Chapter 22
Brock sat across from his father at Latte & Bean.
Nothing was helping to erase the vision of Yaya from his mind.
Regret filled him in a million different ways.
He shouldn’t have argued with his father in front of her.
He wished he’d spent more time with her, wished he’d taken up the beach house years ago instead of letting it waste away.
But more than anything, remorse for never getting the chance to say goodbye was a weight he would bear for a long time to come.
He’d stood there, in her house, just the other day, but he hadn’t said a word.
In an effort to keep the peace, Aidan suggested they grab some coffee and maybe just talk. Brock had readily agreed. The sterile atmosphere of a hospital was no place to learn about his mother.
Miss Bobbie hugged them both as soon as they walked through the door.
With her eyes reddened by unshed tears, she offered them her sweetest of smiles, as well as free coffee and dessert for as long as they wanted to stay.
Miss Bobbie’s hospitality was unrivaled, and he had no idea how the woman had already managed to learn about Yaya’s passing, but somehow, he wasn’t the least bit surprised.
She stood at the coffee bar in her bright yellow sweater with a bejeweled bumblebee clip pinned into her white hair and pretended not to listen to their conversation. Every so often he’d catch her lifting her purple glasses and wiping at her eyes.
“How’s your apple crisp muffin?” Aidan asked.
“Fine.” Brock hadn’t even tried it yet. He wasn’t exactly hungry. Instead, he crumpled his napkin.
“Your mother…” Aidan spoke suddenly, and Brock’s head snapped up. His father shifted in his seat. Uncomfortable.
Good.
“She’s made some mistakes.”
“Yeah.” Like abandoning him when he was just a child. “Plenty of them.”
Aidan’s brow furrowed, but then he blinked the strange look away. “I should probably start at the beginning. I met your mother at a gala in Washington, D.C. It was a damn good evening, but we never married. Hell, we never even dated.”
Brock scrubbed both of his hands over his face, not quite sure he’d heard his father correctly. “Are you telling me my mom was just a one-night stand?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Aidan lips pressed into a thin line, and he gave a small nod. “But in my defense, I didn’t know your mother was pregnant with you until after you were born.”
It was like a bomb went off inside Brock’s head. There was noise and chaos, and the cacophony of it left him rattled, so nothing made sense. And then there was a sudden quiet.
“What?” he croaked.
“I found out about you when you were about three months old.” Aidan’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “She needed money.”
Brock swallowed. He rolled his lips, not entirely sure if he wanted to hear any more of this story that was beginning to sound more and more like an absolute train wreck.
“There was no denying you were mine.” Aidan mimed a circle around his face, and the half-smile that was there faded a bit.
“I paid her child support regularly, off the record. She let me see you on weekends but never at her place. She always brought you to me. That probably should’ve been my first sign that something was wrong.
It was a couple months before your first birthday, and I wanted to surprise her with a new swing I bought for you. ”
Aidan’s expression shifted. There was pain behind his eyes. Pain and anger and fear.
“And?” Brock urged, caught between curiosity and apprehension.
“And so I showed up to her apartment unannounced.” He focused on his half-empty cup of coffee then, his gaze distant.
A place where Brock had obviously existed, but was not invited.
“You were screaming your head off. You were alone in one of those pack-and-play things. Your diaper was soiled. Your bottle was empty. And you were so cold.”
Uncertainty clamored through Brock. He’d never heard this story before.
He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up being raised by his grandparents, but then again, he never thought to ask.
He always just assumed his dad had taken over custody and paid off his mother with some hush money, because what kind of woman would so easily give up her child? But apparently he was gravely mistaken.
The words were out before he could stop them. “Where was my mom?”
“Passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka on the floor beside her.”
Aidan finally looked up to meet Brock’s eyes.
Shadows shifted within the amber of his irises.
“She didn’t fight me in custody. Hardly matters though, because I knew there was no way I was going to let her have you after that.
I couldn’t trust her to protect you and keep you safe.
So, I was able to pay her off with ten grand. ”
Ten grand.
Ten thousand dollars.
That was all he was worth to his mother.
It wasn’t that his father had taken him from her, or that she’d needed help raising him. She simply hadn’t wanted him.
