stops.
My heart thunders wildly inside my chest, still filtering the heightened emotions from yesterday, and when I put the car into park, my knee bounces with uncontrollable nerves.
I’m usually calm and collected when facing a challenge, but unsurprisingly, I can’t hold it together where she’s concerned.
I kill the engine and shove the keys into my pocket before stepping onto the gravel drive.
Loose pebbles crunch and roll beneath my dress shoes, dust already coating the hem of my slacks as I step toward them. The mid-morning sun coats my exposed arms and neck in a gentle warmth that dances across Penelope’s features.
She’s breathtaking in a cream crocheted dress and a pair of dirty boots. Right at home.
Unaware of my presence, I relish her tender affair with the sun’s embrace, a willing voyeur to her radiant connection with the burning star.
“Logan,” Patrick says, startled to see me at the fence.
“Mr. Vance.” I swallow uncomfortably, slipping my hands inside my pockets and hoping like hell he doesn’t tell me to fuck off before I can say my peace. “I was hoping to have a word with you and your daughter.”
He postures the way a father is supposed to when he loves his child. Protecting her from the potential threat that’s come knocking, and as much as I envy his devotion to her, I’m relieved she has a home and family to comfort her when she needs it.
I shift toward Penelope. “There’s, uh, something I need to say to her first, though, and it can’t wait.”
Her easy smile falters when she turns to me, and the urge to fall to my knees for her is unbearable. The sunlight casting through her brown eyes lightens them to a seductive, milk chocolate hue, but an understandable amount of uncertainty projects from them.
“Pen, I—”
“Realize how wonderful I am and want to beg for forgiveness?” Her arms cross and a lone brow arches haughtily.
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“That didn’t take long,” Patrick mumbles, taking the brush from her hand with a not-so-subtle grin and a light-hearted laugh that has my shoulders slumping.
The tip of her chin rises, and I want to kiss those full, smirking lips with every desperate cell in my body when she says, “I do love a good grovel.”
She leaves him and the horse in the middle of the paddock to meet me at the fence. Three wooden beams separate our bodies, hitting just above our waists, and everything I’d prepared to say to her freezes in my throat.
“Well, go on,” she goads in that way of hers.
“You were right,” I manage tightly. “About everything.”
“Mm-hmm. A solid start, but I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.”
God, this woman. I search her beautiful face, counting a slew of soft brown freckles while I gather my thoughts.
“I want you to know that I gave Dorthea and Ricardo the funds to keep the group home in their name.”
Any residual humor leaches from her face. “Ricardo would never agree to that.”
“He would when he’s backed into a corner, and his wife’s waving a chancla at him.”
My heart skips a beat at the adorable way she ducks her chin while gathering her unruly hair and twisting it over her shoulder. “I-I can’t thank you enough for doing that.”
“Dorthea said she wanted to tell you. She just couldn’t bring herself to ruin your night when we were with Ida.”
She nods in solemn understanding, though it clearly upset her to be left out.
I hesitate, waiting for her to look at me so she hears the sincerity in my words. “I should have mentioned he had eyes on Seaside, but I didn’t know the extent of his plan.”
She wraps her arms around her middle and cups her elbows. “I believe you.”
The betrayal is still so fresh, it’s hard to speak past the knot in my throat, but I force myself to acknowledge it. No more denying what he’s done.
“There’s an album in one of Dad’s offices where he keeps pictures of me, him, and Mom, and… It doesn’t make sense. How the person responsible for raising and caring for me could both love me immensely and hurt me the most.”
One hand slides to her neck as if to brace herself for something she won’t want to hear, and my heart leaps for fucking joy to see she’s still wearing the ring I gave her on this very ranch all those years ago.
“He forged a declination letter from Stanford to keep me away from you, Pen. At first, I didn’t understand why he would do something so insane, something so blatantly cruel, but then, I only ever had the will to fight him when I had you.”
“Logan, I’m so sorry.” Her voice breaks, tears glistening in her eyes as if she’s hurting for the loss I’m experiencing like it’s hers.
“I’m not,” I say, resting my forearm on the wood, wordlessly asking for her touch.
She places her hand in mine without hesitation, and that one small connection glides up my arm, settling my nerves before finding space deep inside my beating heart.
I bring her fingers to my lips, taking my time kissing each knuckle as I rein in a suffocating wave of despair. “That fire and fight came roaring back the moment you walked into Summit, and I think he was threatened by it. He tried his damndest to rid me of it, but that’s an impossible feat, Penelope. Even for him. Because there’s no force on this Earth strong enough to keep me from you.”
I flip her hand over, pressing my lips to each of her fingertips, and then flatten that same hand to my cheek. “I don’t care if I lose Summit because my aspirations begin and end with you. We’re going to find a way to save that community and build it into something amazing. You know why?”
“Why?” she whispers delicately.
“Because there’s nothing I have faith in more than you and me.”
Her slow curling smile buckles my knees, but then she grips the top beam, hoisting her feet up on the bottom to capture my face between her hands.
I gaze up at her, offering everything I have to give. “You’re the keeper of my heart, sunshine. No one else. It has always been, and forever will be, you.”
Those soft eyes flick over every inch of my face, holding me tight in tense silence.
“What? No smart ass remark?”
She snort-laughs. “I’d rather you kiss me.”
Her lips descend on mine, and we grin through each kiss when her dad groans.
A dam bursts inside my chest, flooding my body with the kind of elation I’ve only ever experienced with this wild woman, and I haul her over the fence before sitting her ass on the top beam.
“You’re mine,” I murmur, ravaging her mouth, seeking and yearning, and I don’t give a fuck if Patrick is watching or not. I want to hear her say it.
“Yes, yours.” Her ankles hook behind my back. “Forever this time, okay?”
I wing my little finger around hers. “I pinky swear.”
She wanted someone who would fight for her–someone who would prove she was worthy of being more than a secret–and I’m giving that to her with every silken brush of our lips.
“All right, all right,” Patrick shouts from the middle of the paddock with one hand over his eyes.
“Sorry,” Penelope calls back, but I’m given a cheeky grin when she brushes her lips against the shell of my ear. “I’m really not, though.”
My chest constricts with the force of my love for her and the endless possibilities that are waiting for us. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
After pressing a kiss to her forehead, I follow her, hopping back over the fence to meet Patrick halfway. We’re holding hands like a couple of love-drunk teens, and for as long as I live, I’m going to make sure that feeling never ends.
Patrick reaches a hand out to me, and I stare at the palm he offers before flicking my gaze to his. The understanding and acceptance I find shatters something inside me. I’m experiencing what I know to be the loss of one father with the hope—no, the promise—of gaining another.
“Now,” he says, squeezing my hand once before releasing it. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”