Chapter Twenty-Nine
MY EYES KEPT DARTING BACK and forth in the semi-darkness between the woman in my bed, her hair wild and messy on my pillow, and the one on my nightstand, flawless and always in control.
One begged me not to forget her.
The other made sure she would leave her permanent mark on me, just as Erica had.
Both were so damn beautiful and so damn different.
I rubbed the back of my neck, exhausted but unable to sleep. The confusion about the women in my life consumed me, but what truly kept me awake was Maxwell Harrington’s actions. What kind of man abandoned and ignored his daughter? Did he have any idea how much he’d hurt her? Did he care? Was he even aware that Brooke had the envelope and knew his secret?
These thoughts made my blood boil. I wanted him to know exactly what he had done. All the pain he’d caused. But I knew Brooke wouldn’t tell him. She was right not to give him the time of day, but I hated how much Maxwell had hurt her and her mother. He should have been accountable for some of his actions or at the very least acknowledged them.
Even if Maxwell weren’t raising my blood pressure, I knew there would be no sleeping that night, knowing that Brooke was in my bed, and even more so because she looked like she belonged there. Erica’s soulful brown eyes seemed to narrow at me from the photo, disappointed by my thoughts.
My fingers brushed over the glass in the frame. “I love you,” I whispered. “I’ll always love you.”
My eyes darted back to Brooke, who was wearing one of my T-shirts and still clutching the manila envelope. The ire building inside me for how much Maxwell had hurt Brooke had me jumping up from the chair I’d placed by the bed. I’d promised Brooke I would stay until she fell asleep. I gazed down at her. My muddied feelings for her felt like someone had taken a wrecking ball to my heart and they didn’t know if they should build an addition for her or a wall to keep her out.
For that night, I would act like a man ready to knock down walls for her.
I marched out of my bedroom to find my parents and Eden still up, all sitting in the great room, quietly chatting among themselves. There was no doubt what—or who—they were talking about. We had all been shocked to learn the truth about Brooke’s parentage. Even if I was relieved that Maxwell Harrington wasn’t a cheating pervert. In some ways, though, he was worse.
“How’s Brooke?” Eden asked.
“She’s finally asleep. But if she wakes up, will you let her know I’ll be back soon?”
“It’s late. Did the hospital call you in?” Mom asked.
“No. I’m headed over to the Harringtons’.”
All the eyes in the room went wide.
“Why?” Eden asked. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Probably not, but someone needs to hold Maxwell accountable for what he’s done to Brooke,” I replied, grabbing my keys off the counter.
“And you think you should be the one?” Mom asked, worried.
Victor placed a hand on her thigh. “Don’t try to stop him. He’s doing a good thing.” His comment took us all by surprise. Normally, he just went along with whatever my mom wanted. Victor gave me a poignant look. “I’m proud of you. I’m sure your father would be too.”
His words made me stand a little taller. “Thank you.” More than anything, I wanted to be the kind of man my father would be proud of .
Mom wrung her hands together, fretting. “Just be careful. The Harringtons hold power in this town.”
I shrugged, not caring what they could do to me. All I could think about was the beautiful creature in my bed, hurting and feeling like she was less because of that prick, Maxwell. She didn’t deserve that.
“I will. I’ll be back soon.” At least, that was the plan.
I RANG THE HARRINGTONS’ DOORBELL, my fight-or-flight response warring inside me. While I had this overwhelming need to protect Brooke, the bravado I’d felt on the drive had waned now that I was standing on their doorstep. The truth was, I didn’t know what I was going to say—or if I’d even have the chance. It was nearly eleven, and for all I knew, Maxwell still believed his lie was intact, the missing envelope undiscovered. For a moment, I wondered if I was jumping into a battle I wasn’t prepared for. I wasn’t normally a confrontational guy.
Minutes passed, and the war inside me raged on. Just as I turned to leave, the faint sound of the door hinge froze me in place. Slowly, I pivoted back. And there he was—Maxwell Harrington, looking like a shadow of himself.
His button-up shirt was untucked, and his hair was a tousled mess as if he’d been running a hand through it in frustration. But it was his eyes that stood out, red rimmed and watery. Good, I thought grimly. It gave me some pleasure to imagine him crying and uncomfortable.
