Chapter 46
KENT
Istood outside Sylvie’s apartment door for what felt like an eternity, my fist hovering inches from the wood.
My stomach churned with a cocktail of guilt and dread.
Mostly whiskey, but the guilt and dread were definitely making things a little dicey.
I could handle the liquor, but I didn’t like all the feelings mucking things up.
The woman staring at me was a stranger.
Gone was the joyful little Christmas dynamo I’d come to know over the past couple of weeks.
This Sylvie looked guarded, her arms crossed tight across her chest like armor.
Her usual sparkle had dimmed to something wary and brittle.
She looked at me like I was a stranger. Or worse, like I was someone she’d trusted who had just proven himself unworthy of it.
And that fucking sucked.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
She looked me up and down like I was a cockroach. “I think you’ve said enough for one day.”
The words hit like a slap, but I deserved them. Hell, I deserved worse. “Please, Sylvie. Just five minutes.”
Something in my tone must have gotten through to her because she sighed and unlocked her door, pushing it open. She gestured for me to come in.
I stepped inside and watched as she shrugged out of her coat, taking great care in hanging it up. I kept mine on just in case she decided to toss me out on my ass. I didn’t want to freeze to death.
“I don’t know why you’re here, but I really don’t want to hear anything from you,” she said.
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” I started, running a hand through my hair. “About us. About the offer. About everything.”
She waited, her green eyes never leaving my face. No encouragement, no softening around the edges. Just waiting.
“I need to apologize,” I continued. “For the insulting offer, first and foremost. For not being totally transparent about the details.” I took a shaky breath.
“I knew full well the offer would be jarring, and disappointing, and not what you or your family wants. But I pushed it forward with my father anyway because…” I trailed off, the words sticking in my throat like sawdust.
“Because why?” Her voice was quiet, but there was steel underneath it.
This was the hard part. The part where I had to admit truths about myself that I’d been avoiding for years.
“Because I’m starting to understand why I did that.
I’ve always felt like I had something to prove, Sylvie.
Always felt like I was disappointing my father, like I wasn’t living up to the Bancroft name.
” I laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“This was my chance to do something right by my family. To finally be the son he wanted.”
Her expression didn’t change, but I saw her knuckles go white where she gripped her own arms.
“You and your family?” I said, forcing myself to meet her eyes.
“Collateral damage. I came here knowing that. Before you jumped my battery and overcharged me for tossing that tree in the ditch—and yes, I’ve known the whole time that you did that—I didn’t care about the collateral.
But now?” My voice cracked on the last word. “Now I care a great deal.”
For a moment, I thought she might soften. Her arms loosened slightly, and something flickered in her eyes that looked almost like the old Sylvie. But then her face crumpled, and I realized she was fighting back tears.
“All of this would have meant so much more if you’d told me before I brought it to my father thinking your offer would be some sort of Christmas miracle that saves us all.
” Her voice was thick with unshed tears and disappointment, which cut deeper than anger.
“I looked like an idiot, Kent. Like a doe-eyed girl who got duped.”
I grimaced, taking an involuntary step back. “That was never my intention. Sylvie, I swear to you.”
“But it happened anyway, didn’t it?” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and the gesture was so vulnerable it made my chest hurt. “Your intentions don’t matter when the result is the same.”
God help me, she was absolutely right, and I had no defense. No excuse that would make this better.
“I know it doesn’t change things, but I promise you I never wanted to hurt you.
Any of you. When my father first told me about the situation, I put up an argument.
He made it clear I had to come if I wanted to keep living my usual lifestyle.
When I showed up here, I wasn’t expecting to find what I did.
Again, you don’t have to believe me, but when I went home, I did try and convince him to invest instead of buy you out. ”
She snorted. “And that means nothing to me. Or my family.”
I sighed. “Sylvie, my dad explained it to me as a good thing. And I know you don’t see it now, but the money is the best thing for all of you.”
“Fuck you!”
I flinched. She never cursed. Not like that.
She shoved at my chest. “Don’t tell me what is best for me.
You don’t know me. I’m not like you or your family.
Me and my people aren’t greedy assholes.
You’re selfish. You have everything and you want more.
You want to take, take, take. Fuck everyone else, right?
As long as you have the money to buy a new yacht, who cares what you do?
Who cares that people’s entire lives will be changed?
Who cares that generations of families will have to move on because you people want more money?
How rich are you, Kent? I read up on you guys.
Billions. Each of you has billions. Some of you have even been in the top ten richest people in the world at some point.
How do you spend that much money in a lifetime?
You can’t, can you? But that doesn’t matter.
As long as you can sit on your pile of money and look down at us peasants and laugh.
Make fun of our country ways and silly traditions.
