Chapter 12 Awakened
Awakened
Sofie
I wake before the alarm, I always do. My body doesn’t believe in rest, not fully. Not after the past few years of training myself to be ready before anyone asks anything of me. Before the day demands its first pound of flesh.
What I don’t expect is the weight. Not heavy, not confining, warm.
I’m strapped into him, but not in the way I woke earlier in a vice grip, bladder screaming and mind racing.
This is different. His arm is loose around my waist, hand resting flat against my stomach like it belongs there.
My back is pressed to his chest, his breath slow and even against the back of my neck.
I went to sleep without my weighted blanket. That alone feels impossible.
More impossible is the memory that when I slipped back into bed after the bathroom, still buzzing from waking up that way, he pulled me in again without waking fully. Just a murmur against my hair, words soft and rough at the same time.
“Not trying to fuck you,” he whispered. “Your nightmare ended when I wrapped you up. This is avoiding that again.”
I’d gone still, embarrassed, and then, somehow, I slept.
Now I lie here for a moment longer than I should, cataloging the absurdity of it. The calm. The fact that my heart isn’t racing, that my mind isn’t already ten steps ahead.
I slide out carefully, inch by inch, moving slowly so I don’t wake him. His arm tightens reflexively, and I still and wait until it loosens and make my move. He exhales and rolls slightly onto his side, still asleep.
I gather my phone, my coat, my boots, quietly, and make my escape from a room that smells like … us.
The house is dim and quiet as I pad down the hall toward the entrance, past the kitchen, already rehearsing how I’ll explain my absence before anyone notices.
Then I hear a chuckle, I stop, step back, and see Paul Bronski leaning against the counter, with his coat on, watching me with amused eyes that have seen everything and judged very little.
“Morning, Sassy. How about you and I grab a cup of coffee before you come with me to Waverly and plan out a shoot?”
“You didn’t see this.”
He chuckles as he grabs his cane and makes his way to me.
“And,” I add, “it’s not what you think.”
“Never is Sassy, never is.”
Outside, there’s a car waiting. “I share a wall with AK.”
I look at him, shocked.
“Killer fits him on the ice, but AK, a weapon, the name you called him to irritate him at Rockefeller Center, that fits everywhere else. He’s locked, loaded, and ready to either destroy or defend.” He smirks. “If you ask me, he needs something to defend. He’s like a Doberman with no master.”
“I—”
He lifts a hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We’ll talk more when we get to Waverly.” He opens the door. “After you.”
Inside the car, I watch as Paul orders coffee and breakfast sandwiches for delivery via an app, something he would never have been able to do when Nalani moved here on a whim, and we all met him.
When he was lying on a floor smelling like he’d bathed in alcohol, unable to get up because he’d let himself get weak, no doubt praying that he didn’t wake up because he missed Patsy, his wife, who had passed a decade ago.
He opens the door to the house that, just weeks ago, was run-down, and I smile, feeling a bit emotional. My eyes get hot, “It’s only been like two weeks since I was here.”
“You throw enough money at people, they do what you ask, you of all people should know this.” He chuckles. “Secret?” He asks, and I nod. “Moretti threw even more in because he wants to surprise Claudia and Savannah with the house completed enough to spend their first Christmas here.”
“Oh my God, that’s perfect,” I smile and look around, picturing it.
“Tree used to go over there,” he points to a wall behind the skeleton of a kitchen. “Gonna be my suite, so I’m told.”
“Is it going there now?” I point to the large fireplace, centered in the far wall.
“Got a good eye, kid,” he chuckles.
A knock at the door calls my attention. “I’ll grab it.”
“Perfect, then you and I can sit and chat at that massive island.” He says and heads that way.
I hand him his coffee and the bag and sit beside him. “Thank you for this, next time it’s my treat.”
“Probably should be here, not at Fairfax,” he says and clears his throat before taking a sip of his coffee and setting it down. “Your old man was never a fan of mine.”
I turn and look at him, “You know my father?”
“Yeah, not a big fan,” his jaw clenches, and he shakes his head.
“Paul,” I shake my head. “We’re connected in a way that I don’t want to have murderous thoughts about you, and I will if you shit talk my father, he’s my everything.”
“And for three years, Maggie Hale was my Patsy and mine.”
“What?” My voice breaks automatically.
