Chapter 1 #2
I hold my breath, wondering if he’s serious. Jameson and Amelia have broken up and gotten back together more times than I can count.
“For real this time,” he tacks on quietly. “And as she was packing her things, she said I should try to be more like you. If that’s not a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“You’re full of shit.”
I laugh and the sound reverberates like a crack of thunder. I’m low on laughter these days and the fact that I can still manage it surprises me. “You’re right. You and Amelia should have parted ways years ago.”
Jameson doesn’t comment. He never does when it comes to her.
She was his first love and they’ve had a roller coaster of ups and downs.
More downs than ups if I’m being honest. But my brother has never muttered a disparaging word against the woman who has cheated on him and played him for a goddamn fool.
I don’t understand why and I doubt I ever will.
It’s just one of those things.
Like Mckenna and me.
No one gets it but us. But me.
“Please, Mav, don’t do this to me. To us.”
“You deserve more, better, than me.”
“But I want you. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. That’s why I have to do this. I have to let you go so we can both be whole. Healed.”
My last conversation with my wife before she signed the divorce papers plays through my mind. And understanding, compassion, and fucking empathy for my brother and his situation soars.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my tone gentler.
“Fuck,” Jameson murmurs, agony lacing in his words. “When are you coming home, Mav?”
Fuck. I toss my empty coconut, watching the shell roll across the sand before coming to a complete stop. The sun has nearly disappeared. Dusk turning into night.
The fresh air is heavier now, aligned with my head and heart.
My brother will never come right out and ask me to come home, but this conversation indicates that he needs someone. Needs me.
“Soon,” I mutter.
“She graduates in three weeks,” he reminds me.
My heart twists. Mckenna has worked so hard for her law degree. She’s overcome hurdles higher than Mount fucking Everest.
“I’ll be home before then.”
Jameson’s relief is palpable through the line. I feel it and nod to myself, knowing I’ve shirked responsibilities for too long.
“See you soon?”
“I’ll see you, brother,” I confirm, ending the call.
Then, I toss my phone back into my backpack, take one last, long look at the sea, and push to my feet.
I swipe my board and head home. In truth, my place here is my only real home. The brownstone in Boston belongs to the band, even though I’m the one who has mostly crashed there over the past five years. Well, me and Mckenna.
Reign told me she’s still living there and that knowledge has given me peace of mind over the last three weeks. I wonder if she ever goes into my room, slips beneath my sheets, and breathes in my scent.
Does she remember when the bed was ours?
Does she miss those late nights, our legs intertwined, our hearts beating in sync?
Does she think of me the way I remember her? Fucking constantly.
I rinse off when I get home. I go through the motions of survival. Eat, watch television, substitute the cold beer I want with a mint fucking tea. And sleep.
Tomorrow is another day. And now that I know my time here is winding down, I have to think about my next chapter.
Back in Boston. Back with the band. Back with my brother.
And doing it without Mckenna. It’s a reality I don’t want to consider but now, with Jameson’s call ringing in my ears, I know it’s time to head home.
MCKENNA — THIRTY-EIGHT DAYS POST MAV
“You look good, Kenny,” Dad says as he pushes into the brownstone, his hands full as he balances a coffee tray and a bag of pastries.
I step forward to help, taking the coffee tray from his hands. “Good morning, Dad. Thanks for breakfast.”
“I remember the chaos of final exam week.”
“It’s hell. I finally washed my hair.”
Dad chuckles. “It’s the worst,” he agrees, sitting on a kitchen barstool and tearing open the bag of pastries.
“But…” I grin at him. “It’s over now.” I gasp, my eyes dropping to the pastries. “You got éclairs and cinnamon rolls?”
“You still like them both?” He seems surprised and relieved.
“Very much,” I say quietly. Connecting with Dad again has been one of the greatest outcomes of my situationship—marriage?—with Mav. When he does things like this, remembers the small details, it heals some of the hurt that a younger version of me dwelled in years ago. “Thanks.”
Dad nods and takes a swig of coffee. “Well, we’re celebrating.” He breaks an éclair in half and takes a big bite.
As the pastry cream slides over his knuckles, I force myself to stand and gather a knife, two plates, and a stack of napkins.
“Here,” I say, pushing the napkins toward him. “You’re the first person I’ve had over in a while.”
Dad laughs and shakes his head. “These are delicious.” He wipes his hands on a napkin. “I can’t believe you’re graduating in two weeks.”
