Chapter 41
forty-one
PRESENT DAY
brANDON
The pool house is miserably hot on our last night in Marisol Bay. It almost makes me look forward to the biting Chicago air tomorrow. It’s the first week of March, so it should almost be spring, but Chicago winters have a nasty habit of sticking around.
Even though it’s after ten p.m., Kate is still being held hostage by her parents in the main house.
They asked to talk privately after dinner in their opulent study, and she agreed.
Although I’m worried, I’m also proud of her.
The way she’s carried herself throughout this trip is different than I’ve ever seen.
Sure, she’s always appeared confident, but that seems superficial now.
The quiet surety she carries now doesn’t have to be loud.
Sheets stick to my skin, and I huff a breath. After slipping on some shorts and padding out to the kitchen, I twist the faucet for some cold water. But even after thirty seconds, the running water is still lukewarm. I curse.
The main house shines like a beacon through the window, glowing with the promise of air conditioning and ice water.
I snag a linen shirt off the couch as I pass, buttoning it until I’m partially decent. I steal across the patio in my bare feet. Through the glass wall, I can’t see any signs of life in the living area. Liza and Cam must already be upstairs.
I crack open the patio door as a glacial blast of air washes over me.
The relief is so instantaneous, I shudder.
Sneaking into the kitchen so as to not disrupt any of Kate’s family, I find a tall glass and head to the sink.
The water runs icy in a matter of seconds, and I guzzle a whole glass before refilling it.
I’m halfway to the door when the thought occurs to me that there’s no point in sweating like a pig while I wait for Kate.
Sipping from my cold glass, I sink down onto the luxurious leather couch. My fingers drum on the armrest as I try to replenish the water I’ve sweated out. I’m on my third glass when muffled voices escalate from down the hall. A protective instinct for Kate surges through my legs, but I stall.
Kate doesn’t want me to fight her battles, but she also might need me right now. My steps are barely a creak as I approach a cracked door. The glowing sliver of light stripes across me from the pretentious study. Kate sits in a wide chair while her parents are banded together behind the desk.
“We’re not going to change our minds, Katherine,” her dad practically spits. “That boy is going nowhere, and you’d have to be a fool not to see that.”
“You can hardly call a twenty-nine-year-old man a boy,” Kate retorts. “And who I choose to spend my life with isn’t up for debate.”
Spend her life with?
The unbelievable words hit me to the chest so forcefully, I almost stagger. I rub the foreign warmth behind my sternum—thick, heavy, and spreading like wildfire.
The last few days since Kate told me she has feelings for me—real ones—have been a dream.
Being able to touch her again, make her laugh and blush, and be privileged to experience the warmth of her solid alliance has me pinching myself.
My pathetic white-picket-fence side is already running rampant with what activities we could do back in Chicago, and I can’t deny I’m super excited for her to finally meet my mom.
And while she hasn’t exactly expressed the depth of her feelings yet, she’s apparently doing so right now with her mom.
“Well,” her dad snarls, “your inheritance is up for debate. We will not support someone so argumentative coming into our lives.”
“He’s argumentative?” Kate rises from her chair.
Her mom also stands. “There are plenty of more established men out there. What about Tanner? Why don’t you rekindle things with him?”
Kate’s laugh is derisive. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This whole thing is a joke, right?”
“Do we look like we’re joking, Katherine?” her dad snaps. “End things now, or you can kiss your inheritance goodbye.”
“I don’t want your money!” Kate finally breaks.
“I’ve never wanted your money! All I’ve ever wanted was to connect—have any type of relationship with you, really—but you both make it damn near impossible.
” Her voice cracks on the last word, and it breaks me.
“I’ve only ever wanted your love, but nothing I do is ever good enough. ”
Kate’s mother takes a moment to mask her surprise. Her voice is silk as she rounds the desk to Kate.
“Of course that’s not true,” she says. “We love you in your own right, Katherine. We just wish you’d make different choices for yourself. Sure, we accept you, but can’t we also want more for you? Does that make us bad parents?” Her pursed lips could pass for a pout.
Kate stands silent, shoulders slumped. Her mother runs a manicured hand across her arm.
“Just think of the future we could have,” her mom says. “Summers, right here in this beach home. Grand babies running about, card games, family nights…” She sighs. “I want that. Don’t you, Katherine?”