“You look just like her kid, stunning.” His eyes turn red.
“Paul, I,” I shake my head.
He places his hand over mine. “You know I was an orphan.” I nod.
“When Patsy kept losing babies, we decided maybe God, who by the way, I was angry at for letting her hurt so bad, had bigger plans for us. So, we looked into adoption, and they kept trying to get us to search overseas. Patsy just felt wrong about it. Like she was buying a kid, that someone had to give up because they couldn’t afford it, then realized it wasn’t much different here.
We hit pause and started trying to help those people, the moms who needed just a little help to get their feet under them. ”
“I think that’s beautiful, and I don’t want to sound like a complete bitch, but—”
“Right,” he squeezes my hand.
“Harbor House, was close and connected to our church. Patsy spent a lot of time there volunteering. She fell in love with the kids who had a hard time being adopted because of their age.”
“You met Mom there when she was a social worker?”
“We met your mother when she was fourteen and living there.” I shake my head, and he nods his.
“She was going to be a social worker, was her dream. Lived here with us, went with Patsy the day Mr. Big Bucks showed up.” He grumbles.
“I mean, your father showed up with a camera crew trying to get press.” He chuckles.
“Maggie ran him off. He showed up a day after with boxes of food and clothes for donations. The day she turned eighteen, he asked me for her hand. I told him to shit in his hat.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Didn’t like him.” He shrugs.
“Did Patsy?”
He smirks, looking down, and shakes his head. “She was devastated, and happy for her at the same time.” He looks at me. “You do know that’s what they really mean when they talk about women being better multitaskers. It’s a nice way of saying you’re not —”
“Don’t even,” I can’t help but laugh as I bat away tears.
He catches the next, leans in, shoulder hitting mine lightly, “You proved my damn point, Sassy.” He sighs, “The real reason I didn’t like him was less about the money and more about the fact he’d been married and had two little ones.
I didn’t want my Maggie to throw away her dreams to raise a woman, and I use that term loosely, because Deborah has never been anything but a social climbing gold digger.
My Patsy knew Deborah’s mother, and again with the old sayings, that apple didn’t fall too far.
” He turns fully and looks at me. “Same holds true to you and Maggie, a much prettier, stronger, and morally sound tree, but a tree, nonetheless.”
“Why wouldn’t they tell me the truth?”
“Image Sofie. Fairfax PR got ahead of it all, created the backstory.”
“And they left you and Patsy out of it,” I whisper.
“Maggie and Patsy volunteered together. Hell, we and I went to the hospital when you were born.” He smiles. “That box of pictures? Have you looked at them yet?”
I shake my head. “Been busy.”
“When you’re ready, take a gander. Birthdays, holidays, we had moments with you.
” He swallows hard and shakes his head. “When she passed, Maggie, before Patsy, it devastated us, and your dad,” he shakes his head.
“He didn’t make it easy to see you. But we still tried.
From a distance, of course.” He chuckles.
“One of your nannies called the cops on us at Central Park. Thought we looked suspicious. He was a friend of mine, and strongly suggested we leave you be, reminded me that no amount of money would have been enough to get visitation or access.” He sighs.
“And your dad loved Maggie in a way I loved Patsy. And you, that man had you with him all the time. Never did remarry.” He wipes away more of my tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not one moment was your fault.”
“You never tried to adopt again?”
“Three heartbreaks were enough on top of the miscarriages.” He laughs. “We got the girls, named one of the originals after your mom another was Fifi after you.”
“What?” I laugh.
“Fifi,” he smiles sadly. “You introduced yourself to me as Fifi because you couldn’t for the life of you say Sofie.”
“What happened with the other two?”
“Pardon?” He asks.
“You said three heartbreaks, I assumed Mom was one.”
He nods, “And you were two.”
“The third?”
“Technically, Marcy was the first. Right before your mom.” He scowls. “Your Dad.” He shakes his head.
“My Dad, what?” I insist.
He locks eyes with mine. “Marcy said she was pregnant and needed to leave because the father of the baby she was carrying was a rich man who would take her from him.”
“What does that have to do with my dad?” I ask, assuming he’s confused, hell, so am I, but his eyes narrow. “He was poor after the divorce. He was—”
“He wasn’t a billionaire then, but the man had money.”