“What do you want, Logan?” he rasped.
“I think you know, you bastard,” I replied, sharply.
He let out a humorless laugh and swung the door wide open, his face twisted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve been called tonight. Come on in. Let’s get this over with.”
I stepped in with a strange sense of having the upper hand. As we walked silently toward the great room, there was an unmistakable lingering air of disarray—and even loss.
Lola peeked hesitantly around the corner, her face pale, her eyes as red and swollen as her father’s. Her small frame was shaking, as though she were bracing herself for the next wave of unpleasant news.
“Where’s Brooke?” she asked, her voice tight with worry. “She’s not answering my calls.”
“Brooke’s safe,” I assured her, softening my tone in an attempt to ease her mind. The news had clearly rattled her. “She’s at my place. She left her phone at home.”
Relief swept across her features, melting some of the tension in her expression. For the first time, I noticed how much she resembled Brooke. They shared the same pouty lips, the same delicate nose. How had I never noticed it?
“Will you please ask her to call me?” Lola’s voice quivered. “I need her to know how sorry I am—that our father isn’t the man I thought I knew.” She shot Maxwell a scathing look, her words striking like a physical blow. He crumpled into the chair behind him, his face ashen, as if his daughter’s condemnation had drained the last of his strength.
I wanted to take pleasure in Maxwell’s pain, to let it fuel the anger that had driven me there. But as I stood there, watching him disintegrate under the weight of his daughter’s words, I found it harder than I’d imagined. It was clear I wasn’t the only one currently seeking justice for Brooke.
I turned my attention to Lola, recognizing how much she needed reassurance. “Brooke is anxious to talk to you,” I let her know.
It was perhaps the one bright spot in all this chaos for Brooke—the discovery of a sister. Even though she was unsure how Lola might feel about it, I was confident she had nothing to fear—the love and concern in Lola’s eyes were undeniable.
“Okay, good,” she breathed out, relieved. She threw her father one more piercing glance, full of loathing, before she disappeared back down the hall. Maxwell sank farther into his chair.
Without an invitation, I took a seat on the couch across from him, feeling a measure of moral superiority. Maxwell deserved all the discomfort he was experiencing.
“How’s Brooke?” he braved asking, though he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Do you really care?” I spat .
Maxwell flinched but slowly lifted his head, his eyes flashing with a hint of defiance—or maybe desperation. “Of course, I do,” he murmured.
“Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t expect you to,” Maxwell replied, his voice fraying at the edges. “But it’s the truth.”
“Is it?” I pressed, leaning forward. “Then why didn’t you tell her who you were the moment you met her? Or better yet—why did you abandon Brooke and her mother in the first place?”
Maxwell buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his forehead as if trying to rub away the shame. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his voice muffled.
“You’re right; I don’t. And neither does Brooke. You’ve failed for years to tell her who you are. And twice now you’ve tried to buy her off.” I raised my voice. “Do you know what that’s done to her? Her self-esteem is shot because of you. What kind of man does that to his own daughter?”
Maxwell lowered his hands, his face haunted by the ghosts of his past. “The last thing I want is for her to feel that way.” His voice shuddered under the strain of his guilt. “You can’t possibly understand the burden I’ve carried all these years. Roxanne warned me—told me this day would come, that I’d have to answer for my choices and their impact. That I would have to face Brooke and explain it all. But I didn’t believe her. I wasn’t ready.”
His shoulders slumped as he released a heavy breath. “I should have known better than to underestimate her, but after thirty years, I figured she’d moved on, and my penance was not being able to. Every day of my life, I’ve thought about Brooke, wondering if she was okay. But I was too much of a coward to find out, too afraid of what it would mean for my wife, for Lola.”
“You sound like you’re trying to paint yourself as the victim here,” I sneered, not letting him get in another word. “What about Roxanne? She carried your child while you turned your back on her. Instead of stepping up, you ran—and threw money at her like that could absolve you of your responsibility. She raised Brooke on her own, even while she was sick. And do you know what that meant for Brooke? She spent a good part of her childhood and nearly all of her adult life caring for her mother. She shouldered responsibilities no child should ever have to face. Did you know that?”