“I didn’t know how to be a father.” Aidan smoothed back his thickly gelled pieces of his hair. “But I knew I had to save you, so I did the only thing I could think of to make sure you were raised properly. I brought you here.”
“Not knowing how to be a father isn’t a good excuse for never being around,” Brock countered, not willing to let him slide out from being a deadbeat dad too quickly.
“I know.” Aidan squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, they were filled with regret. “At least, I know that now. I was trying to build my empire, trying to build a life for you. But I didn’t know how—”
“Didn’t know how a kid fit into the equation?” Brock interrupted, his resentment growing.
“No! I didn’t know how to find the balance.” He leaned across the table, intent. “But I was there, Brockton.”
“You were never there.” Brock rolled his eyes, and his voice dropped like the temperature outside, dripping with ice. “Never when I needed you, never when it mattered.”
“I was always there when it mattered, you just didn’t want to see me.” Aidan stared at him, his gaze unwavering. “When you hit a home run at your Little League championship game, you ran around the bases and pumped your fist just like Kirk Gibson did in the World Series.”
“How did you—”
“When you took Juliette to senior prom, you bought her a corsage from a flower shop in Virginia Beach so she would be surprised. At your high school graduation, you walked across the stage with honors, even though you swore you hated studying, and decorated your cap with camouflage. At your boot camp graduation…” Aidan’s voice wavered as tears sprang to his eyes.
“At your boot camp graduation, I’d never been prouder of you in my entire life. ”
A kind of numbness stole over Brock, it felt like his throat was closing. “How?”
Aidan ducked his head, poking at his chocolate donut. “My parents knew how to give you a real life. One filled with love. The kind of life you deserved. You looked so much happier without me. I didn’t think you wanted me there. But it never stopped me from showing up.”
Brock attempted to clear his throat, but the knot of emotion threatening to suffocate him didn’t go away. He grabbed Aidan’s hand. “I always wanted you there, Dad.”
When his father looked up, the tears were no longer hidden. They slid down his cheeks, past the faint wrinkles, past the laugh lines of all the years he never saw. “Can you forgive me? Your mother may not have wanted you, but I always did.”
Forgiveness was never easy.
Some things were more difficult to let go of than others.
Grudges were formed in disappointed hearts, resentment expanded through years of neglect.
The ability to forgive required understanding, a willingness to release past wrongs, and being able to reconcile and overcome.
Yet now, Aidan was the only family Brock had left, which meant if there was any hope, any chance of them rebuilding a relationship together, it was now.
“Yeah, Dad.” He offered the smallest of smiles. One step toward change. “I can forgive you.”
They stood up from the table, and for the first time in years, Brock hugged his father. He locked eyes with Miss Bobbie behind the counter, watching as she pulled a tissue from her pocket, and blew her nose.
After another round of hot coffee and chocolate-frosted donuts on the house, Brock and his father spent the rest of the time catching up on missed years.
“It looks like you and Juliette have made up,” his father ventured, eyeing him carefully over the rim of his coffee mug.
“For now,” Brock agreed. Her words, he reminded himself.
“Why’d the two of you break up, anyway?”
“Georgina Laurent.” Brock broke off a piece of his apple crisp muffin and popped it into his mouth. “She told me I wouldn’t ever be good enough for her daughter. She told me when I went to boot camp to cut off all ties with Juliette. To sever the relationship completely. So I did.”
Aidan reared back. “Why? Why would she think you’re not good enough?”
“Who knows?” Brock didn’t like to think about how easily she’d convinced him. “I was young and stupid. It was a mistake.”
All those years, he stayed away on purpose because he thought he was doing the right thing.
He couldn’t even count the number of times Juliette had occupied his thoughts, and he’d forced her from his mind, reminded himself, convinced himself he’d made the right decision.
He blocked her from his memory. Erased her from his life.
Because the last thing he wanted to do was imagine her after he left.
Not that he intended to inflate his ego, but he knew what they had together. He knew how much it hurt him and she must have been crushed. Devastated. Left to pick up the pieces of her broken heart alone.
“Well.” Aidan took a drink of coffee and set it down slowly, like he was collecting his thoughts. “Now’s the time to fix it.”