Kate doesn’t refute the idea, and I can see her eyes misting over from here.
“Then don’t do this to us,” her mom says, drawing her into a tentative hug and continuing to murmur against Kate’s hair. “End things with him. That man is not worth upsetting our family dynamic over. He’s not worth it.”
He’s not worth it.
The words hit me like a dagger to the chest, but it’s Kate’s lack of retort that drives it deeper.
I’ve never heard a silence this loud.
Her mother smooths the back of Kate’s hair as she stands still in her embrace. “You’d be a fool to consider giving all that up for him.”
“I know,” Kate finally says, the curve of her shoulders dropping in defeat.
Those two words twist the dagger until it breaks my heart clean in half.
I reel away from the cracked door, clutching what pieces I have left in my chest.
The fantasy future with Kate that’s been playing out in my mind is suddenly only that—a fantasy. Lazy Sundays and photography walks in the park together. The exhausted ecstasy of velvet nights turning to dawn.
Sure, she claims she wants to spend her life with me now, but how long until that changes? Was she only saying that to stick it to her parents?
The agony is so acutely precise, I can almost pinpoint exactly where it’s located inside my hollow chest. Familiar desperation claws its way up like a habit.
The need to convince Kate of my worth is so potent that I can almost taste how pitiful it is.
My mind becomes a waterfall of persuasion, fitting words into sentences so concise that maybe Kate will listen to me. Love me, even.
I almost laugh.
Cam’s and Liza’s voices begin to echo from the second level, wafting down the stairs. I realize I have maybe fifteen seconds before I’ll be caught eavesdropping.
I move blindly down the hall, but by the time I make it to the safety of the darkened patio, my thoughts are racing.
I’m not doing this again. I refuse. I cannot—will not—be like my mom anymore, waiting and wishing and giving everything plus the coat off my back to be loved.
I force myself to pry my chin higher with every step. If anything, this trip has made me realize that I have a lot of love to offer someone.
But only if they’ll love me in return.
KATE
“I know,” I repeat, once I’ve calmed the nausea churning in my stomach. “You’re right. I am a fool.”
I pull away from the first hug I’ve had from my mother in over a decade.
“Because he’s worth all of it, Mom. Worth sacrificing all those”—my voice catches, tears brimming in my eyes—“summers.”
Because the truth is, I do want those summers with my family. Yearn for them, even. But among the laughter, games, and sun, I picture little boys with dark hair and Brandon’s green eyes.
But even the edges of this vision are strained, like my mind knows this mirage is a far cry from reality.
How could this beautiful daydream ever come to pass when the very foundation of our family is built from manipulated bricks?
When the love here is so conditional that a stiff breeze could knock it all to dust?
Tears flow freely down my cheeks, but they’re not about Brandon at all.
They’re grief, pure and simple.
And I mourn.
It’s gut-wrenching, the acceptance of my future.
It will not be filled with my children calling Vivian Rochester-Chen a special grandma nickname.
No childlike wonder in my kids’ eyes as they unwrap a thoughtful birthday gift with sticky hands.
No giggles because their grandfather tosses them in the air like they do on TV.
Because my parents are not those people.
For the first time, I recognize that I must accept this. Because parents are human. They make mistakes. And if there’s any truth to my mother’s words about wanting what’s best for me, then they must love me on some level.
But love doesn’t equal acceptance, and I’m no longer in the market of accepting currency by any other form.
Wordlessly, I pull my mom into a hug for what could be the last time. Because I’m not going to force myself, or my future husband and kids, into a relationship where we’re not accepted.
My mom stills beneath my arms.
“I love you, too,” I whisper against her cheek. “I wish for a brighter future for all of us, whether I’m here or not.”
My parents stay silent as I round the desk to give my dad a brief hug. Because despite the ache in my chest, they are still my parents. They raised me, provided for me, and took care of me. I will always love them for that.
But I can love them from afar, too.
I don’t look back when I leave.
The night air feels muggy as I sprint back to the pool house. My soul feels bruised, and I need Brandon right now more than ever. I kick off my shoes, tiptoe to his room, and nudge open the door.
His bed is still made.
A tiny smile eases the ache in my chest, because I know exactly where he’s waiting for me.