Chapter 28
KENT
Sylvie’s apartment was exactly what I had expected. It was cozy and personal, filled with pieces that told the story of her life. But what I hadn’t expected was how intimate it would feel to be here with her, watching her move around her small kitchen as she prepared drinks for us.
My eyes moved around the space, stopping on a picture collage in a colorful frame. I stepped closer to get a better look.
“I’m making hot toddies,” she said, pulling ingredients from various cabinets. “Perfect for a cold night like this.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what a hot toddy was, but I wasn’t about to admit that to someone who probably considered them a basic life skill. I knew Kathy often made them for my father. And it involved liquor. That was enough for me.
I studied the pictures. I recognized Emmy and Brom pretty quickly.
The pictures looked like they spanned from childhood until maybe a few years ago.
Sylvie looked happy in every single one.
She was clearly a happy person. Like “real” happy.
Lots of people could fake it, but genuine happiness was much harder to achieve.
I moved on to another collage. It was filled with pictures of the family through the years.
Pictures of them with various trees at the farm and at the lodge.
Her parents were much younger in several of the photos.
And even though I guessed Sylvie was probably only six or seven in one photo, there was no missing that smile.
“Your hair color is natural,” I mused aloud.
She laughed. “Yep. It gets a little darker in the winter, but in the summer, all that red comes out to greet the sun.”
I sat down on the couch, taking in the massive window that overlooked the lodge and the sprawling lot of Christmas trees beyond. It was a tiny apartment but she had one hell of a view. It was hard not to compare her life to mine.
My penthouse had one hell of a view as well, but I was looking at millions of lights from the millions of people I supposed I called neighbors. Her view was a few hundred twinkling lights and a hell of a lot of trees.
My penthouse was probably ten times the size of her place.
There were rooms in my penthouse that I hadn’t been inside in months.
Guest rooms. Back in our heydays, my brothers were always crashing at my place and me at theirs.
Then a bunch of them went off and got married. Now, those rooms sat empty.
But when I looked around her tiny living room, I saw life.
A life well-lived with good people surrounding her.
The photos were evidence of plenty of hands-on experiences.
No, there weren’t pictures of her on a yacht or the Swiss Alps, but she was plenty happy right here. I had the yacht pics. The Alps. Bali.
And I don’t think I looked even half as happy as she does in her pictures.
“Here you go,” she said.
She handed me a steaming mug that smelled like whiskey and spices and everything warm about winter. I knew this was a moment I’d remember for the rest of my life.
“Thank you. What is it exactly?”
She grinned. “Special recipe that’s been passed down through generations.”
I took a sip and slowly nodded. “Good.”
The drink was perfect, smooth and warming, with just enough alcohol to take the edge off the cold but not enough to cloud my thinking. The flavor was good as well, even if it was a cheaper whiskey than what I was used to.
But it wasn’t really about the drink. It was about sitting here with Sylvie, watching her face as she looked out at her family’s property. She grabbed a little remote, and suddenly pretty lights around her window lit up.
“I love the advancements in lights,” she said with a giggle. “But I think it might make me just a little lazy.”
“You’re allowed.”
I wasn’t going to tell her I had an app on my phone that controlled everything in my penthouse from lights, to heat, to running the damn dishwasher.
Looking at her like this—relaxed, beautiful, completely in her element—made something inside me burn so brightly it almost fucking hurt.
“Can I ask about your brother?” she asked softly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”
“Well, I can tell you my side, but the rest is his story.”
Sylvie nodded. “I get it.”
I took a deep breath and stared down at my mug, watching the steam rise from the amber liquid. How did I even begin to explain Hudson’s journey without making it sound like some kind of sob story?
“Growing up, Hudson was always the most… intense of all of us. Whatever he did, he did it all the way. If he was into baseball, he’d practice until his hands bled. If he was studying, he’d pull three all-nighters in a row.”
Sylvie tucked her legs under her on the couch, giving me her full attention in that way she had that made me feel like I was the only person in the world.
“That sounds like it could be a good thing,” she said quietly.
“It was, until it wasn’t.” I rubbed my jaw, remembering those dark years. “When Hudson discovered alcohol, he approached it with the same intensity he brought to everything else. And when alcohol wasn’t enough, he found other things. Pills. Cocaine. You name it.”
I could still remember the first time my father had called me, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage and fear, telling me that Hudson had been found unconscious. That had been the beginning of a nightmare that lasted too many years.
“He almost died three times,” I continued. “The first two times, we all rallied around him. Got him into the best treatment centers money could buy, surrounded him with therapists and specialists. He’d get clean, seem like he was turning his life around, and then…”
“He’d relapse,” Sylvie finished softly.
“Every time. And each relapse was worse than the last.” I took another drink, letting the warmth chase away some of the chill that always settled in my chest when I thought about those years. “The third time, we almost lost him for good.”