“I gathered from conversations over the summer,” he sighed, sounding trapped in the hellish nightmare he’d created. “Why do you think I was trying to help her? I wanted to make up for what I could. I knew it would never be enough, but I had to try.”
I scoffed, leaning back on the couch. “As far as Brooke is concerned, you were just trying to write another check to make her go away. You know what I don’t get? Why would you keep the letters and Roxanne’s memories lying around if you didn’t want to get caught?”
Maxwell dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, his expression turning into something close to confusion—or maybe self-loathing. His lips parted as if he wanted to respond, but no words came. It seemed even he didn’t know the answer.
“You have to understand, when Roxanne told me she was pregnant, my father had just announced he was running for governor, and my parents didn’t approve of my relationship with her,” he finally breathed out, reluctantly. “She didn’t fit their mold, and for me that was part of her appeal. She was my one act of youthful rebellion.”
I scowled, disgusted he would trivialize Brooke’s mother in such a way.
Maxwell held up his hands. “This is not me saying I didn’t care for Roxanne. I did. Deeply. More than anyone will ever know. She was like no woman I’d ever been with before. She was a force of nature. Hell, if she’d told me I could jump off a cliff and survive, I would have believed her. I would have done it. But I was under a lot of pressure. My parents ... they convinced me the baby wasn’t mine. Told me I was being played because of who I was and the Harrington name. They said the best thing I could do was walk away before I ruined my life—and theirs—with a mistake that wasn’t even mine to fix.”
He broke off, his hands falling into his lap. “But no matter how much I tried to convince myself that my parents were right, in my heart I knew the truth. That’s why I kept the letters—and why I never stopped listening to Roxanne’s music. It was my way of holding on to her, of holding on to what I lost—my child. I kept hoping, even knowing how implausible it was, that one day I would hear something in Roxanne’s songs and I would know she’d forgiven me ... and then maybe I could forgive myself. But that day never came. Instead, I’ve lost the confidence of my wife, my daughter ...” He hesitated, correcting himself with a pronounced swallow. “My daughters.”
I wanted to tell him he had no right to refer to Brooke that way, but I figured he knew. It gave me some satisfaction that he felt the gravity of what he had done. That this time, he couldn’t ignore the consequences of his actions.
Not that any of this would heal Brooke’s heart. But at the very least, I hoped she would finally see the truth—that she wasn’t a failure. The real failure sat before me, drowning in his own regret. He was the one not worthy of her.
Seeing that he already knew what a bastard he was, I stood. “Good luck,” was all I could think to say before I walked away to let him stew in the aftermath of his choices.
“Please tell Brooke how sorry I am,” Maxwell pleaded.
A derisive laugh escaped me. “If you want her to know, you’ll have to tell her yourself. That’s not my message to deliver.” I headed back the way I’d come in.
“I know it’s not my place to say, but be careful with her heart,” Maxwell warned.
I froze mid-step, my shoulders stiffening at his audacity.
“Brooke told us about your ... arrangement. Your summer fling,” he continued. “But anyone with eyes can see it’s more than that—for both of you. Your feelings for her go deeper, and so do hers for you. You wouldn’t have come tonight otherwise.” He paused, his tone imploring. “Don’t let Roxanne’s and my history repeat itself.”
“If you think I’d get Brooke pregnant and abandon her, you’re mistaken,” I said firmly. “I would never do that to her—or to our child.” My words had me feeling things I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
The thought of Brooke and me having a child stirred something deep within me—the possibility for a life I had sworn at the start of summer I could never have with her. Yet, just as quickly, a cold reality doused it. Despite our growing feelings for one another, there was an unspoken divide in our way —
Erica.
Maxwell nodded faintly, his expression somber. “I didn’t think you would. But the history I was referring to wasn’t about abandonment—it was about regret.”
Unfortunately, I knew all about regret. I’d been living with it every day since Erica died. The last thing I wanted was for Brooke’s and my story to end that way. The problem was that I didn’t know which path would lead us there. Did we stay on the temporary course we’d agreed upon, or did we risk veering off and trying to bridge the divide? I knew I was going to have to figure that out sooner rather than later, for both our sakes.