Chapter Twenty-Six
Bethany gazed into Hank’s eyes and struggled to convince herself it wasn’t wise to go to LA with him. For starters, she couldn’t leave Grandma Lou’s.
“Before you say no, I’m only talking three days the weekend after next—Friday through Sunday.”
“Hank, I can’t leave town. I won’t be able to keep the pantry open, and people depend on it for food.”
“I’ll hire all the help you need so you won’t have to worry about being away, and since you won’t close the business, you won’t lose any sales.”
“But the expense—”
“I’ll pay for your plane tickets and all your travel expenses.”
“But—”
He placed the tip of his finger on her lips, silencing her protest. “It’s only a long weekend. This isn’t a big deal. When’s the last time you had a break? You deserve a weekend away from all your responsibilities, don’t you?”
She removed his finger and stepped away. “It sure sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”
“I got a call from my agent with some good news for a change. I’m being considered for the role of Robin Hood. I really want this part. I have to fly home to talk to the producers, and I want you to come with me.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“And I’m up for a major award for my role as Apollo. There’s a real chance I could win. I’ve been invited to the awards ceremony, and I can bring a date.”
“Well . . .”
“And I want to introduce you to my brother, Connor. And you haven’t met my roommate.”
“Roommate?” She took another step backward.
He moved forward. “Yes. He’s five, furry, likes treats, and goes by the name of Woodrow.”
She refused to smile. “I’m happy you’re being considered for the role, and you’re up for an award, but my coming with you isn’t a good idea.
As much as I want to. As much as I’d like to see what your life is like in Los Angeles—meet Connor and Woodrow.
Hanging out with you for an entire weekend is just going to make me want what I can never have. ”
“You can have it.”
“I won’t have a fling with you, Hank. I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps around.”
He frowned and moved toward her, and she found herself taking a step backward and then another. She didn’t see the tree root behind her and stumbled. Her hands flailed, but strong arms kept her from falling. The rich pine scent of his aftershave filled her lungs.
“For the love of God, I’m not inviting you to my home to have a fling, as nice as that sounds.
I’m not asking you to move to Los Angeles.
I’m not even asking you to commit to a relationship.
There are no expectations. This is just a weekend.
A weekend to get to know each other better. If you want, Travis can come too.”
“He . . . he can?” Did she even want Travis with her?
“Sure. He deserves a break. You’ll both be my guests.”
“Well, I don’t know. I . . . I need to think about it. Talk to Travis.”
“I’ll need to know soon. The trip is in less than two weeks. I have to arrange plane tickets.”
She swallowed. “I’ll give you an answer by the weekend.”
“Fair enough. Now that we have that straight, I have one more thing to show you, and then I’ll take you home.”
It struck her then: Hank pointing out the stars under the tree where he used to make wishes was not an impulsive decision.
He’d led her to such a romantic setting to make his case—told her about his dreams as a boy to show her a vulnerable side he didn’t share with others, to build a path with her to further intimacies.
His goal all along was to get her to agree to a weekend trip to Los Angeles—to his home.
And God help her, his plan had worked. She was actually considering the idea.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, like they were the owners of the home going for a nighttime stroll, and pulled her along.
She was caught up in the whirlwind known as Hank Haverill, and she didn’t have the strength of will to withstand the tempest. They headed through the house, where he shut off the lights, and then out to the waiting limo.
“After you, madame.” Hank held the door and ushered her inside, before getting in himself and motioning to the driver. “Step on it, Louis.”
“Right, sir.”
The car accelerated, and they were off to some mysterious destination.
Hank tucked her into his side like she belonged there.
She could have objected, but when was the last time she’d been held by another human being and felt this content, this safe?
Still, it wouldn’t do to get too comfortable and oblivious to her surroundings. “We’re heading east?”
Hank chuckled and the sound reverberated in her ear. “Good deduction, Watson.”
She pushed herself away from his shoulder and pressed her face against the window. “Okay, Sherlock. It’s clear you’re not going to tell me. So give me a clue. We’re going toward the university. Did you go to school there?”
“No, I only spent a year in college—in New York, not Ohio.”
“The art museum, then?”
“Nope.”
“Wait. This is a cemetery. Why are we in a cemetery at night? Isn’t it closed? This is seriously creepy.”
“I come here whenever I visit Cleveland. I pay them extra to stay open.”
“Why?”
“My mother’s buried here.”
His explanation was said without emotion. He turned his face from hers, so she had trouble deciphering his expression.
“You visit her grave?”
“I do. I can’t introduce you to my mom, so I thought this was the next best thing.