Fuck you, Kent Bancroft. Truly, fuck you. ”
I was the one that was on the verge of tears. I’d been told off more times than I could count. I had been called every name in the book, but none of that bothered me. I had thick skin.
But damn. She went right for my sensitive underbelly. Every word landed. And I had no defense. I was an asshole. I was stupid rich. And when I first showed up, I did look down on the people around here.
“I’ll leave tomorrow morning,” I said quietly. “First thing. You won’t have to see me again. I would leave now, but I can’t drive.”
Her expression shifter to surprise. “You’re going back to New York?”
“Yeah. This whole thing has been a disaster from start to finish. I think it’s time I cut my losses.”
She stared at me with all that pain reflecting back on me. I found myself memorizing her face. The way her hair fell in waves around her shoulders, the constellation of freckles across her nose. The way her lips pressed together when she was thinking hard about something.
“My father will kill you if he finds you sleeping in the lodge tonight,” she said finally. “We all hoped you had already gone.”
Ouch. I should have known I wouldn’t be welcome on the property for even one more night.
“I can grab my stuff and find somewhere else,” I said, though honestly I had no idea where. The nearest hotel was thirty minutes away, and something told me word of what had happened today would travel fast in a town this size.
I was not going to be welcome anywhere, even if I could get a ride. The couple that brought me home had been kind enough to have the wife follow behind in the rental. But no way in hell was I going to drive.
Sylvie looked up at the ceiling and muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. When she looked back at me, resignation had replaced some of the anger in her eyes.
“You can crash here,” she said grudgingly. “But you have to be gone by five in the morning. I mean it, Kent. Five on the dot.”
Relief flooded through me, though I tried not to let it show too much. “Deal.”
“Go get your shit. Do your best to avoid talking to anyone. I cannot be responsible for the actions of my family. And I may or may not encourage them to beat the tar out of you.”
“Understood.”
The walk back to the lodge to collect my things felt like a funeral march. The Christmas lights that had seemed so magical before looked garish and mocking. The whole place felt different, tainted by what had happened.
I managed to make it to my room without being seen.
I quickly packed and then because I hoped it would help, I left a hundred-dollar bill for the housekeeper.
I carried my bag downstairs. I heard a noise and looked to see Brom crouched by the fireplace, stirring the dying embers back to life with a poker.
He didn’t look up when I appeared, just continued his methodical stirring. The silence stretched between us, thick with tension.
I knew he saw me. I should say something, but I didn’t know what. And Sylvie did warn me they wanted my head on a silver platter.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he said finally, still not looking at me.
“Brom, I’m sorry.”
“No.” He stood up, turning to face me fully.
In the flickering firelight, he looked older than his years, worn down by responsibilities that should never have fallen on someone so young.
“You don’t get to explain this away. You hurt my baby sister.
You got her hopes up, made her think maybe things could be different for us, and then you crushed her. ”
Each word was like a nail being driven into a coffin. My coffin.
I stood there and let him continue because I knew he needed to vent. I deserved every word of it.
“It’s rich pricks like you we’ve tried to avoid our whole lives,” he said.
“You don’t think you’re the first asshole to come out here with an offer to buy?
You don’t think my father or his father could have taken a big chunk of change before you came along?
We didn’t take it then and we don’t want it now.
We’d rather go down in flames then take shit from assholes like you. ”
“You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face,” I murmured.
“So be it,” he said. “We’re too proud for your bullshit.”
“I get it.”
“No, you don’t. And I don’t care. Merry fucking Christmas, asshole.”
I wanted to defend myself and explain that it hadn’t been intentional, but what was the point? The damage was done.
“I wish you guys luck with the lodge,” I said quietly. “I really do.”
Brom snorted. “Right. Sure you do.”
He turned back to the fire, dismissing me completely. I took the hint and left.
When I got back to Sylvie’s apartment, I found the front door unlocked. She hadn’t waited for me. I let myself in and locked the door behind me.
She walked out of her bedroom wearing her pajamas. The couch had been made up with sheets, a pillow, and what looked like one of those thick, handmade quilts that seemed to be everywhere in this town.
The gesture was practical, nothing more.
She didn’t look at me, just waved toward the made-up couch. “Get comfortable,” she said.
“Sylvie—”
“Goodnight, Kent.” She was already heading back toward the stairs, tea mug in hand. “Five a.m.,” she reminded me. “I mean it.”
Then she was gone. I heard her bedroom door close with a soft click.
The message was clear. I was not wanted.
I sank down onto the couch, still fully dressed, and stared up at the ceiling. I pulled the quilt up to my chin and closed my eyes, though sleep felt impossible. In a few hours, I’d pack up my things, drive back to the city, and return to my old life, sadder than when I’d left.