I could still see Hudson’s face the last time I’d seen him before that final overdose—thin, hollow-eyed, but smiling as he told me about this girl he’d met. Diana. He’d seemed so hopeful, so genuinely happy in a way I hadn’t ever seen him, even before the addiction problems.
“What happened?” Sylvie asked.
“He met a girl.” I couldn’t help but smile at that, even with the painful memories. “They had a hot and heavy thing but he fucked it up as usual. Her family didn’t like him, and he got in his own way.”
“Sounds typical for an addict.”
The night of Hudson’s final overdose was burned into my memory with perfect, horrible clarity.
“They were separated, and he didn’t handle it well. It was close that time. Close enough to snap some sense into him.”
Sylvie’s hand found mine, her fingers warm and steady. “That must have been terrifying for all of you.”
“It was. But it’s what got him on the right path. He got his shit together and somehow convinced Diana he wasn’t a total waste of time.”
“She’s still with him?”
“Yep. They’ve got a family and he’s good. He’s happy. I know it’s a fight for him every day. For a while, all family functions were dry, but he said he didn’t want that. He lived in the real world and needed real world temptations. So it’s around, but we keep it limited.”
“How long has he been sober now?”
“Couple years. He runs a recovery foundation with a couple of my other brothers. They’ve helped hundreds of people get clean and stay clean. People that can’t afford fancy spa rehabs you see on TV commercials.”
Sylvie was quiet for a long moment, processing what I’d told her.
“That’s why you knew how to handle Mr. Withers tonight. You’ve been through this before.”
I nodded. “I’ve learned that you can’t force someone to get sober, but you can meet them where they are. Show them they’re not alone. Sometimes that’s enough to plant a seed.”
“Your brother is lucky to have you,” she said. “And Diana sounds like an amazing woman.”
“She is. She saw something in Hudson that the rest of us had given up on. Sometimes it takes an outsider to help you see what’s possible.”
As I said the words, I realized I was talking about more than just Hudson and Diana.
Sitting here with Sylvie, seeing the world through her eyes, I was beginning to understand things about myself that I’d never questioned before.
The way she looked at her family’s legacy and that fierce protectiveness she felt for her community.
I loved to witness the genuine joy she found in simple traditions.
It was showing me possibilities I’d never considered.
“Thank you for telling me,” Sylvie said, her thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. “It means a lot that you trusted me with something so personal.”
This woman was dangerous to everything I thought I knew about my life, about what I wanted, about who I was supposed to be.
And I was falling for her harder than I’d ever fallen for anyone in my life.
I shrugged. “He’s got a lifelong challenge ahead of him. But it’s amazing how much a good woman can change a man.”
“I’m glad to hear your brother came out the other side a better person,” she said softly,
“It was worth it,” I said. “He’s happy now, in a way I don’t think he ever was before.” I looked at her. “What about Mr. Withers? How long has he been like this?”
Sylvie’s expression grew sad. “Phineas hasn’t been the same since his wife died twenty years ago.
Tilly was everything to him. His best friend, his business partner, his whole world.
I think he always assumed he’d go first, you know?
Men usually do. And now he’s lived two decades without her, and he gets angrier every year. ”
The picture she painted was heartbreaking, and it explained so much about the bitter old man who’d disrupted our party tonight. I got up and moved to the window, looking out at the tree farm that stretched into the darkness.
“What you’ve built here is incredible.” I meant it. Even knowing what I was supposed to do to this place, I could appreciate the generations of work and love that had gone into creating something this special.
“With the right investment, maybe we can make it what it once was again.” The hope in her voice tore at my heart.
I turned back to face her, already planning my next moves. “I’ll go back to New York this week and get a proper offer drawn up. Something concrete we can work with.”
“Do you have to leave to get the offer?” Her eyes looked into mine.
The question caught me off guard, partly because of what she was asking but mostly because of the tone in her voice. Was that longing I heard? Was she actually disappointed at the thought of me leaving?
“Never mind,” she said quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear in a gesture that was becoming familiar to me. She gave a soft laugh that didn’t quite mask whatever she’d been feeling. “Of course you have to go.”
Sylvi looked so damn beautiful sitting there in that green dress, her legs curled beneath her in those black nylons.
She’d kicked off her boots when we’d come inside, and now all I could think about was what it would feel like to slowly peel those nylons off her legs and to feel her bare skin under my hands.
I didn’t think about what I was doing. I just moved to where she was curled up in the corner of the sofa and reached down to trace her cheek with my thumb. Her skin was like satin. When I cupped her chin to make her look up at me, I could see her pupils dilate slightly.
“I don’t have to go tonight,” I whispered. “Our time is ours.”
She drew in a surprised breath. That small sound did something to me that made rational thought nearly impossible. I wasn’t going to wait for permission. I knew what we both wanted and I was taking it.
When I kissed her, it was like coming home and losing myself at the same time.