Yeah. There was a lot he needed to fix.
Brock and his father went over the more difficult details of Yaya’s passing.
She didn’t want anything fancy and refused to have anyone making a big fuss over her.
She’d been very clear on that much for years.
In fact, the one thing Brock could recall without even looking at her will was that she wanted a simple graveside service and then a celebration of life with a bonfire on the beach.
Both of which could be easily arranged. Except he didn’t want to do it.
At least, he didn’t want to do all of it on his own.
Because then it would be real, and she would be gone forever.
“Hey—” Brock hesitated on how to address his father. Calling him Aidan seemed too formal. “Would you want to help me plan things? For Yaya?”
A shadow of his father’s former winning smile emerged. “Yeah, that would be great, actually. Does she still want that crazy bonfire beach party?”
Brock grinned. “Yeah, she does. We’ll have to make it a big one, though, given the current temperature outside.”
“All the more reason for her to love it,” Aidan murmured.
“Okay. I’ll make some calls.” Brock drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, willing away the anxiety clenching his gut. “Maybe set up a small viewing and then the graveside service.”
The words scalded his throat.
“That’s a good idea.” His father sat back and broke a muffin in half. “I’ll drive over and get the permit for the bonfire from the sheriff’s office. Hell, maybe we should just invite the whole town.”
“To the bonfire?” Brock asked, bewildered.
“Why not? Everyone loved Yaya.” A fondness filled Aidan’s eyes. “And Yaya loved everyone.”
“That she did.” He could’ve sworn his grandmother knew everyone by name, so it made sense to invite literally everyone. Not that they would all show up, but at least it was a kind gesture. “Alright, that settles it then. I’ll take care of the viewing and service.”
Aidan nodded once. “And I’ll make sure the bonfire is ready to go.”
“Are you two sweethearts doing okay?” Miss Bobbie toddled over with a plateful of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and bosom-filled hugs for each of them. “Do you need more coffee? How about another round of pie?”
“Oh, no thank you, Bobbie Jean.” His father flashed one of his best smiles. “You’ve taken great care of us all afternoon.”
Her plump, round cheeks flushed to the shade of ripe strawberries. “Well now, you know I love both you boys so much.”
Brock didn’t doubt it. He would bet she loved every person in all of Mystic Cove, but Miss Bobbie was definitely fluttering her lashes at his father.
“You just let me know if you need anything else, anything at all.” She propped her purple glasses on top of her fluff of white hair. “I’ll be back in the kitchen whipping up a fresh batch of lemon cream cheese muffins.”
She gave Brock’s shoulder a light squeeze, and he smiled up at her. “Thanks, Miss Bobbie.”
“Of course, darling.” She cast a curious gaze around the rest of her shop, then fisted her hands on her hips. “Now, where’s that girl of yours?”
“Ah, you mean Juliette?”
“The very one.”
Heat crawled up Brock’s neck, and he attempted to rub it away. “I mean, she’s not exactly my girl.”
At least, he didn’t think so. Juliette had mentioned wanting to try, but it had been a pretty vague blanket statement. She could’ve meant she wanted to try dating, or that she wanted to try staying in Mystic Cove. For all he knew, there were any number of things she wanted to try.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Miss Bobbie sniffed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be waiting around too much longer, Kelly. It’s only a matter of time before someone else comes along and snatches her off the market.”
Then she turned on her heels and headed back toward the kitchen with a smart smile stretched across her face.
“She’s not wrong, you know.” Aidan ran his thumb along his jaw. “It’d be a shame if you let her get away. Again.”
“Rub it in, Dad,” Brock muttered, but a tiny voice in his head knew his father and Miss Bobbie were right.
Juliette was everything any man could ever want.
She was smart. Brilliant, actually. She was soft, but knew when to make her feelings known.
She made him laugh. Not to mention she was beautiful.
If he sat back and just let things play out, there was a chance she might wander into someone else’s arms, especially since they’d made no real declarations to each other.
They weren’t exclusive, and she didn’t owe him anything.
He had time. He was sure of it. He just had to get through Yaya’s funeral first.
Besides, he and Juliette were still business associates, and that would take some definite negotiating. But Brock would ask her to date him, and only him.
Eventually.