I don’t visit during the day to avoid questions—I never know if a nosey reporter or curious fan will follow me.
” He shifted to look at her, his warm gaze traveling across her face and settling on her eyes.
“My mother would have loved you. Did I mention she liked to cook?”
Bethany shook her head.
“Her chili was so good I sometimes dream about it.” He laughed, the sound almost a caress against her sensitive skin. “She was a strong lady—she had to be to deal with my dad.”
“Was your father really that difficult to be around?”
There was a long pause while he gathered his thoughts. “My father wasn’t physically abusive. His crime was abandonment and neglect. I was ten when he left. Just a boy.”
His voice wavered, then grew bitter. “I begged him to stay. I still remember watching the taillights of his green Ford disappear down the old dusty road in the trailer park where we used to live in Virginia. He never looked back.”
An image of Bethany’s father, sitting in her high school auditorium, flashed through her mind.
Although she’d never had a solo, her dad had attended every one of her high school choir concerts, closing the restaurant early just for her.
He’d beam at Bethany from the front center row—her mom and grandparents next to him with their own wide smiles.
The limo stopped but neither moved to open the door.
“Did he ever visit, your dad?”
Hank studied his fingernails. “Once or twice. Each time he’d talk about his new girlfriend and show me a picture of a new sibling. Meanwhile, my mother struggled to keep food on the table and me in shoes.”
He flicked a glance her way before looking out the window, and Bethany almost cringed at the harshness reflected there. Gone was the television star who always broadcasted a glowing smile. In his place was a man at war with himself—a man who knew a world of hurt.
The change was so drastic, Bethany blinked, wondering if she’d really witnessed it. She touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Hank. Not every man is meant to be a father.”
Now he did look at her. His face lost all expression. “You’re right.” He seemed surprised and dumbfounded.
“Hank?” Why did she have the feeling they weren’t talking about his father? “Hank, I didn’t mean—”
“We’re here. Let’s forget about my father.”
Louis opened the door, interrupting their conversation.
“C’mon,” Hank said, unfolding his long legs to climb out of the car.
She scrambled to follow, trailing him to the graveyard.
He stopped and swung the flashlight beam on a simple white gravestone.
A dozen yellow roses, which could have been plucked that morning, rested in a vase at the foot of the grave.
Bethany gazed at the words etched in the stone: Katherine Anne Haverill, Beloved Daughter, Sister, Mother.
If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.
“I was in college when she died—completely floored—it happened so fast. I’d talked to her the night before.
She said she had a headache, but other than that, sounded like her normal self.
I didn’t think anything of it. The next day, she was gone.
I never got to say goodbye. I dropped out of school—I couldn’t concentrate. ”
Bethany touched his arm. “I’m so sorry, Hank.”
He turned to look at her. “Don’t be. It’s been years since her death. I’ve had a lot of time to adjust. And dropping out of college landed me my big break in television.”
She shivered, and he wrapped one long arm around her shoulders. “Cold?”
“No.”
“I didn’t bring you here to make you feel sorry for me.”
She turned toward him. “Why did you bring me here?”
It was dark, which made it hard to get a good read on his expression. But she knew coming to his mother’s grave was not an impulsive decision. He’d planned it, just like he’d planned to show her his grandfather’s house and the stars from the tree in the backyard.
She shivered again despite the hot, humid air, which kissed her shoulders. Crickets chirped, filling the silence.
“I brought you here because I’ve never brought another living soul here.”
“No one? Not your dad or your friends?”
“No one. At first, because I couldn’t bear to come here when my mom passed away, and later, because I viewed it as private. When you’re in the public eye, there’s not much considered sacred. I don’t want my mother’s gravesite to be featured in a magazine or plastered across the Internet.”
“Your secret is safe with me, I promise.”
“I know. And I know you’ve read some of those gossipy magazine stories that talk about who I’m dating or will date or ditched.
I’ve had my share of relationships that didn’t work out, and I’m not going to apologize or deny my past. But I’m more than the Hollywood heartthrob the media has labeled me .
. . that you think I am. I want you to see that. I want you to see the real me.”
He kissed her then—long, tender, lingering kisses in the moonlight that could have gone on forever as far as Bethany was concerned. When they finally pulled apart, they were both gasping for air.
“Beth,” he breathed, framing her face with his large hands.
“Yes,” she managed.
“I’m not going to deny I want you. You’d have to be blind not to know how much. But I’ll never pressure you to do something you don’t want to do. Especially when you’re under my roof. You’ll be safe with me. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” His words sent a sharp tingle through her body, setting it on fire.
“So come to LA with me. No expectations. No strings. I promise, you’ll enjoy yourself.”