“Trust me, I’m ready.” I take the seat across from him and break off a piece of cinnamon roll.
Popping it into my mouth, I close my eyes and savor the sugary treat.
Final exams really have been hell, but they’re nothing compared to the bar exam I’m scheduled to take in July.
And they were a breeze compared to the stress I’ve endured this year, dealing with Bran.
And then, there’s Mav. No, I’m not thinking about Mav right now. It’s too…hard. To survive exams, I had to push all thoughts of my ex-husband as far from my mind as possible. So, not very far at all.
“I know you are,” Dad replies, his voice sober.
Opening my eyes, I shrug.
Dad clears his throat. “Now that exams are behind you, there’s something I want to share with you.”
I sit up straighter. “This sounds ominous.”
A shadow of a smile works over Dad’s expression. “Depends on your perspective. But, perhaps, yes.”
“That makes it sound even worse.”
Dad takes another sip of his coffee and leans forward. “Do you remember when I told you that your mom wasn’t the great love of my life?”
I nod. Who could forget something like that? “You said it was a woman named Isabel. That she passed and it was a long time ago.”
“That’s right.”
Frowning, I press him. “And? Why are you bringing this up now?”
Dad sighs heavily and drags a hand over the lower portion of his face. “Because it’s relevant and now that enough time has passed from Maverick—”
I flinch at the sound of his name and Dad gives me a sympathetic glance.
“And now that final exams are behind you,” Dad soldiers on, “you need to know the truth. The full story.”
I bite the corner of my mouth, waiting.
Dad looks right at me as he admits, “Isabel was Branson Burton’s mother.”
“What?” I gasp, feeling the air in my lungs disappear. For a moment, it’s as if I can’t draw in oxygen. Pure adrenaline shoots through my veins. I push up from the barstool and grip the butcher block island and then, the air catches and I suck in deeply. Greedily. Nervously.
Dad stands on the other side of the island, one hand outstretched as if to grab me if I pass out.
Luckily, I don’t. Instead, I suck in another breath, focus on relaxing my shoulders and steadying my heart rate, and sit back down. “You better start at the beginning, Dad.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, retaking his seat. “I should.” He sips his coffee, buying time as he bolsters his mental stamina for the story he’s about to share.
Then, he looks at me and begins. “I studied in Texas my junior year of college to participate in an internship program. It was one of the best years of my life, if I’m being honest. I made great friends, solid connections that helped me get my start in business, and, for the first time, I fell in love. ”
“Isabel,” I whisper.
“Isabel,” Dad repeats. “She was a housekeeper for a wealthy family.”
“The Burtons,” I supply, already knowing how this story is going to play out but needing Dad to say the words anyway.
“The Burtons,” Dad confirms.
My eyes close as I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Isabel and I fell in love. We dated nearly the entire year I lived in Texas. She was a bright and beautiful woman with a million plans. But she didn’t have it easy in the Burton household. Her mom, who also worked for the family, was regularly assaulted by Jeff Burton.”
I gasp. “Bran’s father?”
“Bran’s grandfather,” Dad corrects.
“Why didn’t she report it? Why didn’t you?” I accuse.
Dad scrapes his hand over his face again and regards me warily.
“I should have. But Isabel made me swear not to tell anyone. Her mom, her whole family including her, were undocumented in the United States. They were happy to have found the work that they did and Isabel’s mom never wanted to jeopardize her children’s chances of a future in America. ”
“So, she just…endured it?” I shudder at the thought.
Dad nods, looking as miserable as I feel. “Yes.”
Anger floods through me, fast and furious.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Dad holds up a hand. “If I could go back in time now, if I could do things differently, I would.”
I shake my head, tamping down my anger. In fact, I focus on removing my emotions from the equation. I need to listen to Dad’s story with a clear head. An open mind that can dissect the information from all angles. “What happened?”
“Isabel and I broke up when my time in Texas ended,” Dad says.
“You broke up with her?” My indignation floods back. So much for logical processing.
“No. Never.”
I lift my eyebrows, waiting for him to offer a real explanation.
“Isabel was wise beyond her years. She knew that with the distance between us…well, I wanted to make it work. I wanted to send for her, marry her, take her back to Boston with me. She couldn’t leave her family.
Not then, at least. I swore that I would wait.
I had no idea that the situation in the Burton home was also becoming… impossible…for her.”
I close my eyes, reading between the lines.