“That’s a huge assumption,” I say, but something inside doesn’t allow me to be angry at Paul.
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.
“We sent Marcy money a few times when she called to check in. Used Western Union back then. Then she stopped calling. We had the local police in the town she lived in look for her. Hired a PI. They poked around, and a few people knew her by a different name. In the end, we were told that if she needed us, she would reach out as she had. Patsy couldn’t deal with it.
We had no choice but to believe she didn’t need us or want us.
Marcy was,” he pauses, “A handful, lots of boys, drinking, not coming home. We accepted that.”
“I am so sorry, but again, what does my dad have to do with this? He’d never—”
“I’m not trying to sound like a crazy old man, and I have no DNA proof, or anything but a gut feeling.”
He pulls four old pictures from his wallet and lays them out, “Tell me what you see.”
Before my eyes fill entirely, I look at the picture of my Mom before she was my mom, with Paul and Patsy, one of me and Mom, and Patsy, and one of a young and handsome Paul and Patsy.
I look at the one I don’t know, and it only takes me a second to realize that’s not true; I know her.
The woman in the picture looks exactly like Claudia.
“Paul,” I sob softly.
“That’s our Marcy.” He says quietly. “I believe she’s Claudia’s mother.”
I hug him, and I hug him so tight, “Thank you for loving my mom. And I don’t want my father to be the man who had a younger, vulnerable woman kink, but God Paul, if she’s my sister—”
“My girls, Patsy’s girls.” He says, hugging me just as tight.
My phone vibrates, and I reluctantly pull back, “I don’t wanna deal with whatever that is.”
“You’re an important,” he forces a laugh. “Billionaire-ess.”
“I’m…” I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He pulls a hanky out of his pocket and wipes my face.
“Paul, I was two seconds away from apologizing for being such a bitch when we first met, but I’m afraid it’s going to get worse if that thing has been used.”
“It’s two days fresh.” He says, and I pull back and gasp. He laughs, God, he laughs so hard, and it’s …. Everything. “Gotcha, Sassy pants.”
After reading the text,
Claudia:
Hit the Holiday Markets right after Deacon gets done with practice?
Me:
Of course! So excited! I’ll grab Paul!
I show Paul the phone, and he chuckles.
“What?”
“I’ve been in a few of these group chats; you may have gone heavy on the excitement.”
A message pops up.
Claudia:
I can’t tell if you are being serious or sarcastic.
“Told you.” He chuckles.
Me:
Serious. Very Serious. I’d also love to watch Savannah tonight when you do the date with your man. The girls can handle the photos; make sure they do some shots from outside and you two sit at a front window. Paul can supervise me.
Me:
Not you, I’ll make sure. Me. Of course I will text them. You don’t worry about anything, just have fun!
Paul laughs.
“What?” I ask.
My phone rings, and Claudia’s name pops up. “That.” He winks.
I answer, “Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“Me?” I force a laugh, and Paul palms his face. “It’s the holidays. I just really love them.”
“You sure? Because if this is too much—”
“I assure you, it’s not. It’s Sunday, and I slept in. I’m not stepping foot in the office today. You tell me what time, and I will be there with bells on.”
She laughs, “Okay then.”
“Love you,” I say, and Paul’s shoulders bounce in silent laughter. She says nothing. “Too much?”
“Of course not. You know I love you, too.”
“Okay, bye.” I hang up the phone before I can do any more damage.
Paul takes my phone and sets it on the brown paper covering the island. “This is a lot for you, but until we can confirm, let’s not burden her.”
“I agree.”
“Your father still have that man who never left his side. Dark hair, bout six foot. Mean eyes.”
“Matteo?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “That wasn’t his name. It was…”
I grab my phone, flip through my photo album, the pictures I keep close and never share on socials, as Aleks observed correctly, and show him. “This is Matteo.”
“That’s him, but I’m sure that’s not his name. Had a teammate named Matteo when I was playing, I’d remember.”
“Paul, this is Matteo Florence.”
“It’s the man, but,” he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, he would know.”
Tears fill my eyes again, because now, now all I can think of is what Hugo said.
“What’s wrong, Sassy?”
“If I confide in you about something, can you swear on everything you hold dear that you will tell no one? Not even the girls? Claudia, Deacon, not even a whisper to Savannah?”
“You can trust me, kid, I promise.”